An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (15 page)

“From what I have seen, Luisa makes very little attempt to hide her feelings at all.”

“I suspect that is probably a good thing, Cadmus.  Perhaps we English suppress our feelings a little too well.”

“You think so?”  Underwood glanced about him.  They had walked quite a distance and were on a quiet lane, trees and hedges enfolding them.  Seeing that they were quite alone, he pulled his wife into his arms and began to kiss her with a hunger which both thrilled and amused her.  When she could catch her breath she managed to giggle and say, “My dear, I have been away only one night!”

“It was an eternity!” said Underwood, and covered her lips with his own.

“Someone will see us,” she warned.

“Then I suggest you hop over that gate and accompany me to that farm-building over there.”

“We cannot!” she declared, unutterably shocked.

“Why not?  I seem to recall my brother joining us in wedlock.”

“He may have done so, but I am not a milkmaid!”

“And I have never chewed a straw.  But I’m willing to try it, if you are,”

“No,” she said firmly, but he kissed her again and before she knew what she was about she was scrambling over the gate, aided by her husband at his most solicitous. 

*

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

(“Omne Ignotum Pro Magnifico Est” – Distance lends enchantment)

By the time he and Verity returned from their walk, Underwood had almost forgotten that Grantley would be arriving to interview Trentham.  He was soon reminded of it.

Trentham was not cutting a particularly heroic figure, arguing and pleading, as he was, with his father.

“I don’t see why I even have to dignify this fellow’s accusation with a response!  You must know that I did not kill Uncle Peter!”

“Of course I know it, boy.  But you are going to have to explain that to Mr. Grantley, whether you and I like it or not.  I’m very much afraid he is perfectly within his rights to ask, and we are not in a position to refuse.”

“Why?  Who is he but a jumped up little nobody?  I refuse to see him!”

                The Earl suddenly lost all patience, “You will damned well do as you are bid, Trentham, and you will treat the fellow with respect.  You don’t seem to understand that you could be running your head into a noose!”

“What if I am?  I’d rather face a jury of my peers than give this impertinent jackanapes the satisfaction of seeing me crawl on my belly.”

Underwood, with perfect gravity, intervened, “Of course, Trentham can always console himself with the thought that he has the enviable right to hang by a silken rope rather than a hemp one.”

Trentham spun round, “What?”

“I said that as a son of a Peer of the Realm, you have the ancient right to have your noose made of silken rope, not mere hemp as would be the case for us mere commoners.”

“You don’t sound very concerned that this is my death you are speaking of,” spluttered the angry and confused boy.

“On the contrary, I am immensely concerned, my dear Trentham, but if you will not help yourself, how can you expect anyone to have any sympathy for your plight?”

                Trentham blushed to the roots of his hair, “Very clever, Mr. Underwood!  Very well, papa, I will speak to this Mr. Grantley, but I insist you and Underwood be there too.  I’m not having the fellow putting words into my mouth.”

“Very wise,” said Underwood promptly, “But in Mr. Grantley’s defence, I must say that he appears to be a man of extreme probity.  You need not fear him unless you really do have something to hide.”

“I don’t fear anyone,” muttered Trentham rebelliously, but Underwood ignored him, merely saying to the Earl, “When do we expect Mr. Grantley to arrive, sir?”

“Before dinner, I think.”

“And where do you suggest we hold the meeting?”

“In my study.”

Everything was as he said.  Grantley arrived in due course and the four gentlemen retired to the study to discuss Trentham’s involvement in the mysterious death of his uncle.

“What exactly did you do after the altercation in the music room?” asked Grantley of Trentham, wasting no time or breath upon the niceties of greetings or pretence of respect or sympathy.  He did not like the boy, feeling him to be arrogant and more than a little stupid.  He did not question whether his dislike had grown since he had heard Luisa’s complaints of Trentham’s behaviour toward her.

“My mother persuaded me to go upstairs to bed.”

“And did you do so?”

“I did.  I admit I was as drunk as a Lord – if you will forgive the pun!  She sent my man up to help me get undressed and I fell into bed.  I did not hear another thing until the morning.”

“You did not hear Lady Lovell scream?”

