Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (11 page)

“If Mrs. Rogers does not object to the boy’s presence, I see no problem.”

“Why should she object?  It’s her own son, isn’t it?”  Gratten asked baldly, with genuine surprise.

“Do you not see that might be precisely why she would object?  Would you want your dead son in the house for four long days?”

“She doesn’t have to go into the game larder!”

Underwood could see he was never going to breach the thick skin of his companion, so with a resigned sigh, he blew out the now spent spill, “In the meantime, have you circulated a description of the items missing from Rogers’ person?”

“Indeed I have.  If that watch turns up in any pawn shop or jewellers within a radius of fifty miles, I shall get to know of it.  I am a man of widespread influence.”  This last was said with an air of pride which almost made Underwood smile.  Dear Gratten.  He ought to be a politician.

Presently the constable took his leave and Underwood made no attempt to delay him – indeed, he had been actively hoping that the arrival of the vicar and the tea things would not occur whilst the man was still present, thus forcing Underwood to play the dutiful host and offer refreshments.  He was more than ready for his tea, recalling with pain his unfinished lunch.

A message came from Dr. Russell.  He had called upon Mrs. Rogers to offer his condolences and had been invited to stay for dinner.  Now Underwood need only wait for his brother and tea could be served.  He looked in on Verity, but she still slept, her hair spread upon the pillow, and the flickering firelight lending her cheeks a healthy glow which Underwood could only hope was not an illusion.

As he came down the stairs the front door opened and Gil came in.  Unaware of his brother’s presence, he closed the door behind him, them slumped wearily against it, his whole demeanour confiding a despair which Underwood had never thought to witness in his younger sibling.  He was wet, completely drenched, as though he had been out in the rain since it had started, his hair plastered to his skull and dripping steadily onto the wooden floor, his trousers damp to the knee, and his shoes causing a rapidly widening puddle.  Underwood could not understand the reason for this spectacle, for Gil need never be caught in the rain.  Any household in town was open to him.  He need only knock on any one of a hundred doors to be hauled inside and lavished with refreshments and offers of carriage rides home.

“Gil?” he spoke softly, but Gil straightened himself as though he had heard a gun shot.  He looked up at his brother, saying nothing, but raking his fingers through his hair, pushing it impatiently off his forehead.

“Is there something wrong?”

Gil forced a smile, but even the insensitive Underwood could see the pain the effort caused him, “Not at all.  How is Verity?”

“Still sleeping.  What is it, Gil?”

“Is Dr. Russell here?”

“No, he’s having dinner with Mrs. Rogers.”

                Gil’s head dropped to his chest, “Thank God!”  he murmured fervently, “I don’t think I could have borne to make small talk over dinner.”

Underwood descended the last few stairs and crossed the hall, his eyes on Gil’s bent head, a slight frown creasing his brow.  He grasped his brother by the arm and was horrified to feel that his clothes were indeed sodden, “You must get out of these things, old fellow.  You’ll catch a chill.”

Gil gave a humourless laugh, “Do you think I care?  I must tell you, Chuffy, I always secretly despised you for losing your faith when Elinor was murdered.  I know you thought that if there was a God, he ought to have saved her.”

Underwood could not have been more shocked if the vicar had hit him full in the face.  These were things which had never been spoken of before, and for Gil to casually mention now the incident which had nearly brought him to the borders of desperation was astounding, and, he felt, more than a little cruel.  There was something behind all this, and he meant to find out what it was, “Come into the study.  There is a fire in there.”

“There is always a fire in the study, dear brother.  The clock in the hall always chimes the quarters; Mrs. Trent always brings tea at four o’clock.”

“Not today, she hasn’t,” said the pragmatic Underwood, “You are late.”

Gil shook off his hold, “I wish I was late.  The late Reverend Underwood – past pain, beyond despair!”  He laughed again, but the sound quickly dissolved into a sob.  Underwood, now thoroughly alarmed, grabbed both his shoulders and gave him a slight shake, “Tell me what is going on, Gil!”

