Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (19 page)

Underwood, however, was now a vaguely worried man.  His affection for Dr. Russell never wavered, but the information imparted by Gil cast a whole new light upon the murder of Rogers.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Russell had changed from a loveable old duffer, who just happened to be in town at the time of a murder, to a prime suspect with not one, but two reasons to kill the victim – passion and blackmail.  Two of the most compelling motives for murder.

“When exactly did Dr. Russell confide all this?”

“After Rogers died.  He came to see me because he was distraught, but of course, he could not show it.  Anything more than a polite interest in the boy’s death would have been fatal to his reputation.  I must admit, that for the first time in my life, I felt the utmost compassion for him.  It must have been incredibly painful for him.”

“Good God, Gil!  Why the devil did you not tell me all this?  Do you realize that Theodore had every reason to want Rogers dead?”

“I saw no reason to tell you.  Quite apart from the obvious – that I had been told everything in confidence.  Dr. Russell told me he had spent the entire evening in the company of Mrs. Rogers.  So he cannot have been the killer, can he?  Besides, his true affection for the boy discounts him completely.  I may not find much to admire in Dr. Russell’s character, but I would stake my life he could not kill a fly.  Even if one discounts his innate inability to inflict violence upon anyone; he is fifty years older, and at least a foot and a half shorter than his supposed victim.  Even you must admit that the odds were not in his favour should he have come to blows with Rogers – who could not be expected to show a gentleman’s restraint in refusing to lay blows upon an older man.”

The sense of this pronouncement immediately calmed Underwood.  It was indeed madness to even think that his old friend Theodore Russell might be capable of committing murder.

But then, five minutes ago, he would have said that the idea of an age-old infatuation of himself by the same Dr. Russell was also ridiculous.

Perhaps he could not afford to be quite so dismissive of any theory, no matter how far-fetched.

He left his brother and wended his way home, but his thoughts were far from happy, and even his loving Verity could not help noticing his preoccupation.  When questioned, he pleaded the beginnings of a cold, for in truth he was starting to feel the familiar ache in his bones, and a dryness in his throat which no amount of tea could relieve.  It had been cold – and curiously depressing – in Gil’s churchyard that morning and he had lived through a stressful day.

He decided that should the illness materialise, he would take himself off to the unused attic room and stay there.  Life was becoming unutterably complex and he was tired of it all.

*

CHAPTER NINETEEN

(“Hoc Volo, Sic Tubeo, And Sit Pro Ratione Voluntas” This I will, thus I command; let my will serve as reason)

Underwood woke with an aching head, a sore throat, and the all too well remembered feeling that someone had used the hours of darkness for the express purpose of stuffing his nasal passages with a day’s production of cotton waste from one of Stockport’s larger mills.

He dragged himself reluctantly from the warmth of the bed beside his still sleeping and thankfully uninfected wife, knowing that his selfish plans of the previous evening had no chance of coming to fruition.  The events of the day to come were of far too great an importance for him to give in to the aches and miseries of a cold.  Tomorrow he could lie abed and feel sorry for himself – today he must rise above his affliction and be brave for his brother, and his little nephew-by-marriage.

Unfortunately Catherine’s funeral was not the only unpleasant task he was going to have to endure.  Before that – and as soon as possible – he felt morally obliged to see Mrs. Rogers and warn her of the approach of the despicable Conrad.

Verity was roused from sleep by the noise he made whilst trying to perform his ablutions silently.  His curses when he sneezed as he shaved and nearly slit his own throat caused a snort of hastily subdued laughter from the bed.  He threw a severe look over his shoulder, “Something has amused you, my dear?”  he asked.

She folded her lips primly, “Not at all.  My poor Cadmus, you sound quite ill.”

“I am – however, it shall never be said of C. H. Underwood that he neglected his duties – even in the face of his own extreme discomfort.”

“Naturally not.  I wish I could say the same.  It is wretched to be here alone, when I long to be with you and Gil.  He must feel so badly neglected, I cannot bear to contemplate it.”

Underwood was immediately aware that he had, as was only too often the case, spoken thoughtlessly.  Verity felt most deeply that she was a failure both as a mother, and a friend.  To be confined to her bed was bad enough, but to know her weakness was causing her to be absent when her friends needed her most was mortifying.  He crossed the room and gave her a swift hug, oblivious of the shaving lather her spread upon her cheek, “Come now, think no more about it.  It is not your fault you are trapped here.  Blame Rogers and his stupid pranks.  If you had not sustained those nasty shocks, you would still be running about in your usual, inimitable fashion.”

She managed a smile; “I suppose so.  Cadmus, I have a gift for Gil, but I am not sure he would welcome it.  I would value your opinion.”

“Very well.”