“No.  I’ve told you, I didn’t hear a thing.  I was out like a snuffed candle.  I never woke until morning, and I don’t mind telling you, I had a devil of a head!”

“You did not wake in the early hours of the morning and go to your uncle’s room to continue the discussion which had taken place downstairs earlier in the evening?”

                Trentham kept his temper with obvious difficulty, “No, I did not.”

“You are sure you did not hear the sound of your uncle and aunt quarrelling and enter their room in defence of your aunt?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times, I did no such thing – and damn you to hell’s flames, she is NOT my aunt!”

“That is a matter for your conscience, sir,” said Grantley starkly; “Others may see things differently.  You fully admit that you feel you are in love with Lady Lovell?”

“I don’t
feel
it, as you put it.  I know I am in love with her!”

“Even though she has made it clear to you on a number of occasions that she does not feel the same way about you?”

Trentham gave an unpleasant laugh, “Is that what she has told you?”

                Grantley successfully restrained himself from punching the younger man on the nose, never knowing that Peter Lovell had not been so successful in taming his own desire to knock some sense into the empty head of his nephew.

“Are you suggesting that the lady is lying to me and that she has indeed granted you her favours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” taunted the boy, instinctively aware that he had somehow hit a nerve with his adversary, though not quite knowing what ailed him.

“Young man,” said Grantley, sounding far older and more weary than his previously vigorous demeanour had intimated, “I have no notion of your morals, your principles or your sensibilities, but I suggest that any man who swears undying love to a woman and then slights her in the presence of others, has no real idea of the true meaning of affection or respect!”

Trentham blushed painfully.  It was rare for him to receive chastisement in any form, both his parents being far too lax with him, but this not only made him feel young and foolish, it also had that ring of truth which must always sting.

“You know nothing about it,” he muttered savagely.

“Believe me, sir, I am trying very hard to understand, but you are not making the task any easier.  You profess to love Lady Lovell, yet you feel quite justified in forcing unwanted attentions upon her, and then making wild claims about her morals and her fidelity to her husband.  Make up your mind, boy!  Is she the love of your life and therefore the perfect woman?  Or is she a heartless flirt who not only broke her husband’s heart with her wantonness, but also led you, her nephew-by-marriage, into a sinful association?  Did she grant you favours which should have belonged only to Lord Peter – or has your fevered imagination read far more into her many kind-hearted gestures than she ever intended?”

Trentham, suddenly faced with a situation of which he had no experience, made an anguished plea to his father for rescue, “Are you going to let this fellow speak to me like this, papa?”

The Earl, his face grim, for the first time refused to pick up the pieces of Trentham’s folly.  Through stiff lips he replied, “The question seems reasonable enough, Trent, so why don’t you answer it?  You appear to think you are man enough to pretend to Peter’s position, so why don’t you prove it?  Tell the unvarnished truth for once in your life!  Has Luisa been making a fool of poor Peter with you?”

“I have not bedded her, if that is what you mean!”  Trentham’s intention was to shock, but he had miscalculated in his audience.  These were men of the world.  They had heard far worse things in their time than a silly boy talking of something of which he was patently ignorant.  They all knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that Trentham had not bedded any woman – and certainly not a woman of Luisa’s passion and experience.

“My dear Trentham,” said Underwood coolly, “We know you haven’t even kissed her, let alone taken any further liberties!  And Grantley is quite right when he says that it ill-behoves you to suggest otherwise.  You seem to overlook the fact that when you turn braggart on your own behalf, you lower her reputation in the same breath.”

“That … that was not my intention!  I was angry with her … I never thought…”

“Trentham, you never do think, ever,” said his father, “I don’t think I have ever been more disappointed in you – or more angry!  If Luisa ever deigns to see your face again, I suggest you throw yourself upon her mercy and beg her pardon.”

                The three older men waited for this instruction to sink in before Mr. Grantley added, not without a slight edge of spite in his tone, “While you are about it, you can reflect upon the notion that you are probably responsible for your uncle’s death!  I can see that you have neither the courage nor the intelligence to have carried out this crime – but I suspect that whether Lord Peter committed suicide, or whether he was murdered by his wife, or some other unknown person, the whole sorry mess can be directly attributed to your unwelcome attentions to the lady.”

