An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (6 page)

Consequently it was, on the whole, a happy band that set forth on the road from London to Brighton, weighed down as they were with all the paraphernalia needed to make life comfortable for the average noble family.  Underwood, who always felt he travelled extremely lightly, could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the over-stuffed trunks, band-boxes, valises, dressing cases, jewellery-boxes and lidded baskets which must accompany them to Brighton.  He was quite sure half of the stuff would never be unpacked and used, added to which, he felt that Brighton was so near – relatively speaking – that anything suddenly found to be missing could be fetched in half a day by a competent servant on a fast horse.

Still, he mused, with a shrug of his shoulders; it was nothing to do with him.  Let them put their servants through the work and inconvenience of struggling and straining for half an hour to secure a weighty trunk to the rear of a carriage.  He did not even have the grace to blush when he realized that the trunk actually belonged to himself and his wife, whose passions for writing, reading and painting had done nothing to lighten the load.

After what seemed like hours they set forth, Luisa and Peter sharing a carriage with the Underwoods.  Luisa was the only adult who was prepared to share a carriage with Horatia, who had grown steadily more spoiled as the wedding guests of the past few days had doted upon her.  As the engaging, though sometimes tiresome, child scrambled over the seats to be beside her current favourite Luisa, Verity thought wryly of the struggle she was going to have bringing her daughter back under control.  Underwood, typically, had no such concerns; when Horatia became too odious even for him, he simply melted away to his study and left her to Verity and Toby.  He very much wanted a sweet-tempered, charming little girl, upon whom everyone doted, but he certainly did not wish to experience the tussles and tantrums which were all too often the weary way to such civility.  Had she possessed the energy and the determination, Verity might have done worse than throw a few tantrums of her own, for the benefit of her rather selfish husband.

Surprisingly, the journey was accomplished with no mishaps.  Underwood had fully expected the loss of a wheel at the very least, or even a broken shaft, considering the weight being transported, but all was well.

Once installed in the house, there was a comfortable feeling of familiarity.  Having been in the company of the same group of people now for several days, the slight feeling of awkwardness attached to meeting anew was completely dispelled.

Verity was delighted to find that Toby had struck up a warm friendship with Luisa’s Giovanni and was happily preparing to spend his first evening off in some time, exploring the taverns of the town with his newly-acquired friend.  They made a strange, ill-assorted pair, but having both spent many years on the roads of Europe, Toby as a pugilist, Giovanni as an exhibit in a travelling fair, they had many similar experiences to share.  The other servants shunned them both, driving them even closer together, and Verity was immensely relieved to be rid of the burden of guilt she always carried where Toby was concerned.  He lived a peculiar life in many ways, reliant on the Underwoods for companionship, but actually having very little in common with them.  He held a position as a servant, but was regarded as a friend and he juggled both requirements with humour and great good nature.  How much he deserved this friendship with Giovanni and a little freedom from his obligations to the Underwood family.

Luisa took herself off to bed the moment they arrived, entirely oblivious of the hastily re-shuffled arrangements made for the unexpected addition of herself and her husband to the party.  Luckily the house was so huge that it merely required the opening and airing of another room by the long-suffering housekeeper.  Her blank faced acceptance of the new orders led Underwood to assume that a stoic demeanour was probably a very real necessity when one was employed by the aristocracy.

Of course, as brother and sister-in-law to the Earl, they must have the second-best room in the house, so unbeknownst to the rest of the guests; they were all dropped one notch in the hierarchy.  It would have made little difference to Underwood or Verity to know that they lost the added luxury of an adjoining dressing room to Lord and Lady Lovell.

At the onset of his marriage, Underwood had found the sudden loss of privacy in the bedroom somewhat disconcerting, but Verity was so painfully shy that he had been forced to lay aside his own feelings in order to put her at her ease, thus forgetting his own misgivings.  He now scarcely remembered a time when he had not dressed and shaved in her presence – indeed he and Verity enjoyed some of their more intimate conversations when they were alone in their room together.  This sounds obvious until it is recalled that their own home was not particularly large and quite over-run with servants and their child.  In short, they would not have cared to use a dressing room – it would have caused a painful and unnecessary parting.  Therefore the room they were given suited them well enough – and had the added advantage of having no adequate space for Horatia, who was sent to the third floor nursery, in the charge of a young maid, with the other children.  Where, it must be said, she was perfectly content.

