Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (21 page)

“Does it hurt very much?”

“It is excruciating,” he said frankly, then sat back with a sigh of relief, “Your fire, madam.”

She stretched grateful fingers and toes towards the dancing flames, “Bliss!  I thought I should never be warm again.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Underwood staring thoughtfully into the flickering tongues of fire, whilst absent-mindedly tearing off a chunk of bread from a loaf he had found.  Under normal circumstances, the very notion of eating anywhere other than a dining room, with a battery of silverware at his disposal, was entirely alien to him, but hunger drove all thoughts of the niceties from his mind.

When next she spoke it was with a tentative question, whilst she steeled herself secretly to accept the answer stoically, “Underwood, who exactly is Verity?”

“My wife.”  He could have no way of knowing the impact these two simple words had upon her.  In a stunned whisper she repeated, “Your wife?  You are a married man?”

He glanced at her, puzzled by the strange tone in her voice, “Yes.  Yes, I am.  Did you not know?”

“No, I did not!  How could I know?  You have always been alone … I … never …I had no notion.”

He was genuinely surprised by her ignorance of his personal circumstances; a slight frown creased his brow as he tried to imagine how she had missed seeing Verity, then his face cleared, “Of course!  I had quite forgotten.  Your arrival in Hanbury coincided with Verity’s doctor ordering bed rest for her.”

“She is unwell?” she ventured, slightly mollified.

“Not precisely unwell.  Her pregnancy was proving a little difficult.”

If his first revelation had stunned her, it was nothing to the shock she now sustained, “She is having a baby?”  Dear God, could she have made a more erroneous choice of man?

“At any moment.  By God, I have to get us out of here and be back home before she realizes anything is amiss.”  He leapt to his feet with the sudden energy of frustration and she could only be grateful that his impatient pacing hid her face from him, for she knew her horror at her own folly must be writ large.  Dear Lord, she prayed silently, don’t ever let him know what a fool I have made of myself over him.

She understood now, all too clearly, why he had never allowed himself into open flirtation with her.  His apparent disinterest had been all too real, and she had thought him so fascinating.  Her vanity had received a knock from which it would not quickly recover.

Underwood, oblivious, continued his reconnoitre of the cavern.  There were three passageways which led into their cave, making any attempt to leave unwise, to say the least.  He would have to hope that their tormentor would visit soon, so that he could at least see which passageway offered the most likely escape route.  As he wandered about, he mused upon the reason for their capture and incarceration.  Mrs. Rogers had seemed very sure that Conrad was behind Cara’s loss, but why should he be taken also?  Revenge for a slight might prompt Conrad to attack the lady, but surely snatching a man merely added to the problems?  As the daughter of an earl, Cara might be used to provide a ransom, but all who knew him were aware that money was not one of his greatest assets.

He returned to the fireside, feeling that at long last his head was clearing and he was beginning to think straight, “Cara, I don’t suppose you know who attacked you and brought you here?”

“I have no notion.  I never saw his face.  I was grabbed from behind and though he spoke to me, I didn’t recognize his voice either.”

“You don’t think it was Conrad?”

“Definitely not.  His voice was a threatening whisper, but I could tell he was a Northerner – and bigger than Conrad by far.  He tossed me over his shoulder as though I were a milliner’s manikin!”

The words struck a chord.  Where had he heard something similar? 
‘He threw me about …’
– oh dear Lord!  It was from Verity.  The man who had dragged her into the woods had shown such strength.

He knew now he was not dealing with the injured vanity of the petty-minded Conrad, but facing the man who had tried to kill his wife and baby.

*

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

(“Vox Clamantis In Deserto” – the voice of one crying in the wilderness)

A solemn gathering of Underwood’s friends and relations met in the vicarage study.  Toby had been left at Windward House to ensure Verity’s safety, and he continuing ignorance of her husband’s disappearance.  Fortune had favoured them in this, for his burgeoning cold had provided the perfect excuse for his absence.  As far as she knew he was tucked up in the spare bed, grumbling into his honey and lemon, with a mustard plaster and goose-grease for company.

Mrs. Rogers had spent a sleepless night and when dawn had brought no sign of the missing pair, frantic messages had been despatched.  The resulting assembly included Gil, Dr. Russell, Dr. Herbert, Mrs. Rogers herself, and Mr. Gratten.

Mrs. Milner, the mother of Gil and Underwood, had been sent to help Toby with Verity.  She had arrived in Hanbury the day before, just in time to attend the burial of her newly-wed daughter-in-law, and she was now charged with the care of his older son’s wife and her younger son’s boy.  Fortunately Alistair had taken her in the greatest affection, probably due to the numerous gifts she had brought him, and he went off quite happily in her company to visit his favourite Aunt Verity.  Gil could only admire the calm way she accepted her orders, though he knew she was filled with dread.  Ever since Underwood had taken it upon himself to become an investigator of crime, she had feared that something of this sort would happen.  Once a bullet fired in anger had grazed his shoulder and she had never managed to rid herself of the conviction that he was destined to die young and violently.

