Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (17 page)

“His name is Barclay Conrad, and his profession is gambler – but he is not Godfrey’s sort, a pigeon for the plucking!  Oh no, Conrad owns several gaming hells – and he always wins, even if he has to cheat and threaten violence to do so.  He looks harmless enough, doesn’t he?  But you cannot begin to imagine how many young men he has brought to the brink of despair with his tricks.  You can be sure that if he knew Godfrey, it was either as a card-sharp or an opium addict.”

Underwood raised a quizzical brow, “Opium?”

“Conrad trades in opium.  If he cannot get your money one way, he will get it another!  He owns drinking clubs, houses of ill-repute …”

“Dear me, my Lady!  Should you know about such places?” he asked teasingly, but it was her turn to be irritated by the course of the conversation.  Her face was rather pale as she replied, quite evenly, but with a wealth of emotion churning beneath the surface, “It is easy to mock, Mr. Underwood, but when your nearest relation falls into the clutches of such a man, it is remarkably difficult to find anything even vaguely amusing in the situation!”

“I do beg your forgiveness.  I had no idea that was the case – how could I?  The relation in question was your younger brother, I assume?”

“Yes.  Like all stupid little boys when they are first released from the schoolroom, he thought himself an adult, and proceeded to indulge himself in every excess.  It took all my father’s ingenuity, and a considerable sum of money, to extricate him.”

“I can imagine.  I am not unfamiliar with foolish school boys – I taught for many years at Cambridge University.  But you were not aware that Rogers was involved with Conrad?”

“Not at all, or I should have warned him most strongly to cut the connection.  Not that he would have heeded me, but at least I would have had the satisfaction of knowing I tried to save him.”

“You really feel that this Conrad is seriously dangerous?”

“I do, and if Godfrey knew him well enough for him to be here today, then no good will come of the association.  I wish you would counsel Mrs. Rogers that she must not, on any account, allow Conrad to ingratiate himself with her.”

“Consider it done, Cara.”

*

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

(“Non Licet Omnibus Adire Corinthum” – Circumstances deny us certain pleasures)

It is usually the case that the last person one desires to meet is going to be the very next to approach.

Underwood could do nothing but wait, like a condemned man, as Conrad sauntered across the room, making directly for him and Lady Cara.  He felt, rather than saw, her stiffen beside him, the smile sliding from her face and the colour fading from her cheeks.  If Conrad noticed the change his presence wrought, he merely found it amusing, for his grin broadened as he drew nearer.  His proffered hand was rudely ignored by her, as was his friendly greeting, “My dear Lady Cara, what a rare pleasure.  I hardly dared hope you would travel so far in remembrance of our sweet Godfrey.  How is that divine young brother of yours?  He has been sadly missed by all his close friends in the East End.”

She threw him an icy look, and then turned to Underwood, “You will forgive me, my dear sir, but I fear there is an intolerable stench of corruption in the vicinity.  I shall go outside to take the air.  Perhaps we will meet again later?”

Underwood rose hastily to his feet, “Allow me to bear you company, Cara…”

But she was already gone, sweeping her skirts aside that they might not brush against the newcomer, who laughed unkindly and gently pushed Underwood’s shoulder in a playful manner, “Shame on you, Mr. Underwood!  You are old enough to be her father.”

Underwood, neither expecting the thrust, nor the latent strength behind it, found himself sinking back into his seat.

“That’s right, dear fellow, bear me company for a few moments.  We shall have a pleasant coze – pleasanter by far, I dare swear, than one could ever expect from that little termagant.”

This familiarity irked him sufficiently to enable him to recover his wits and his reply was uncharacteristically scathing, “Have we met?”

“We have not, sir, but your fame goes before you.  It is a great honour indeed to at long last make the acquaintance of the celebrated C. H. Underwood.”

“Celebrated?  I hardly think so,” his tone of incredulity left Conrad in no doubt that he thought the man had taken leave of his senses.

“Oh, I do assure you it is so.  I had scarcely arrived in town before I was inundated with voices singing your praises – none more so that Godfrey’s dear mama.  The descriptions of your saintliness were so overwhelming I almost expected you to stand as ‘sin-eater’ for the boy.”

Underwood, who had a hearty contempt for such barbaric and nonsensical customs as eating bread and salt over a corpse in order to lift its sins onto oneself and allow the deceased easy passage into heaven, replied with vitriol, “It would take a braver man that I to assume the sins committed by Rogers.”