Where Trentham had been red, he now became ghastly white; “You cannot say that.  You do not know it to be true!”

“Whatever happened in that room on that particular night, Trentham, began in the music room downstairs when you insulted your uncle and aunt.  You may not have wielded the knife, boy, but you killed your uncle just the same.”

Though Trentham glanced appealingly towards his father, then Underwood, neither of them spoke a word in his defence.  Grantley was being harsh, but in truth, they did not think he was wrong.  Trentham’s appalling behaviour had been the spark which had set alight a fuse which was to end in violent death for Peter Lovell.  And the sooner the boy realized where such selfishness and arrogance as his led, the better it would be for anyone who had future dealings with him.

“This is not over, Trentham.  I have many more questions to ask, many more answers to hear.  I have said I do not believe you to be capable of committing the murder, but I can always change my mind.  You may consider yourself fortunate that I do not simply arrest you as the most likely murderer, and be damned to a proper investigation.”

Trentham nodded dumbly, “Is that all?”

“For the moment.  I will be speaking to you again when you return from London.”

The boy stumbled out of the room, for once in his life truly frightened by the consequences of his actions.

The Earl slumped into a chair when he had gone; “I apologise for my son, Mr. Grantley.  God knows I have failed miserably as a parent, but he is my child and I must protect him if I can.  Have you really decided he is innocent?”

“I suppose I have.  You can do no other than take offence at this, but he is far too stupid to have planned it all.”

“You are wrong sir, I am not in the least offended.  He has behaved stupidly throughout, but I have to say that I would rather by far have a fool for a son than a cold-blooded murderer.  If I thought he was capable of slashing his own uncle’s throat – or indeed anyone else’s – I would pull the hangman’s rope myself!”

“Well, I doubt it will come to that,” said Underwood comfortingly, “As Grantley says, Trentham has been foolish, but not evil.  Unfortunately though, this brings us right back to the beginning.  Who really did kill Peter?”

*

                 Whilst Underwood and the Earl dealt with Mr. Grantley, the ladies gathered to take tea.  They were all rather tired of their isolation by now, but could hardly be seen to be going shopping or taking picnics onto the seashore while their host’s brother lay horribly mangled in a mortuary.  So tea together it had to be.  Verity felt that if she had to have one more circular conversation with the Countess, eternally wondering what was to become of them all, she would begin to scream.  It was not that she did not have every sympathy for the woman’s plight – she did, of course – but everyone knew Trentham could not possibly have killed his uncle, so it seemed rather silly to agonize over his future in this melodramatic way.  And it was so dull to be almost constantly indoors.  Of course they must show proper respect for a death in the family, but heavens!  There was so little to do in a house that was not your own.  She thought longingly of her home in the Pennines – though it had been a year in their possession, there was still so much to do.  The garden would be full of weeds again by now, and the fruit ripening with no one to pick and preserve it.  Verity did not think it in the least odd that she, who had so little training or indeed interest in domestic lore, should suddenly be thinking with yearning of her still room and scullery.

The tea came and the ladies drank, finding little to say to each other for once.

“Francis and I are going home after the funeral is over,” announced Ellen suddenly.

“I thought Francis wanted to stay and help Underwood,” responded Verity in surprise, “He seemed quite adamant when we last spoke.”

“He was,” agreed Ellen, then added with a tight smile, “And I am equally adamant that I want to go home!”

“Since you have been brave enough to admit it,” said Adeline nervously, “I shall tell you that Jeremy has also promised that we can go back to Hanbury from London too.”

Verity was cast into a melancholy state by this mass desertion.  She had five minutes before been telling herself that she was rather tired of being forced into constant company with the same few people day after day, but the thought of being left without anyone at all was equally dreadful, “Must you go?” she asked softly.

“Yes, we must,” Ellen sounded hard, but it was because she could see how hurt her dear friend was, and she knew she must not allow herself to be swayed by sentiment.  She wanted to go home!  Verity must do as she thought fit, but it was true that the Lovell family were her kin now, and no relation to Ellen Herbert.