As the sun set over the sea, casting a curious pink and orange glow over all the front rooms of the villa, the guests and hosts, with the exception of the children, who had eaten earlier, and the still unwell Luisa, met for dinner.

Verity was enchanted by the colours of the fading daylight and was most disappointed when the all too competent servants arrived with spills and diligently lit the scores of candles in both wall sconces and candelabrums.

The meal was quite as good as anything they had been served in London – perhaps even slightly better, for town food tended to be less than fresh, especially the eggs and milk.  Poor Horatia, used to warm, frothy cupfuls straight from the cow, had made a wry face and pushed away the London offerings, which was just a step away from sour, and Underwood had been taking his tea with lemon for over a week.

Later, a stroll along the seafront had completed their first day in Brighton.  A brief glance at the miracle of architecture which was the Pavilion assured the Underwoods that they were going to enjoy their sojourn very much, even without the comforting presence of Gil.

*

CHAPTER SIX

(“Sutor, Ne Supra Crepidam” – Cobbler, stick to your last)

Underwood never clearly understood what possessed him to accept an invitation to bathe in the sea the following morning.  It was a gauntlet thrown down by Peter at breakfast, in a spirit of pure mischief, and before he knew what he was about, he was clambering up the slimy wooden steps of a bathing machine and an impossibly large Amazon, with huge washerwoman arms folded across her ample bosom, was eyeing him with a relish that should have warned him he was not going to enjoy the experience.  He was quite happy to strip to his breeches, but when she grimly informed him that even these articles must be removed in order to gain full benefit from the sea plunge, he began to protest, “Madam!  No woman but my wife has ever seen me naked, and I intend to go to my grave unviewed by any other.”

“Your mother must have,” she responded blithely.

“She did – but mercifully she is the only one of us who retains a memory of the event.”

“Well, my fine baby, just think of me as your mother!”  With that, and with a dexterity which horrified him, she grasped the waist of his trousers and undid the first two buttons.  Seeing that he was either going to have to comply or literally fight her off, he sulkily turned his back and disrobed.

He almost lost his footing when the covered cart began to move, slowly but inexorably towards the sea edge, rolling alarmingly over the pebbles, and his trepidation grew when the softly splashing of the waves against the sides of his vehicle told him that they had now reached a sufficient depth for his ‘dip’.  He hardly expected that a ‘dip’ was exactly what it turned out to be.  The further door was opened by the woman and he peered cautiously out before taking his first step.  He had barely taken another when he found she was right behind him, so that any retreat was impossible.  The water was freezing, so much so that his feet seemed to immediately lose all sensation.

“I think that will be enough,” he said firmly.

Cruelly she knocked his feet from under him.  The water rushed up to meet him and he was able to take one hasty gasp of air before he was plunged beneath the waves.  He had the horrible sensation that things happened very, very slowly thereafter.  He seemed to be under the water for an eternity, fluid, weed and bubbles rushing past his face with a noise like distant thunder.  His lungs were bursting and his arms and legs flailed wildly, until he felt the hair on the top his head gripped in a vice-like clutch.  In complete panic he grabbed at the saving hands and found himself dragged to the surface.  She let him gasp and cough for a moment, then pushed him back under.  Underwood never forgot the torture of green water and fear; it haunted his dreams for weeks to come.  The stinging of the salt water in his eyes and nose, the pain in his chest as he struggled to breath, the chill which seemed to penetrate his very bones.  If he survived this he was going to kill Peter Lovell with his bare hands!

When it was over and his tormentor had pulled him up the steps, then rubbed him down with a vigour which ought to have been humiliating, but was curiously comforting after the ordeal, he was incredibly offended to find that he was supposed to present her with a gratuity.  With an ill grace which would be hard to match, he gave her a guinea.  Her eyes lit up, for even the Prince Regent (now the King) had never been so generous.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, with rather more warmth in her voice than had previously been the case.