“As one who was privileged to witness the committing of many of them, I must heartily concur – but I digress.  It is not the past I wish to discuss, but the future.  Mrs. Rogers has given me to understand that you are acting as her agent in the sad coil which unfortunately surrounds her son’s death.”

Underwood was about to vehemently deny this statement when it occurred to him that it could be vaguely said to be true, and would also confer a certain right of access to information, so he shrugged with assumed disinterest, “I suppose I am.”

“Good, then you are the very man I require.  You will be good enough to present the lady with my account, when you feel she has sufficiently recovered from her grief to accept it.”

“Account?  What account is this?  What the devil are you talking about?”

Conrad smiled softly at the hot words; “Hardly the language of business, my dear sir, but I will overlook you passion.  The boy owed me money – a great deal of money – and I now request that his mother honour his debts.”

The ominous drawing together of Underwood’s brows ought to have warned Conrad that he was about to lose his temper, but frankly the man didn’t care one jot.  He merely grinned as Underwood said mulishly, “A nice try, Mr. Conrad, but you must know as well as I that gambling debts have no place in law.  Mrs. Rogers has no obligation to pay you your winnings – and I shall strongly advise her to have nothing whatever to do with you.”

Conrad looked unbearably smug and Underwood felt the first premonition of approaching disaster, “Hasty, hasty, Mr. Underwood!  I made no mention of gambling, did I?  Of course the boy did lose a fortune at my tables, but I am not a fool.  It was painfully obvious to all who knew him that Rogers was playing a dangerous game.  If the drink or the opium or the pox hadn’t killed him, then a whore sick of his cruelty or one of his more hotheaded cronies would have!  Rogers made no friends, Underwood, but many, many enemies - even those who showed him a smiling face hated him.  I did not become a rich man by birth or by accident.  I can read a man more clearly than the printed word, and when I play with one as obviously marked for vast debt and early death as Rogers, I cover every eventuality.  He thought my plan of going into business together was a capital one.  The position of sleeping partner appealed greatly to his idleness.  His debts to me are well accounted for by bogus bills and invoices - but the tortuous tangle, which leads back to me would be impossible to uncover – and, I might add, and incredibly dangerous undertaking!  I am a peaceable man, but I have … shall we say … associates, who would be terribly offended to see me unhappy…”

“Are you having the temerity to attempt to threaten me?” asked Underwood softly.

                Conrad lifted a plump, beautifully manicured hand, as though to ward off something horrible and unsightly – a hand which had quite evidently never done a stroke of honest work, “God forfend that I should do anything so outrageous!  Or stupid!  No, no Mr. Underwood, I do not threaten, merely warn.  This is why I have been so forthright, to save you the very tedious task of finding out all this for yourself.  No one has heard this conversation, none can support your word against mine – and it has taken a great deal of time and money to ensure I have friends in high places.  If Mrs. Rogers wishes to enjoy her present good health and happiness, she would be well advised to pay what her son owes.  I have never lost a court case yet – and Debtor’s prison is not a place I would ever recommend – certainly not for a lady of her age and delicacy.”

With great difficulty Underwood swallowed the bitter words which sprang to his lips.  Only his tightened jaw and fisted hands gave any indication of his fury and detestation of the creature who stood peacocking before him, “You do realize that the deaths of her son and husband have taken ownership of Hanbury Manor out of Mrs. Rogers’ hands?  I understand she has been left a mere competence.  You surely cannot intend to rob the poor woman of that, merely because she had the misfortune to have a son like Rogers?”

Conrad’s smile never shifted, “My dear sir, you move me, truly you do.  Bless the poor widow’s heart!  Of course I would do nothing to distress her – and neither will her friends and relations.  So when you plead for her to them, they, like I, cannot fail to be moved.  Why, my dear fellow, before you know it, you will possess the wherewithal to settle my account in full.  Do you know, it quite renews my faith in human nature, when I contemplate the generosity displayed towards a poor, victimised widow.  Now, I really must leave you.  I have so enjoyed our little chat, and if there should happen to be any entertainment with which I can provide you, pray do not hesitate to ask me.  My whole life, you know, is devoted to the service of others – all their little foibles happily catered for.”

With that and a cheery wave, he was gone, leaving Underwood seething with a barely concealed anger, and a distinct sensation of being soiled with an unseen slime.

Mr. Gratten joined him, “Who was that, pray tell?  What a popinjay!  Whoever he might be, he certainly did not take your fancy – I have never seen you look so glum.”

“And probably never will again – for I do not intend ever to find myself in his company at any time in the future.”

“Good Heavens, what did he have to say, to enrage you thus?”