Gil tried not to let himself think along those lines, for life without his brother, the infuriating, careless, insensitive, unutterably lovable Chuffy was unimaginable.  God could not be so cruel as to take his brother after having just robbed him of his wife.  It was, therefore, a calm, seemingly unmoved Gil, who greeted his visitors and who crushed at once, and with brutal determination, any inclination towards hysteria.

Mrs. Rogers was asked to quickly outline the circumstances surrounding the mysterious vanishing.  She told all she knew, handed over the threatening note, and could not restrain herself from adding passionately, “It was that ghastly man, Conrad, I know it.  His face when Cara hit him was pure evil.  If he could have taken a gun and shot her like a dog, there and then, he would have done it.”

Dr. Russell made a strangled sound of dissent, and sank, white-faced into a chair.  All eyes turned upon him and there was but one thought in each mind.  Suddenly the man looked every moment of his seventy years.  Old was not the word one immediately applied to the doctor upon meeting him, for with his twinkling blue eyes, ready smile and healthily ruddy cheeks, he had seemed ageless – not so now, however.  Gil simply poured him a brandy and continued, “We must not assume anything.  That would be Underwood’s first direction to us.  He would be horrified to hear these accusations flying about.  He would want proof positive.”

“Conrad is a wicked man.  He killed Godfrey and now he intends to murder Mr. Underwood and my sweet Cara.”

Gil’s was the voice of reason which rose above the clamour provoked by this remark, “But why should he kill Underwood?  No, that really doesn’t make any sense, Mrs. Rogers.”

Dr. Herbert interjected, “He was not even in town when Rogers was murdered, was he?”

“Not officially,” answered Gratten thoughtfully.

“Very well, then” temporized Gil hastily, “Let us forget for the moment who might be responsible and concentrate solely upon finding the lost ones.  We know Underwood met the abductor at Hanbury crossroads, so where might they have gone from there?  Mr. Gratten, you are Hanbury born and bred – where would you hide two people?”

Gratten did not hesitate, “There are a couple of deserted cottages on the moors, but by far the most sensible place would be the caves.  Even Underwood will know that he will have to stay exactly where he is put.  He is not a fool.  All our culprit needs to do is to find a suitable cave, and somehow mark his way in and out.  No one visits the caverns in the winter, so he must know he could hold them there until doomsday and they would never find their way out.”

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Gil tersely, “And I hope to God you are right in your assessment of my brother’s character.  If he decides to play the hero, he could be lost forever in those caves.”

Dr. Herbert reached out and gripped Gil’s shoulder, “He will not do so, my friend.  Do not give it another thought.  If nothing else, Underwood has a highly developed sense of self-preservation.  He will do nothing to provoke the grim-reaper.”

Gil, seeing the sense of this pronouncement, managed the first smile of the day, “You are right, as always, Francis.  Now, may I suggest search parties are organized?  A few men could be spared to search the local moors, just in case we are wrong, but all the cavern guides must be brought together for a concerted assault on the caves – I don’t suppose there are any dogs available?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” announced Mr. Gratten, and promptly suiting actions for words, he was gone.

“What shall I do?” asked Mrs. Rogers, rather pathetically.  She was feeling wholly responsible for the entire, sorry mess, and the thought that she should merely stand aside and let others do the work was painful to her.

The vicar glanced at the still pale Dr. Russell, “I think, madam, you must take care of our old friend here, and comfort him as best you can.  He seems to have sustained a considerable shock and at his age, that can be no good thing.”  He rather felt the old man had no right to feel the loss of Underwood so acutely, when his own family could not give in to their panic – it tempered his inclination towards sympathy which would normally be most evident.

Mrs. Rogers, sensing rather than hearing, the slight edge of impatience in his voice, decided that discretion must be her watchword.  She found the strength to hoist Dr. Russell to his feet and lead him out to her waiting carriage.

*

Before another hour had passed men were setting out from Hanbury crossroads, fanning out across the moors, and trudging upwards to the limestone caves above the town, drawing capes and greatcoats close against the bitter cold which worryingly presaged snow.  Gratten joined them, as did Gil and Francis, all of them hoping silently that Underwood and Cara were indeed in the caverns, where the temperature stayed constant, summer or winter, for a night out on the open moors in this weather would surely spell death for all but the hardiest of souls.

The moors gave nothing away.  No foot marks in the muddied sheep-paths, no scrap of cloth torn carelessly from a garment.  The search there was presently abandoned and everyone gathered at the mouth of the caves.  Here there were footprints aplenty, but to whom did they belong?

Of course once inside the solid rock floors showed nothing beyond the first few yards.  One passageway quickly divided into two, two into four.  The official guides led a few forays, but came up with nothing, only their own echoing cries coming back to them mocking and cruel.  Dusk outside called a halt to the search, and the seekers left reluctantly, but fully intending to return the following day, should Underwood and Cara still not be found.