“Catherine is dying.  It is not a quinsy, it is some sort of a growth.  The doctors can do nothing for her…”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, Underwood could find nothing to say.  He simply drew his brother into his embrace and let him weep as he had not wept since they were both young and had lost their father.

*

CHAPTER ELEVEN

(“Non Semper Erit Aestas” – It will not always be summer – be prepared for hard times)

Gil seemed a little calmer with a cup of tea in his hands, his soaking garments removed and replaced with his warmed dressing gown.  Underwood still observed him with concern, but the outbreak of raw misery had evidently passed.  True, his hands shook slightly as he raised the cup to his lips, and his hair was still damp, though now neatly combed, but the incident by the front door might never have taken place.

Unexpectedly he began to talk, to tell his brother exactly what had occurred, and though Underwood loved Gil, he found he had no desire to share his pain, feeling at that moment he had quite enough heartache of his own, but he did not have sufficient selfishness to stop him.  He knew the price of his love was going to be listening to every broken hearted word his brother spoke – and to live with the knowledge of the man’s agony.

“She looked so peaceful when I arrived, as though there were nothing untoward.  She has been so agitated these last few weeks, worrying about Alistair, fretful that our marriage was not going to be allowed.  I thought something wonderful must have happened, that her parents-in-law had ceased to object to our nuptials, perhaps.  She smiled so sweetly at me as I walked across the room, and held out her hand to me.  I took it and kissed it, waiting for her to speak, to tell me her good news.  She sent her companion away with a gesture – something she has never done before, and with so small a movement of her hand that I knew the signal must have been prearranged. We have never been alone in her bedroom, even though she has been so very unwell, for we were both aware that no hint of scandal must touch either of us, for the sake of our future together.”

He took a sip of his tea, then continued, “When we were alone, she asked me to sit on the bed beside her and I did so reluctantly.  As I observed her more closely, I noticed how very pale she is, her skin almost translucent, and how very difficult it is for her to speak, and swallow, even to breathe, so swollen is her throat.  I was suddenly overwhelmed by my love for her and I so far forgot myself to kiss her on the lips – when I raised my head she was weeping.  Then she told me what the doctors had said.”

He paused, too full of emotion to go on, and Underwood’s heart bled for him.  He knew, only too well, how his brother must be feeling.  With a huge effort Gil gathered himself together and went on, “Chuffy, she has asked me to marry her, now, then to bring her home here to die.  She wants me to raise her boy for her.”

This was unexpected and it was a few moments before Underwood could think how to respond, “That would be an enormous responsibility, Gil,” he said, carefully refraining from the appearance of offering advice.  This was something Gil must decide alone.

“I know it.”

“Are you going to agree?”

“Yes.”

“And the boy’s grandparents – how will you deal with them?”

“They shall be presented with a
fait accompli
.  I will not have Catherine distressed by them.  If they feel they want to fight for Alistair, they must do so, but it will be after Catherine’s … after Catherine has gone.  My position will be almost unassailable, I will be the boy’s step-father and legal guardian.”

Underwood rose to his feet and paced the room, “Very well.  You have my wholehearted support.  But what will the ceremony be, Catholic or Protestant?”

“Astounding as this may seem to you, Chuffy, just at this moment, I really don’t give a damn!  But I doubt there is a priest in the land who would perform the service, so I suppose Catherine will have to be married out of her faith, rather than I.”

“And you’re own situation?  The Bishop will not be pleased.”

“The Bishop can go to the devil!”

“I have always thought so.”

*

Toby poured two large glasses of brandy and joined Underwood by the kitchen fire, “We seem to be making a habit of these late-night meetings in Mrs. Trent’s kitchen,” he said, as he handed Underwood his drink then seated himself in the other chair – Underwood, as usual, had laid claim to the housekeeper’s rocker.