“My friend, this is neither the time not the place to discuss it, but I tell you now that you have another suspect for the murder of Rogers.  Barclay Conrad, for that is his name, would never have soiled his hands to commit the deed himself, but he freely admitted to me a moment ago that he was so confident of Rogers’ early demise, he made sure, by means clandestine and probably illegal, that his gambling debts would be paid by Rogers’ estate.”

Gratten looked puzzled, “But he undoubtedly knows gambling debts have no validity in law.”

“He knows it so well that he has made certain they could be disguised as other expenditure.  I fear Mrs. Rogers is going to have to find his money, or pay the penalty.”

“That is outrageous!”  Gratten blustered in genuine horror; “I will not allow it.”

“I wish you the best of luck, constable Gratten, but I’m truly afraid you will be dealing with a man so slippery that the jaws of a pike could not hold him.  It seems he has, to use his own words, ‘every eventuality covered’, and if he is responsible for Rogers’ death, it may be beyond our ingenuity to expose him.”

“Do you think it a possibility?”

“Indeed I do.  He is a man who will stop at nothing to enrich himself.  But as I have said many times before, what I
think
is of no consequence.  We must have proof – and it must be so undeniable there is no way for the man to escape the hangman’s noose – if that be his fate.”

Underwood did not tarry long after this, for it was more than he could bear, watching the man making merry at Mrs. Rogers’ expense, quite apart from the fact that he now knew that the elderly fop had detested Rogers and was not in the least sorry that he was dead.  It seemed hypocritical, if not macabre, to be present at a celebration of the boy’s death – for that is what it was turning out to be.  Even Lady Cara had met up with friends from London and was a fair way to forgetting that Godfrey Rogers had ever lived.  Mrs. Rogers had left on the arm of the solicitous Dr. Russell soon after greeting her guests, and so Underwood felt quite safe in slipping quietly away.

If he hadn’t already realized it, it was borne upon him that he had somehow offended providence, for the day was growing increasingly uncomfortable.  As he walked into the street, the pregnant girl from the graveyard stepped out of a shadowy alleyway and grasped his hand.  It was evident from the chill of her small fingers that she had been awaiting his arrival for several hours, so he had little option but to take her to the coffee-room of the nearest inn and provide her with food and drink.

A cup of tea did much to revive her; she wrapped grateful fingers around the hot vessel and closed her eyes in near ecstasy as she sipped.  Underwood took the opportunity to peruse her face and was rather surprised to find she had a curious, transient beauty.  Most of the time her loveliness was marred by a frown or an expression of harried aggression, but in repose she had the most delicate bone structure, dark lashes of incredible length and skin which was flawless.  Her nose was classical, and her brown hair fell in tendrils which gave her the look of an Italian Madonna, such as he had frequently seen on his Grand Tour many years before – though the actions of Napoleon had cut it viciously short.

When he finally spoke the words came directly from his heart, and bore no resemblance to the way he should have spoken, had convention ruled him at it ought.

“How the devil did you come to be involved with the odious Rogers?  It seems to me you are entirely too good for him in every respect.”

Her brown eyes flew open and she looked shocked, “If you think that, you do not know him as well as you think you do.”

“My poor, deluded child!  I knew Rogers far better than I ever desired to, and I saw no redeeming feature.  If you really know of one, then pray share it, for I have the task of finding his killer, and unless I can shake off the conviction that he deserved a fate far worse than the one he was subjected to, then I will have the utmost difficulty in concentrating my mind upon bringing his murderer to justice.”

“Oh!  How can you say so?  To me he was a kind and gentle lover.  He did his best for me, but his mama kept him so short of money that he could not marry me as he wished to.”

For once in his life, the insensitive Underwood paused to consider before speaking his mind.  The girl was clearly infatuated with her dead lover; she believed in him as few other people must – but every word he had spoken to her had been a cruel, cynical lie, designed to grant Rogers the pleasure of bedding her, without thought or responsibility for the consequences. 

His decision made, Underwood began to tell her the truth, but as gently as he could.

“Tell me your name.”

“Cassandra Millbanke – my family call me Cassie.”

“Forgive me Cassie, but did no one warn you against Rogers?”

She had the grace to blush, making herself, in the process, even more breathtakingly lovely.  Underwood watched her with fascination, but it was the detached interest with which he would admire a work of art.  His heart was Verity’s, but he was a man for all that, and could still appreciate the beauty of the female form.

“Everyone did – that was why I ran away to be with him.”

“Are you telling me that far from being alone in the world, you have a loving family somewhere who want you to go home?”