An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (25 page)

  “What made you look again, when all seemed settled?”

  “The circumstance of the locked room.  It is manifestly impossible that there could have been any person in that room other than Luisa and Peter Lovell.”

  “But you yourself described how the room could have been secured after the murderer left!”

  “Mere theorising!  Simply because I have said it, does not mean that it is true!  These things are simply brain fodder for me!  I spend half my life thinking – and very little of it doing!  Ask Verity if I am not the least practical man she has ever had the misfortune to encounter!”

  “And why do you think Giovanni admitted his guilt to Toby?”

  “To protect his daughter, naturally!  He did not want her to carry the burden of guilt which a suicide usually engenders in those who are left behind!  He did not wish her to spend the rest of her life wondering if there was not something she could have said or done to stop Peter killing himself!  I suspect it was her announcement of pregnancy which tipped him over the edge – would you wish a child of yours to know that she had caused a man such despair that he slit his own throat?”

  “Certainly not – but she has that burden now, if you insist upon this story being presented to the coroner!”

  “That is unfortunate – but one cannot hide the truth merely for the convenience of others!”

              Grantley gave a bark of cynical laughter, “That is precious, coming from a man who has just told me the veriest fairytale!”

              Underwood placed his hands on the desk between them and leaned forward so that Grantley could better hear his softly spoken words, “My dear fellow, I am doing what is best for all!  Peter’s suicide is no less of a fairytale than the unlikely circumstance of Giovanni – a dwarf! – managing to slash the throat of a man twice his height, then leaving a locked room behind him when he escaped!  If you have the sense you were born with, you will accept that Peter Lovell slit his own throat whilst the balance of his mind was disturbed.”

  “But I know it is not true,” protested Grantley, almost under his breath.

  “You know nothing of the kind!  You imagine much, but the only solid piece of evidence you have is in your hands at this very moment!  Words hold no sway in a court of law!  They are as air, once spoken they disappear!  A bloodstained razor will be there forever.  Accept it with my compliments and save yourself the embarrassment of a trial which will see every single member of the Lovell family and its retainers deny the very existence of Giovanni Donati!”

              Grantley looked down at the razor once more, “Thank you for your aid, Mr. Underwood.  I imagine it will be quite acceptable for you to leave Brighton in the next few days.  In the light of this new evidence, the coroner will probably close the case quietly.  The Earl, after all, is a powerful man.”

  “Then I will, for the moment, bid you farewell, but allow me to leave you my card.  Lady Luisa desires to take the country air and will be residing with Mrs. Underwood and myself until her baby is born.  May I extend our hospitality to you, should you ever venture as far as the Pennines?”

              Grantley looked at him for a long time before he said, “I have long had a desire to explore the North.  I should not be at all surprised if I found myself travelling in the vicinity during the next few months.”

  “Then I will look forward to seeing you in due course.  Goodbye, Grantley.  It has been a pleasure and a privilege working with you – and I am truly delighted that the case has been satisfactorily resolved.”

*

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

(“Donec Eris Felix, Multos Numerabis Amicos” – When one is successful, everyone is a friend)

Underwood never imagined he could be so relieved to see the blue haze of the Pennines in the distance.  The journey home had been a nightmare with an excited very-nearly two-year-old and a severely nauseous pregnant woman.  They seemed to have had to crawl along at a snail’s pace and stop every half-hour for Luisa to vomit or Horatia to relieve herself.

But it was none of those things which made the arrival so sweet – it was just that it was a homecoming.  It was a
real
homecoming.  Until two years before he had never possessed his own four walls, and this was the first time he had returned to them after a protracted absence.

The air suddenly smelled of freedom.

One glance at his wife, with her pink cheeks and shining eyes, told him she felt exactly the same way.  Beneath the cover of his cape coat, he gripped her hand and she smiled at him, “Almost there, my love!”

Thankfully Underwood had thought to send word to Adeline Thornycroft that the servants could prepare the house for the advent of the Master and Mistress, therefore as their vehicle rumbled up the lane, they could see that smoke curled lazily from the chimney and the windows stood open to the evening breeze.

Nothing had changed in their absence; each chair stood in its accustomed place, each book emanated its own faint mustiness, the odour, not of sanctity but erudition.  Each member of the family rushed to his or her own particular favourite spot – Horatia to her nursery and her rocking horse, Underwood to his study and his books, Verity to her studio and her paints and easel.

Mrs. Trent, the housekeeper, was in her element, having a Lady to care for – and one expecting a baby at that.  Luisa gave herself up to rigorous pampering; such as she had not known since her mother had died years before.

Early next morning, unable to resist the lure of hearing the end of the saga, Major Thornycroft and Adeline called on the Underwoods, not caring that their hosts were still sitting at the breakfast table, having slept rather late after the vagaries of their journey.  Luisa had not joined them, having been ordered to stay in bed until noon by the solicitous Mrs. Trent.

