Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (14 page)

It was with great relief that she heard her husband’s voice downstairs.  The room in which she lay had become her world, and what happened beyond its confines might just as well be another country for all she knew of it.  She was forced to lie, hour after hour, straining her ears to hear what was going on in the rest of the house.  She found herself almost praying that Underwood would come upstairs to see her before he did anything else.  She knew he must be hungry, and that everyone in the house would want his attention, gathering about him, clamouring, demanding his news, and it would be all too easy for him to satisfy the frustrations of those who were visible, rather than her own silent, patient self, hidden from his view.

She almost burst into tears when she heard his steady tread upon the stairs, and his beloved voice, infinitely kind, but firm, “You shall hear all the gossip from town presently, but first I must see my wife.”

When he walked through the door and was greeted with a smile which hailed him as a hero and a god combined, he knew why he had married her.  No man could resist knowing that in the eyes of at least one woman, he was Nelson, Romeo and Zeus combined!

“How goes it?” he asked, taking her outstretched hand.

“Well enough, but mayn’t I please get out of bed?  I’m so tired of lying here!”

“Not until you have presented me with a healthy child,” he told her teasingly, “I’m informed your wifely duties demand nothing less.”

“But I feel much better.”

“No doubt – but on this I am unwavering.”

“Beast!”  she said lovingly.  He grinned, suddenly boyish, “By Jupiter, Verity, I think that is the first time in our marriage that I have issued an order which you have meekly agreed to obey.  So this is how it feels to be master in my own house.  I may grow accustomed to the notion.  When you finally rise from your couch, you may find you have a martinet for a husband.”

She was about to retort that she was the most dutiful of wives, and that she apparently already had an ogre for a husband, when a loud hammering on the front door was followed swiftly by a well-known voice raucously greeting Toby, “Is this the residence of that old rogue, Underwood?  Tell the man he has a guest.”

They exchanged a delighted glance, “Francis Herbert!”

Underwood was across the room and opening the door in a moment, then Verity heard him calling over the banister, “You old scoundrel, Francis!  Where the devil have you been?  We have been chasing you around Scotland for days.”

“Can I help it if your constable can’t keep law and order?  Another murder, Underwood?  Are you jinxed – or merely insatiably curious?”

“A little of both, I suspect.  Come up.  Verity is confined to bed, but she will want to see you immediately.”

“Don’t tell me the baby is born?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why the bed rest?”  He had, by this time, reached the top of the stairs and the two men entered the bedroom together.

“It is a long and complicated tale,” said Underwood, with a dismissive gesture.  He had no intention of discussing the matter before his wife, and reliving the appalling events of the past few weeks.  Francis, always intuitive, immediately changed the subject, “My dearest girl, you are blossoming.”

“Is that a polite way of saying you have never seen me so plump?” asked Verity, with a delighted smile.

“Of course.  Never let it be said I was not gentleman enough to lie to a woman about how enormous she has grown.”

She threw a pillow across the room at him, “You horrid man!  I shall write to Ellen and tell her what an abominable creature she married.”

“She knows.  And I may add, I am not in favour with her at the moment as it is.  I have come straight from Edinburgh, without first going home, because this fool you married has made an urgent case of a solved crime.”

“Oh dear,” said Underwood, with mock contrition, “You’ve heard they made an arrest?”

“I heard.  The whole of Hanbury can talk of nothing else.”

“Gratten and I would still like your opinion, Francis.  There is something not quite right here – I feel it in my bones.”

“God grant me the strength to deal with you and your bones,” was the exasperated reply.

*

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

(“Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam” – Where there’s a will, there’s a way)

It proved to be rather a large group of people who gathered to meet the new heir to Hanbury Manor.  Underwood found himself accompanied by doctors Herbert and Russell – the latter was an old friend of Mrs. Rogers, the former wished to make sure for himself that the lady had no objection to his performing an autopsy on her son. 

On their arrival they were greeted by Mr. Gratten, his wife and Lady Cara Lovell, who, it transpired, had known young Rogers in London during the previous two seasons.  He had actually tried to interest her in marriage, but the young woman had met enough fortune hunters to recognize the breed instantly.  Without ever having had the slightest intention of taking his flamboyant attentions seriously, she had found the boy, who had always endeavoured to show her his best side, intensely amusing, and she had grown fond of his mother.

For her part, Mrs Rogers had begun to feel rather overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of professional men who were to be seated at her table, and had been only too glad to accept Lady Cara’s offer of moral support and companionship – how was she to guess that the young lady had another reason for her altruism?  Cara had wanted to see Underwood again.  She still had no idea he was married and her curiosity had been piqued that he should so studiously ignore her.  Nothing in her past experience had prepared her for the advent of a man who showed no interest in pursuing her.  She was utterly confused and bewitched by him.  Her instincts told her that he liked her; when they had met there had been a spark between them which was undeniable – but once they parted he seemed to completely forget her existence.  It was for this reason that she refrained from asking questions about him.  She longed to quiz Mrs. Rogers, and the other ladies she had met at the pump-rooms, the library, over teas and at dinners and the dances she regularly attended, but she was afraid news of her interest in him would filter back to him – and how that would feed his overweening ego.  No, she would not suffer the utter mortification of knowing he had heard of her intense interest in him.  He was evidently playing some sort of a game with her for his own amusement – well, two could play such games!