“Do you object to my encroaching on your time and territory?”  asked Underwood diffidently, only too aware that Toby had long since repaid any debt he might owe the family, yet still all the Underwoods demanded his time, his expertise, his loyalty and his affection.  Toby grinned, his beautiful teeth gleaming white in the firelight, “Good God, no!  It was merely an observation, not a complaint.  I’m sorry, by the way, I was not here to deal with your little problem.  You know I would rather be dragged by horses than see Mrs. Underwood distressed.  I should not have gone out of town, if my old sparring partner had not been milling in Westleigh.”

“Think nothing more about it, my friend.  God knows you deserve your free time more than most.  You are getting little enough liberty whilst this horror is going on.  I blame myself entirely.  I should have ensured Mrs. Trent knew not to let Verity open that parcel.  I was so sure it would all end with Rogers’ death, I allowed my guard to slip.  It was a fatal error – as I have learned to my cost – and Verity’s!”

“Nothing of the sort must occur again.  We must not assume that it was Rogers – and if it was, that he has not left more little surprises behind him.”

“Of course.  I should have known the boy was capable of anything.  But now we must face the next hurdle.  If Gil marries Catherine – and I see no reason to doubt his determination – then Verity and I must leave here.  Mistake me not, I’m fond of the girl, but if she really is as ill as my brother says, I cannot possibly let Verity know it – nor allow her to give birth here.  It is too macabre to even contemplate.”

Toby could see his point.  Verity would be devastated to know her friend was dying – and should that melancholy event occur at the same time as the birth of her baby – Toby did not want to think about the atmosphere which would prevail in the house.

“So, you are going to risk Windward House?”

“I see no other choice.  Gil would be appalled if he thought he was driving us out, but time would appear to be of the essence.  We must do nothing which will delay his marriage.  Unfortunately, for us to go anywhere but our own home, would be rather obvious.”

“So, the rats have been cleared from the cellar?”

“They have – well done, Toby!”  They exchanged a smile and raised a glass in silent toast to each other, then Underwood added hopefully, “Am I to presume that you have not changed your mind and still intend to join our household?”

“Oh, I think I can promise you my services for the foreseeable future.  Mrs. Underwood will be happily settled into motherhood, and will have nothing more to fear from mysterious men with unpleasant intentions, before I re-examine my career.”

“Thank you, my friend.  You can have no notion how much that comforts me.  I have never before faced a dilemma which could not be solved by cerebral means.  It is curiously frustrating to be so helpless.”

“Strangely enough, I do understand – I have never had a problem which could not be solved with my fists, but one cannot mill with the unknown and the unseen.”

*

A special license had been procured, Rev. Blackwell had been sent for and Gil had borrowed a suit of clothes from his bother.  Everyone was rather shocked to see him out of his usual dark, clerical garb, for he took his calling very seriously and rarely appeared in fashionable clothing.  But today he was a man and not a Minister.

He went into Verity’s room to receive her greetings and blessing, for Underwood had been adamant that she heed the doctor’s strictures and keep to her bed.  She was terribly upset to be missing the wedding, but knew her husband was right.  At this late stage she could not risk her child – and she would never, ever forgive herself if something were to go wrong now.

She held out her hands to her brother-in-law and when he took them she pulled him close and kissed him heartily on both cheeks, “Pray give my fondest love to your wife – when she becomes your wife.  I hope we will both be well enough to see each other soon.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Oh, Gil.  I must tell you how happy I am for you!  Catherine is such a sweet person, I am sincerely fond of her, and know she will make you the perfect wife.  I know you will be as happy as Cadmus and I – and before long you will have your own children to keep Alistair company.  This house will soon be alive with laughter."

Gil never knew how he managed to summon a smile to answer the happiness shining in Verity’s eyes, “Thank you, my dear.  Now I must leave, or I shall be late.  Goodbye dearest little sister.”

“Goodbye – and good luck!”

As he reached the door she called his name and he turned back.