Underwood ran his fingers through his wet hair to stop it from sending its rivulets of icy water into his eyes, “Make the best of that, my good woman, for it is the last penny you will ever have from me.  How the devil you people have the utter gall to claim this barbarity is good for one’s health, I do not know!”

“Well, and how are you feeling now, sir?”

“Never better.  I feel I have been delivered from the very jaws of death!”

“Invigorating, ain’t it?” she asked with a grin.

“Immensely.”

“There you are, then.  That’s got to be worth a guinea of anyone’s money.”

Underwood’s parting glare spoke volumes.

*

Verity was waiting for him to return so that she might hear if he felt the sea bathing might be beneficial to her.  One look at his thunderous expression made her want to giggle.

“I take it you have not enjoyed your dip, my dear?”

“Enjoyed it?  By God, I barely escaped with my life.  The damned woman stripped me naked and tried to drown me.”

“Why?  What on earth did you say to her?”

“What do you mean?  I didn’t say anything to her.”

“You must have offended her in some way to make her act thus!”

“You miss the point entirely, my dear.  Apparently that was what she was supposed to do.”

“Oh?  Then why are you complaining?”

Fortunately, since Underwood was now thoroughly confused and without a response, the front door opened to admit Lovell and Dr. Herbert, who had also taken a bathe, but who had evidently enjoyed it much more than their companion.  They were laughing and chatting loudly, none the worse for their ordeal – on the contrary they both seemed to be in lively spirits.  To be fair, they both had an advantage over Underwood; Peter had been visiting Brighton since he was a boy and Francis had spent his youth bathing in the freezing waters of the Pennines, followed, in his University years, by sojourns in the Scottish Highlands - he thought the seas of Brighton were pleasantly warm.

Underwood turned from them in disgust and suddenly became aware of Luisa’s manservant Giovanni standing patiently by the door which led to below stairs.  He had appeared with a silence that was curiously unnerving and Underwood found himself studying the impassive face with interest.  Finding himself observed, Giovanni turned his attention away from his master and met Underwood’s eyes with a coldly uninterested stare, which was neither subservient nor friendly.

“Good morning, Giovanni.  How is your mistress this fine day?”  Underwood found himself asking, almost as though to placate the dwarf.

“
Male
!” growled the man, “She is still full of sickness.  I think she should have
Signor Dottore.”

Underwood turned back to Francis; “Do you hear that, old friend?  Lady Luisa stands in need of a doctor.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he remarked, then spoke directly to Peter, “With your permission, Lord Peter?”

Lord Peter shrugged, “Do what you think best – I’m sure it is a fuss over nothing, but if Giovanni speaks, then it is on behalf of his mistress, and she will not be denied.”

Francis followed the servant upstairs, and Underwood and Verity repaired to the parlour to order tea.  Peter hovered in the hall, not sure whether to go to his wife, or stay away, but hearing the voices of the Earl, the Countess, Adeline and Jeremy in the parlour, he joined them.  He had no wish to disturb the doctor at his work, nor to witness his wife’s continuing distress.

Tea had been ordered and served by the time Francis rejoined his hosts and fellow guests.  His face bore a broad smile and it was this more than anything else that drew the attention of the gathering to him.  It was not an expression they were accustomed to seeing on the face of a doctor who had just seen an ailing patient.

“Well, I’m delighted to be able to inform you all that the reason for Luisa’s illness has just become apparent.”  He held out his hand to Peter, who automatically responded, but still looked mystified, “My dear fellow, congratulations!  Your child should be born in the spring.”

Peter said nothing.  He merely stared in disbelief, until Francis released his hand and slapped him on the shoulder; “Do you have nothing to say, Lord Peter?  Your wife is to have a baby.”

The ladies gave way to a display of joy, which successfully hid the fact that Peter had made no answer.  They must, of course, go to Luisa immediately and give her the benefit of their advice.  Now that they knew what ailed her, they had a dozen sovereign remedies and would soon have her on her feet.  They left the room en-masse, leaving the men to share an awkward silence, until Underwood forced himself to mention the unmentionable.