Thornycroft wheeled his chair noisily across the wooden floors, which groaned in protest at the unaccustomed abuse, “Well met, Underwood – and sweet Verity!  We have come to exchange gossip.  Tell us how the noble Lord Peter was avenged, and we will relate all that has occurred in the pump-rooms since your departure.”

“Lord Peter was found to have taken his own life,” supplied Underwood tersely, “No doubt the circumstances will be reported in the newspapers in due course – unless William Lovell really does hold the whip-hand with the press.”

                Thornycroft looked suitably shocked, “Poppycock!” he spluttered, at length, “It cannot be so.  What of all your brilliant theorising, Underwood?  Never tell me that for once in your life you were actually wrong about something?”

“It would appear so,” said Underwood mildly, helping himself to a generous portion of devilled kidney, “A salutary lesson for us all, Jeremy, it would seem that the great mind of Underwood is not infallible!”

                Verity was finding a chair for her young friend whilst this exchange was taking place, now she poured tea and chastised Thornycroft in the same instant, “Really, Jeremy James!  Do not be so unkind.  Poor Underwood was devastated to find his solution to be the wrong one.  Pray show a little compassion.  You can have no notion how bruised his poor ego has become over the past few days.” 

Underwood raised an eloquent eyebrow, “My dear Verity, the Major is quite capable of mocking me on his own account – he needs no help from you!”

Verity began to giggle helplessly, “I’m so sorry, my dear one, I could not resist the temptation to join in!  Jeremy always knows exactly what to say to make you cross.”

“An enviable talent, no doubt!”

He accepted a cup of tea from his wife, then returned his attention to the Major, “You promised a store of gossip!  What has been happening in Hanbury during our sojourn in Brighton?”

“The Bevan Brothers are in town,” said Thornycroft gloomily, “That should be enough to terrify anyone!”

“Who the devil are the Bevan brothers?” asked Underwood, completely mystified, never having heard the name before.

“Two young charmers who are sent on a regular basis to rusticate with their grandfather when they become too much even for Oxford to hold!  The last time they were here they released a donkey in the pump-rooms and set fire to the stables of my favourite hostelry.”

“They also loosened the wheels of Jeremy’s chair when he was rather the worse for wear one evening.  He didn’t notice until he came to an abrupt and shuddering halt in the street, but his wheels did not!  They rattled down the high street on their own, only to be caught by the whooping Bevans, who played hoop and stick with them before losing them in the river,”  inserted Adeline, in her quiet way, smiling softly at her wayward husband.

Underwood tried hard not to show he was laughing, but his lips twitched in a deplorably childish manner, “Reprehensible!” he murmured.  Jeremy glared suspiciously at him, but the older man presented a face devoid of all expression.

“If the young devils come near my chair again, you’ll be investigating another murder, my friend,” he fulminated.

“By God, don’t wish that upon me,” said Underwood, in heartfelt tones, “I think I can promise that this last episode has entirely cured me of my desire to interfere in the affairs of others.  I fully intend to become a respectable country gentleman.  Now that Gil has taken the position of Rural Dean, I really ought to behave with a great deal more decorum than I have previously displayed.”

“I will believe in your conversion when I have seen evidence of it,” asserted Jeremy James baldly, “Speaking of Gil, where are he and Cara going to live now that he is on the rise?”

“Here in Hanbury, oddly enough.  The Pennines are going to be his own particular patch.  He will continue to act as vicar here in town – and I must say I am immensely relieved.  The thought of having to listen to any other sermoniser than Gil was horrifying!  At least he doesn’t take offence when I fall asleep.”

“He takes great offence,” intercepted Verity, “He is simply too nice a man to remonstrate with you!”

Underwood shrugged, “If you say so,” he murmured long-sufferingly.

*

Very soon the Underwoods fell back into their old ways until it almost seemed they had never been away at all.  Verity painted – mostly her daughter and Luisa.  Underwood wrote – not a fusty text-book on this occasion, but a stirring romance, which Verity laughingly told him he would have to publish under a lady’s name, for no one would believe a Cambridge scholar could pen such stuff.

Luisa was soon as much a member of the family as Cara and the two brothers and their families spent much of their time together, dining with each other and with mutual friends, visiting the pump-rooms, attending the theatre and the assembly balls.  Luisa had never been more content.  Slowly the pain of losing Peter faded, for once out of his thrall, she realised that her devotion had indeed been half infatuation and half fear – a heady combination for a young woman who had only ever known total adoration from her followers before.  If Peter had seemed different, it was because he had been – very different!  With all her other lovers she had been the mistress, they the slaves – but Peter had been a strong man with forceful manners, and it had been a relief, for a short while at least, to be the one who followed and not the one who lead.

Gradually her morning sickness ceased and she became as plump and stoic as an old fat hen.  Underwood often teased her that she would have to have an entire new wardrobe, for when the baby was born, she would never return to her previous slender figure – she would be like every other Opera singer he had ever known – large of body and booming of voice.