She leaned across the bed and pulled open a small drawer on the dressing table, only just within her reach.  From it she took a tiny, framed picture and handed it to her husband.  He took it and gazed down at the miniature portrait, “Verity, this is lovely, but when did you find the time to do it?”

She bit her lip in mock shame; “I have a confession to make.  I was going out of my mind with the tedium of my present existence, so I persuaded Toby to bring up some of my painting things whilst you were out.  I have also finished the portrait of Mr. Gratten.  We had the devil’s own job, Toby and I, in freeing the room of the smell of turpentine and oils before you came home.  I cannot believe you never noticed.”

He laughed, “I did – and Toby asked my leave before he obeyed your instructions.  But I knew how you hated this enforced rest, so I decided to make no ban.  I doubt you have been allowed to work too hard.  Toby missed his calling in life, he should have been a nurse maid.”

“He was strict with me,” she responded with a grin.

They were interrupted by the loud greetings hailing them from outside the door, “Come, Underwood, you slug-a-bed.  The day is half over.”

“Come in, Francis,” replied Underwood, with mock irritation, “I’ll have you know I have been awake for hours.”

Dr. Herbert wasted no further time, but burst into the room, “Good morning, my dear Verity.  Still not presented your husband with a child, I see.”

“Not yet.  I must say, Francis, I’m surprised to see you still here.  Ellen must have forgotten your face by now.”

“She will have ample opportunity to remind herself of it.  She has decided to join me here today.  She wants to be with you when your baby comes.”

Verity knew that his wife was also coming to Hanbury for Gil.  She could not let him bury his wife unsupported by his friends.  She also expected her mother-in-law to arrive in due course. 

Her sudden silence and stark look told them of her own pain at not being available to her beloved Gil at this most difficult time, so Underwood spoke with enforced cheerfulness, “Francis, take yourself off downstairs and let a man finish dressing in peace.  Mrs. Trent’s sister-in-law – also confusingly a Mrs. Trent – has been holding the position of cook and housekeeper since we moved here, and should now be serving my breakfast.  Speak nicely to her and you should be able to wheedle coffee from her for us both.  She is a little old-fashioned and would prefer to serve ale at all our meals, but I stand fast in my refusal to imbibe.”

Francis laughed, “Very well, Underwood, but do not tarry – though I for one, would find it difficult to drag myself away from the clinging arms of a lovely wife.”

Verity threw a pillow at him, which he deftly avoided, and went off laughing, downstairs in search of coffee and, if possible, a little of the ale which Underwood so despised.

When they re-met at the table some minutes later, Francis looked keenly at his host, “Do I detect a hint of hoarseness in your voice, my dear fellow?”

“You certainly do,” asserted Underwood, who had been finding the task of maintaining a jolly demeanour decidedly difficult.  It was his life-long practise to give in immediately to illness.  He was not one of life’s martyrs, dragging himself through one miserable day after another, trying to pretend his was well and fit for anything.  Plenty of sympathy, hot drinks and a week under his covers were much more his idea of how to contend with sickness.  Let others ‘feed’ their colds and ‘starve’ their fevers – Underwood fed everything, and was a much happier man for doing so.

“Well, if you develop any fever at all, I suggest you stay quite away from Verity.  It would be disastrous for her to contract an illness now, so near to her confinement.”

Underwood had vaguely suspected this might be required of him, and though not at all pleased, he agreed, “I understand that, my friend, but Verity may not.  I shall leave you to deliver that piece of news to her.  Poor girl.  She is already almost out of her mind with the tedium of bed rest.  The necessity that I am to be banished from her side will upset her dreadfully.”

“Don’t worry, by the time I have delivered a homily on the safety of her baby, she will be sensible.”

Dr. Russell joined them and the conversation turned to other things.  Underwood had scarcely seen him for several days, for though he was ostensibly living at Windward House, he really spent very little time there.  He seemed to be concentrating his efforts upon the comforting of Mrs. Rogers, which Underwood viewed as laudable, and made the idea that he might be responsible for Godfrey’s death even more ridiculous.  However, Gil’s revelations of the day before could not help but cause Underwood to look upon his old friend with new eyes.

It was astounding.  Nothing had changed.  Theodore was still a portly little man, gentle of manner and dry of humour.  It was he felt himself observed and raised his eyes to Underwood’s that the latter felt a slight shock of discovery.  Those faded blue orbs held a wealth of suffering, a depth of emotion which Underwood had never before witnessed.  It occurred to him then that Dr. Russell’s life had been a long and immensely lonely one.  If what Gil said was true, then it was hardly surprising that someone as inappropriate as Rogers had been the downfall of this kindly man.  Russell must have waited, with dreadful patience, for the one who seemed to return his feelings.  Underwood could imagine no more refined torture than to be in love with those who did not, and never would, return that emotion.  Because of the nature of his love, Russell was even forbidden the release of ever admitting the affection existed.  He must, over the years, seen young men come and go, knowing that he could not, morally, speak of his love, for fear of being accused of corrupting those in his charge.  Rogers, with his cruel perception, had seen what Russell had always managed to keep hidden.  It appeared that the only other person who had seen into Russell’s secret heart was Gil.  The man of God, the man with an infinite capacity for compassion and understanding.  He had not cared for the idea that Russell had been in love with his brother, but only because he felt their friendship had not been based upon the truth he treasured so highly.