“Well done, my friend.  You will now find that your life will never be the same again, but for all that, there is no feeling like holding your own child in your arms.”

The Earl, as though woken from a trance, crossed the room and took his brother in an embrace the like of which they had not shared for years – probably decades.

“My dear Peter.  I’m very happy for you – and for Luisa, of course. Anything you need, anything at all, you have only to say the word.”

“Thank you, but I think we have everything.”  He gently withdrew himself from his brother’s arms, his face still expressionless, “I must speak to Luisa…” He trailed off, then walked out of the room.

Underwood and Francis exchanged a glance; “Do you have anything to treat shock?” murmured Underwood.

“He did not seem particularly happy, did he?”

“He did not, but as I recall, my own emotions were not dissimilar when I heard of Horatia’s advent.”

“That is a vast understatement,” remarked Jeremy unkindly.  Underwood threw him a quelling look.

“I don’t suppose there is a man alive who ever expects to hear the news that he is to be a father,” said the Earl thoughtfully, “It should never be a surprise, but it invariably is.”

“Very true.”

“What really worries me is how Trentham is going to receive the news.  He has been circumspect since Gil had words with him, but I know the boy, and nothing has really changed for him where Luisa is concerned.  I wish to God Peter could have had this news sooner.  If we had known her illness was mere morning sickness, she could have taken the boat to the Continent with Cara and Gil.”

Both Underwood and Francis could see that the Earl was genuinely distressed and Francis felt bound to offer some words of comfort, “My dear sir, this is very probably the best thing that could have happened.  Trentham will now be forced to see things as they really are.  Nothing cements a marriage like the birth of a child.  Luisa can never now be seen as anything other than Peter’s wife.  Any hope the boy might have had of eloping with her, or that she might dissolve her contract of marriage must now surely be dead.”

“I hope to God you are right!

*

The ladies were all gathered about the bed, but when the husband appeared in the doorway of the room, they melted away like the morning mist.  There was something forbidding about his whole demeanour, which firmly quashed any pretension to congratulating him, or wishing him well.

Luisa was left to face her Lord and master alone.  She was so overwhelmed by the joyous news that at first she did not notice his own stiffly formal stance.  With Latin impetuosity she held out both her hands to him, “Caro mio!  Pietro, my own love, has the doctor told you?”

“He has.”

When he did not take her hands, nor one step towards her, she faltered a little in her happiness, “But, my dearest, what is wrong?  You cannot be angry that we are to have a child.”

“Surprised, merely.  I find it astounding that for the past twenty-five years I have had mistress after mistress and never once did a child result from these liaisons!  I have long believed myself to be incapable of fathering a child, so the question that haunts me now is; who is the father if I am not?”

The blood rushed into her cheeks, then as swiftly faded away, “Pietro!  Do not be cruel.  You know there is no one in my life but you.”

“Then how do you explain this mystery?”

“I do not know.  Perhaps those other women used some trick to prevent the birth of children.”

“Ah!  If only life were so easy.  If women knew how to prevent it, do you think there would be an illegitimate child ever born?”

Weak and unwell as she still was, she began to cry, “I don’t know, I don’t know!  I only know that I love you and I have never been untrue.  The baby is yours, my darling.  Please believe me!”

“I have never wanted to believe anything more – but I cannot.”  With that he left her, sobbing bitterly.

Verity was passing her door on her way to her own room for her parasol and heard the sounds of distress.  She hesitated, aware that Luisa was a creature of passionate feelings, who might merely be indulging in a fit of the sullens and would not welcome her intervention, but there was something so heartrending about the weeping that she could not go on.  She knocked gently and pushed open the door.

Luisa was lying face down on the pillows, her shoulders heaving with the strength of her sobs, entirely unaware that she was not alone.  Verity had to speak gently to her before she ceased her crying and lifted a ravaged face towards the door,

“Dear Verity, thank God it is you!  Close the door, I cannot bear the others to see me like this.”

Verity slipped into the room and obediently shut out the rest of the house.  She went to her friend’s side and took her hand, “My dear!  What on earth has happened to make you so upset?”

“It is Pietro!  I did not know he could hate me so.”

“Hate you?  No, no!  He loves you very much.”