Several weeks after their return, Francis and Ellen Herbert arrived in Hanbury for a visit, staying at the vicarage with Gil and Cara, since the guest room at Windward House was taken by Luisa.  The occasion warranted some boyish behaviour from the staid husbands and they took themselves off for a day of revelry – planned, of course, by Major Thornycroft and the Wablers, beginning with a day at the races and ending with a bachelor dinner and much drink at the White Hart.

The ladies retaliated by spending their day shopping, followed by afternoon tea, during which much gossip was exchanged.  As they delicately ate their bread-and-butter and admired each other’s purchases, Adeline spoke, so softly that she barely made herself heard at first, until what she had to say claimed all their attention.

“I cannot hope to keep my news a secret, for now I have told Jeremy, the other gentlemen will know before nightfall, so I will tell you all now…” she hesitated, but prompted by the chorus of, “What is it? Addie do tell!” she continued, blushing, “I am going to have a baby…”

Verity looked at her, open-mouthed with astonishment, “How very odd.  I too was planning to make the very same announcement.  Underwood is very full of himself at the news.”

Cara began to laugh, “Oh dear, poor Gil, to have his thunder stolen by his brother, once again!”

They turned to her in amazement, “Not you, too, dearest Cara?”

“I am happy to say, yes!”

“It must be the air in Brighton,” said Ellen, with a smile, “Francis is hoping for another boy.”

“Oh, dear Lord!” said Lady Hartley-Wells, the only one of the group past childbearing age – and without a husband, “Thank heavens I did not go to Brighton.  I dread to think what might have happened to me!”

With much laughter they exchanged hugs and kisses and declared their congratulations to each other.  Luisa and Cara found a moment alone in the general melee to exchange private words of affection, “My dearest Cara, I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear your news.  Gil must be so pleased.”

“He is delighted – as I am, to have made him so happy.  He adores Alistair, but it is not quite the same as one’s own child.  You must feel that, knowing you have something left of Peter.”

“I do, but sometimes my heart aches for home!  You know I love you, Cara, and the Underwoods could not have been kinder or sweeter, but I want my own home, my own hearth – and my husband by my side when I have his baby.  Sometimes I think my heart will break for this misery.”

Cara placed a comforting arm about her aunt’s shoulder, “You will be happy again, Luisa, I know it.  When you have your baby in your arms, everything will be right with the world.”

“I hope so, but just now the years stretch before me, long and dreary with loneliness.  I cannot bear it!  Italian women were not created to be without a man.”

Cara, looking at the face which had bewitched her uncle into actions which bordered upon the insane, did not think that Luisa need worry too much about being alone – even as a widow with a child she was enchanting!

*

Luisa, after a short labour, was delivered of a boy, and as she looked into his little face, so reminiscent of the father who had tried to deny him, she was torn between unbearable happiness and abject misery.  Now she would never go home to Italy – or if she did, she must leave this precious child behind her – and that was unthinkable.

She seemed to grow very low in spirit after the birth, and though Verity tried everything she could to cheer her, nothing seemed to work.

Young Peter Lovell was two weeks old when Luisa, seated in the warm, cosy parlour, lifted her head at the sound of the front door knocker.  Presently Verity looked around the edge of the door, “You have a visitor, Luisa – do you feel you would like to see him?”

“Him?  Who is it?  Not the
dottore
!  I have seen enough of him.”

“Not the doctor, my dear, though if you do not eat more, he shall be summoned.”

She went away and when the door opened again, it was to admit Mr. Grantley. 

Luisa allowed herself to be betrayed into showing her astonishment, then hastily regained her wits, “Sir, I had not thought to see you here,”

“Do I intrude?  Shall I go away again?”

“No!” she said swiftly, then added, “It would be unmannerly of me to send you away without even the offer of tea.  These English and their tea, I think it is horrid stuff!  But they behave as though it is the nectar of the Gods.”

He laughed softly, “I see you have been delivered – a son, I understand,” he said, after a momentary hesitation, “Lord Peter would have been proud.”

“I wonder if he would,” she said sadly.

“Is all well with him?” he asked, partly to distract her, partly because his entire journey had been made miserable by the thought that she might have to suffer the consequences of bearing an imperfect child in an English nobleman’s family.  The gentry had an uncomfortable habit of condemning their black sheep to lifelong isolation.  He hated to think that the Earl might very well succeed in sending her to live in the wilds of Scotland with her dwarf son, until she was all but forgotten by society.

“He is perfect!  See for yourself,” with that she offered the baby to him, allowing the shawl in which he was wrapped to fall away from his head and exposing him to Grantley’s gaze.  The child stirred irritably at being disturbed and chilled in the same moment and Grantley smiled as he took one of the tiny, waving fists between his finger and thumb, “He’s a fine boy.  What have you called him?”