What a bitter pill it would be for him to swallow this day, burying his young wife, when a man he considered to be full of sinful intentions was apparently enjoying the best of health, despite the burden of his years.  It must seem to Gil that there was no fairness in the world.

Underwood made a sudden decision.  Rev. Blackwell was to attend Catherine’s funeral, but far from attending, Underwood now determined that he should be asked to perform the rites.  Gil should not have to wear the mantle of his ministry today.  He had been a man, not a parson, on his wedding day, and the same should apply today.  He had been through enough.

*

It appeared that those in service to Mrs. Rogers were growing quite accustomed to having crowds of men turning up on her doorstep without notice of their arrival, for Underwood, Francis and Dr. Russell were shown directly into her drawing room, where Wyndham-Rogers and Lady Cara were sitting with the older woman.  When greetings and offers of refreshment were exchanged, Underwood wasted no time in coming directly to the point, “Mrs. Rogers, during Godfrey’s funeral I was approached by one Barclay Conrad.  He had been informed I was acting as your agent, in respect of your son’s estate.  I did not disabuse him of the notion.  It seems he has papers and witnesses proving Godfrey was in his debt – and I understand the sum is considerable.”

Her face was white and unutterably weary, “Cara warned me something of the sort, but she feels sure they must be gambling debts, and I know I have no obligation to pay those.”

“Absolutely none, dear lady.  Unfortunately, Conrad seems to have laid plans to cover the possibility of Godfrey’s early death.  You must, naturally, consult your legal advisors, but I have to warn you now, Conrad would appear to be very certain of the outcome.  I fear you are going to have to pay him.”

“Exactly how much are we speaking of, Mr. Underwood?”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

If she was white before it was nothing compared to the hue of her suddenly bloodless cheeks, “Dear God!” she whispered frantically, “So much?  I do not have it – nowhere near.”

Underwood turned to Wyndham-Rogers, who also looked a little pale, though, it transpired, for quite a different reason, “Sir?  Have you no words of comfort to offer the lady?”

The spectacles were removed and hastily polished before being replaced with a trembling hand.  This action had given the man a few seconds in which to frame his answer, “I suggest my cousin tells the fellow to go about his business.  If she has not the money to pay him, that must be an end to the matter.  It is unfortunate, but if Godfrey’s coffers are empty…”

There was a wealth of contempt in Underwood’s voice as he explained, slowly, as though to a half-wit, “I do not think you fully appreciate what I am saying, Mr. Wyndham-Rogers.  Conrad does not play games.  He threatened me and he fully intends to get his money.  He will see Mrs. Rogers in prison without giving her a second thought.  You have, to my certain knowledge, recently inherited three properties from your unfortunate relatives, one of them being this lady’s own home.  In those circumstances you cannot possibly contemplate leaving her bereft of all aid?  At least assure her you will back her legal fight to ward off Conrad’s demands.”

With a roomful of accusatory eyes upon him, Wyndham-Rogers could hardly refuse, but it was painfully evident he was not at all happy with the demand, nor Underwood’s tone.  Underwood could not have cared less, and he could not resist one final dig at the man he so heartily despised, “Be of good cheer, sir.  Mrs. Rogers may yet win the day, and might never have need of your carefully garnered sovereigns.”

The announcement of yet another visitor neatly ended the discussion before Wyndham-Rogers could leap into the saddle of his high-horse and speedily retract his off of help, in view of Underwood’s offensive behaviour.  He would not have allowed the fact that Mrs. Rogers could scarcely be held responsible for the remarks of her guest to deter him from this course, but the moment was lost and he was forced to close his lips with very bad grace.

The newcomer was none other than Conrad himself and it was evident he was well aware – and vastly amused – that the silence which greeted him proved that he had been the previous subject of their conversation, “I deduce from your demeanour, dear lady, that Underwood has kindly – and if I may say so, very sensibly, laid my business before you.  I trust he has also advised caution.  I should hate to see so charming a lady brought to public shame.”

Mrs. Rogers had clearly regained some of her composure, for as several members of the gathered company began to revile Conrad; she held up her hand for silence, “My dear friends, please.  This is still a house of mourning, and I would not have the atmosphere sullied by a melee.  Mr. Conrad, it seems you have the law, if not right, on your side, but I can only say that if you think the public shame you speak of would be mine, you very much mistake the matter.”