“You look very handsome, Gilbert.”

Gil shrugged uncomfortably, then glanced down to take in the pale breeches, highly polished shoes, embroidered waistcoat, white starched cravat and blue superfine coat, “I feel damnably over-dressed, if you must have the truth,” he said with a rueful grin.  She laughed, “Never mind.  You can change the moment you are married – you would be the first man ever to do so.”

*

Catherine was staunch in her refusal to be married in her sick bed, so she had to be carried downstairs to the parlour.  Underwood performed this office for her, once her maid had dressed her in her best.  She had lost so much weight that her grey satin hung like a sack, but the light in her eyes more than made up for any deficiency.

Underwood left her in the charge of her son, who was looking very grown-up and serious, as befitted the man who was to give her away, whilst he went to see if the carriage was ready to take her on the short journey to church.

Presently she was carried down the aisle by Underwood, flanked by Alistair and Adeline Thornycroft, her matron of honour in the absence of Verity.  She was seated in a chair, and Gil took his place at her side.  Rev. Blackwell performed the service in his usual inimitable style and within a very short time, they were man and wife.

The serious part of the proceedings over, Gil bore his wife out of church, followed by their friends and the whole party made for the vicarage, where a stunning repast had been prepared by Mrs. Trent and various cronies.

The wedding breakfast had been laid in the dining room and Jeremy James lost no time in opening bottles of champagne to toast the happy couple.  Alas Catherine did not feel able to join her guests and quietly asked Gil to take her to her room.

Underwood saw his brother carry his wife out of the room and reflected sadly that it was not much of a way to celebrate a wedding.

All too easily Gil carried the bride up the stairs and entered his room with her.  She rested her weary head against his shoulder as the door closed behind them, “Gil, have I been horribly selfish to inflict this on you?”

He kissed her forehead, “We will have no regrets, my dear,” and then he laid her on the bed which had been his alone for so many months.

*

Thankfully Windward House was very nearly furnished, for Verity was certainly in no fit state to be directing a household.  She felt rather more unwell than she cared to admit and could only be grateful that their delayed move had meant that for weeks carts and carriers had been trundling along the little lane which led to her new home, slowly filling it with their treasures.

Underwood’s mother, having received his instructions some weeks previously, had lost no time in despatching his crates of books and the few pieces of furniture he possessed directly to Windward House.  Never a word of complaint would ever pass her lips, but she was heartily sick of having his paraphernalia cluttering her house.

Early on the morning after Gil’s wedding, Verity found herself being well-wrapped against the suddenly inclement weather, and bundled into Mrs. Trent’s brother-in-law’s carriage.  He was subjected to various strictures about how fast to go and how to avoid the pot-holes in the road by the worried husband, who warned him of the dire consequences should his very pregnant wife be jostled unnecessarily.  The threats of reprisal varied from a punch on the nose to the very real danger of having the task of delivering a baby on the highroad.  The phlegmatic Mr. Trent the elder listened carefully, then spat copiously and muttered, “She’ll have had the brat before we set off if you don’t get yourself inside, sir!”  Underwood was about to protest at the reference to his child as a ‘brat’, but wisely thought the better of it and climbed into the carriage.

Dr. Russell had been grudgingly invited to attend Gil’s nuptials, and though his presence was now thoroughly inconvenient to both his hosts, he was being surprising imperceptive to all hints regarding his departure.  Gil was inclined to be blunt with him, but Underwood still remembered him with great fondness and was soft-hearted enough to ask him to join the party heading for Windward House.  He went off in the first carriage with Toby, leaving Underwood and Gil and their respective wives to exchange their farewells and good wishes for the future.

The gallant Catherine had forced herself to rise from her marriage bed and stood on the step to wave her new sister-in-law on her way, determined that her friend she have no hint of how desperately ill she really was.  Verity was whisked away before she could witness the sight of the vicar’s wife sink into her husband’s arms and be carried indoors.