It was therefore with a friendly smile, but no hint of the true excitement and anticipation she felt at the touch of his hand and the sight of his face, that she greeted him.  To all those who observed her, her behaviour was precisely as it should have been towards a married man, so it occurred to no one to warn her that she was hurtling headlong towards a broken heart.

All those hidden emotions aside, the real reason for the dinner party proved to be something of an anti-climax.  Richard Wyndham-Rogers was a smallish man, thin and bespectacled, slightly balding and wholly boring.  Underwood could think of no one less likely to kill a rival for a property.  Any hope of saving Carter by laying the blame at the door of an ambitious cousin who coveted Hanbury Manor to the point of violence evaporated as he shook the limp hand.

“Your fame goes before you, Mr. Underwood.  I have heard much of your exploits.  I was in court, you know, for the trial of Gedney and his wife.”

“You are a lawyer, sir?” asked Underwood in surprise.  He could not imagine this mild little fellow having the incisive wit to cross-examine, to question, and to wrench the truth from reluctant lips in a court of law.

Wyndham-Rogers laughed pleasantly, “Good Lord, no!  I do not follow any profession.  I am a man of independent means, as the expression goes.  Hanbury Manor will be my third inheritance in as many years.  Our family has been singularly unfortunate in losing its members in early life.”

Underwood’s interest was instantly reawakened.  Perhaps there was more to this man than was evident in his outward appearance.  For three previous relatives to die, conveniently allowing him to inherit was surely more than mere coincidence?

“Unfortunate indeed!  Were the other two deaths due to illness or accidents?”

Dr. Herbert grinned wickedly, “My dear Underwood, what a leading question.  You surely do not expect a man who makes a hobby of attending murder trials to answer you?”

Wyndham-Rogers smiled at the doctor, but the expression was neither warm nor friendly, “I would not exactly call it a hobby, doctor, but I do occasionally attend sessions, if the subject of the case interests me.  Gedney, I must own, I found utterly fascinating.  His bravado at the end was rather surprising.  He had given the impression throughout of being a rapscallion of the worst sort – and what was even more unsavoury, a coward!  If he could have laid the entire blame on his wife, he would most certainly have done so, but Underwood’s evidence took care that he could not.  When he faced the Judge, the black cloth on his head, Gedney merely cursed him, refusing to show any sign of remorse, and swearing to die like a man.  I might add that he did not do so, at the end.  His struggling and weeping on the scaffold was unworthy, but the intention was there.”

Underwood was stunned and appalled, “You attended the hanging?”

“I did – and I fully intend to view the gibbet when Gedney’s remains are placed in it.  He is, of course, to be dissected by the surgeons first.”

Francis glanced worriedly at his friend, for he knew these morbid details could have nothing but a detrimental effect upon Underwood – the man who had been instrumental in sending Gedney to the gallows – but he could see no way of cutting short the conversation without making Underwood’s distress and horror obvious to all who heard.

“Mrs. Gedney was transported for her part in the affair, was she not?”  he asked, hoping that Underwood might draw some comfort from the memory that only one life was lost on that occasion.

“She was, but that seemed to give her small comfort.  Her impassioned pleas for mercy and her begging not to be parted from her child were quite heart-rending.  One had to force oneself to recall that she had aided her husband in poisoning her own mother.”

“Oh God!” gasped Underwood, his face as white as parchment. 

Lady Cara, covertly observing him from across the room, witnessed his distress and resolved to rescue him, no matter what the cost to her reputation or her pride.  She had taken no part in the discussion and indeed had heard nothing of it but Underwood’s anguished cry, but that was enough to convince her that he needed help – and swiftly.

Before he knew what was happening, Underwood found himself being drawn away by her pale hand upon his sleeve, “Gentlemen, pray forgive the intrusion, but I simply must hear the latest gossip from Mr. Underwood.  Having a cleric in the family provides access to all the most scandalous titbits.  Come Mr. Underwood, you shall regale me before dinner – for I refuse to share any juicy tales with anyone else.”

Underwood was only too willing to allow himself to be led to a window embrasure which contained a spindly-legged settee, anything to escape from the horrors recounted by Wyndham-Rogers.

“I hope you can forgive me for that, Mr. Underwood?”

He took a deep breath and regained control of himself with some difficulty,

“Forgive you?  My dear girl, I am forever in your debt!  I think if I had had to listen to one more word from that ghoulish little man, I swear I should have disgraced myself by striking him.”  He managed a smile, but it was tremulous and she realized he was far more deeply affected than he was pretending.

“I am, of course, incorrigibly curious, but I cannot imagine what Mr. Wyndham-Rogers found to say which could cause you such annoyance.”