Deep underground Cara was fighting off a deepening panic, for Underwood, having fallen asleep, could not now be roused and try as she might, she could not get any warmth into his hands.  His slight cough had turned noticeably worse, and the deep, rattling breaths he drew were terrifying her.  His pocket watch told her that the hour was four, but she had so far lost her bearings she had no notion if that be four in the morning or four in the afternoon.  At last, frightened and exhausted, she fed the fire, pulled the blankets about herself and her insensible companion, and so far overcame her scruples as to nestle close against him, telling herself it was the only wise thing to do for benefit of the warmth they could pass to each other, and not because it was the first time in her life she had ever been really afraid.

*

Mrs. Rogers had just settled the sadly shocked Dr. Russell into a warmed bed, with a hot brick at his feet, when a thunderous rapping on the front door caused her to scurry to the landing window to see what or who had made the commotion.  From that angle she could not see the caller, but she could see his vehicle.

The ornate crests tooled on the carriage doors told her that her visitor was none other than the earl himself – Cara’s father.  With a heart pounding with panic and a stomach fluttering nervously, she automatically raised her hand to smooth her hair before descending with all the dignity she could muster to meet him.

The butler had already shown him into the best drawing room and Mrs. Rogers swiftly joined them there.  She nearly turned tail and ran away again when she saw the expression on his face.  He did not waste time or breath on a greeting, but embarked on his tirade the moment his eye lighted upon her, “So, where is that minx of mine?  She shall know the full measure of my displeasure this time, let me tell you!  I only gave her leave to come here on the strict understanding that she behaved with propriety – and what do I find?  She has dispensed with the services of her duenna and is gallivanting about town with some unknown fellow, who, from all accounts – and believe me, there have been plenty! – is old enough to be her father.  The jackanapes had better have money or breeding or both, or I shall see to it that he is flogged for daring to raise his eyes to my daughter.”

Mrs. Rogers opened her mouth, then closed it again with an almost audible snap – how did one explain this situation to an irate papa?

“Well, well?” he demanded impatiently.

              She tried again, “Sir, I must ask you not to panic, but there has been an… incident…”

His gallop was swiftly halted.  For all his bluster, his adoration for his daughter was deep.  Though he would not have anyone know it, her health and happiness were more precious to him than his own.  The very notion that she might be in some way hurt or troubled was enough to send him into an apoplexy.  One eyebrow was raised to an incredible height and his voice was deceptively quiet as he said,

“Explain yourself, madam!”

She swallowed deeply and tried to do so, “Lady Cara is missing, sir.  She was unfortunately…”

“Missing?” he intercepted hastily, “She has run away?  Dear God, do not tell me you have let her elope to Gretna Green with this fellow?”

She sank wearily into a chair, finding that her trembling limbs would no longer support her, “Would to God that she had… My dear sir, Barclay Conrad was in town… Cara tangled with him, not only verbally, but she also struck him…”

At the mention of the name Conrad, the blood flooded into the earl’s face and for one horrible moment Mrs. Rogers thought that he might burst a blood vessel and drop dead before her.  Even his eyes bulged and reddened, “That cur!  Has he dared to harm her?”

“I don’t think so… I don’t know, but she has disappeared.  Underwood went to find her, and has not returned.  We fear the worst…”

“Underwood?  Is that not the name of the fellow who has been romancing her?”

Cara had hidden her feelings well.  Mrs. Rogers had no idea of any such possibility and her genuine surprise could not be mistaken for deceit, “There must be some mistake with the name sir.  An affair is out of the question.  Mr. Underwood is a married man.”

The earl was a man of the world.  He was only too aware that being married in no way precluded an affair.  Mrs. Rogers thought he was going to burst.  Had wisps of steam issued from his ears, she would not have been in the least astonished.

“Devil take him!”

“What on earth gave you the idea there was a romance?”

“Every person who attended your son’s funeral.  I received a flood of letters either congratulating me on my prospective son-in-law, or warning me that Cara’s latest flirt was probably an experienced fortune-hunter.  I have driven her with the hounds of hell at my heels all the way from London, with barely a stop along the way.”

“Then you must be exhausted.”  The motherly side of her nature reasserted itself and she began to bustle busily about him, “Seat yourself.  I shall order refreshments.”

“I don’t want anything.  Don’t fuss, woman!”

She ignored him and rang the bell.

“Every able bodied man in Hanbury is out searching for them.  You can do nothing but wait.  It would simply be foolish for you to make yourself ill.”

He could see she was not going to be deterred, so he allowed himself to be persuaded, though how she expected him to eat and drink when his precious darling was lost in this God forsaken wilderness, he did not know.  He had not quite decided whether to be relieved or furious that Underwood would appear to be with her.  God grant that he at least had the instincts of a gentleman.

*

Gil returned to the vicarage very late that evening.  He was more weary than he had ever been and a depression was settling on him.  His mother and Alistair had been enjoined to remain at Windward House for he really felt he could not have borne an evening listening to his mother go over and over the horror of the situation, envisioning a horrid fate for her elder son.  Fortunately the removal of Dr. Russell to Hanbury Manor meant that there were beds enough for all.  Gil felt Alistair was infinitely better off in the company of two loving women than with a step-father who was scarcely able to contain his own grief, let alone deal with a child’s sorrow.