“Not annoyance, horror and disgust!  What the devil drives a man to want to attend a public hanging?  I can think of nothing more barbaric, more… No, I refuse to dwell any further on the subject.  Pray divert me, Cara, if you have an ounce of compassion.”

She noticed his use of her name and her heart gave a happy little skip.  In these circumstances, she was only too happy to oblige, “Avenging Rogers is taking up all your time, Mr. Underwood.  I have not seen you in the Pump-rooms for days and days.  You have been missing a great deal of amusement.  Major Thornycroft is behaving with more than his usual insanity, and poor Adeline is at her wit’s end!” 

“What is he doing now?”

“His new saddle is finished.  It is a strange looking contraption, but it seems to work.  A basket seat has been specially woven and fixed to a saddle.  His thighs fit into leather strapping to hold him upright.  He must be in agony, but he is determined to use it.  Once the others have lifted him up and strapped him in, he has to guide the horse using the reins only, for he has not the strength yet to use the grip of his legs.  I think Adeline is beginning to regret the whole enterprise.  She told me that the stumps of his legs were blistered and bleeding after the first session, but he refuses to give up.  She is really terrified what will happen if the horse stumbles, because he cannot easily get himself out of the saddle.  I suppose it is similar to a side-saddle for a woman.  I know from experience how a fall from one of those feels.  The bruises defied belief!”

Underwood smiled, “Poor Adeline.  I would perhaps be better for her if she did not adore Thornycroft quite so much.  He has been attempting to send himself to perdition since the day his legs were severed.”

“You would imagine that the possession of a lovely young wife and a daughter would give him a reason to live,” suggested Cara tentatively, wanting desperately to know his opinion of the prospect of a wife and child.

“Family responsibility has gone some way towards calming him, but I don’t think he will ever entirely accept that he is not the man he once was – and of course, the child is not his own flesh and blood, nor Adeline’s.  She is an … orphan.”  He hesitated over the last word, for Melissa was the child of the murderous Gedneys.  Cara had tried her best to divert him, but all unknowing had raised the spectre of guilt in his breast yet again.

“I had no idea,” she continued, unaware that she had struck an unpleasant chord, “But then I know so little about anyone here.  You all seem very intimate with each other.”

“I suppose we are, but it is a small place when compared with London, or even Manchester.  And though there are entertainments here, they tend to be sporadic and we are forced into each other’s company rather more than would be the case elsewhere.”

“I find it very curious that should enjoy life here, Mr. Underwood.  I should have thought you would find it stultifying, to say the least.”

He raised a quizzical brow, “Stultifying?  Harsh words my Lady!  Are we to assume that it will not be very long before you are forsaking us for the rather more edifying atmosphere of our capital city?”

She blushed slightly, sensing the edge of sarcasm behind his jocular words              “Not at all.  Hanbury has hidden charms for me.  I think I shall remain a little longer – though I must own, my parents are growing increasingly unhappy with the situation.  They feel I should be in London trying to find a husband, not in the wilds of Derbyshire with only a maidservant for company.”

“They are probably right!”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him and gave him a flash of her devastating blue eyes, “How very ungallant you are, sir!  Do you want me to go away?”

Even the insensitive Underwood realized that it would be quite unacceptable to voice his first thought; that it was of continuing disinterest to him what she did or where she went!  Carefully he rephrased the comment, “I was merely suggesting that one ought to heed the advice of one’s parents.  It must be assumed that they have your best interests at heart.”

“No, they do not!  They merely want a troublesome child taken off their hands.”

“Are you troublesome?”

She smiled flirtatiously, “I have been called many things, Mr. Underwood, but troublesome was not prominent amongst them.  Many men have told me that I am anything but.  High-spirited, vivacious, beautiful – all these things and many more, but never, ever troublesome!”

“I imagine any young woman who listens to such nonsense from men is infinitely troublesome to her parents.  They have all my sympathy.”

She tapped his arm playfully with her folded fan, “You are an odious creature!  I cannot believe you think so badly of me.  I ought to punish you by walking away and leaving you severely alone for the rest of the evening.”

“You need not bother putting yourself to the trouble – I see the butler is about to announce dinner.”

Underwood had overlooked the fact that since he had been the one to request a meeting with Wyndham-Rogers, he would be placed at the man’s right hand.  Desperately he searched for a topic of conversation which would draw attention away from his involvement with the execution of Adolphus Gedney, and happily he hit upon the subject of property, and his own recent purchase, whereupon his companion began talking and he found very little need for intervention.

“When do you come into possession of Hanbury Manor, sir?  I am a little vague on the laws which govern these things.”

Wyndham-Rogers served himself from a proffered platter, “An interesting question, Mr. Underwood.  I suppose, in theory at least, I own the house from the moment of my unfortunate cousin’s demise, but there are some small niceties to be observed, and then I feel that delicacy dictates that I do not hurry Mrs. Rogers into leaving her home.  There are many things which need to be settled, not least her plans for the future, but I like to think I am neither impatient, nor entirely without principles.”