Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (4 page)

“I find it curious you can still think so highly of her, knowing how you usually view adulterous affairs.  I seem to recall you thought very little of Oliver Dunstable.”

Oliver Dunstable was a young man whose elderly wife had died under suspicious circumstances, who had cheated the gallows thanks to Underwood’s efforts.  Verity had despised him for the weakness of his character, which had included the keeping of a mistress.

“Ophelia’s situation is quite different,” she protested, but without real conviction.

“I thought it might be,” he could not keep a note of cynicism from his voice, and indeed did not attempt to do so.  She had the grace to blush, “No, really it is!  He is trapped in an unhappy marriage.”

“Most men would imagine their marriage unhappy if they thought they could bed a lovely young woman on the strength of it.”

Verity privately agreed with him, and thought Ophelia a fool, so she pursued the matter no further, merely observing, “I suppose this means you will despise her more than ever?”

“Not at all.  On the contrary, I pity her profoundly.  She has chosen an empty life, whilst he can have everything he wants.  There must, of course, be no children for her.”

“I don’t think she wants children.”

“That is most fortunate.  It is to be hoped she never changes her mind.”

His wife could only agree with him.

*

CHAPTER FOUR

(“Ignis Aurum Probat, Miseria Fortes Viros” – Fire tests gold, adversity tests strong men)

The receiving of letters was a rare event in the vicarage.  The Underwoods could expect a monthly, much crossed missive from their mother, but they corresponded with their other relatives not at all – unless to announce births, deaths and marriages.  Verity, sadly, was entirely alone in the world, apart from her friends, most of whom lived near enough to exchange visits rather than letters.  It was therefore with a feeling of mild trepidation that Underwood broke the wafer of a letter found by his breakfast plate the following morning.  He was quite sure he did not recognize the handwriting, nor the frank, but his expression took on an aspect of pleasure when the writer revealed himself in the signature.

“Gil, it is from Dr. Russell.  It seems he met mother a few weeks ago and when she told him we were living here, he thought it most timely since he is feeling in need of a restorative.  He asks if he might visit us next week.”

“Dr. Russell?”  Gilbert appeared to be deeply engrossed in his newspaper and was, his brother felt, being annoyingly vague, “I should think he stands in need of more than a restorative.  I thought he was dead!”

Verity was astounded at this want of sensibility from the normally kind-hearted Gil, “What a dreadful thing to say.  Gil, I’m surprised at you.  Who is Dr. Russell, pray?”

“Our old tutor,” answered Underwood succinctly.

“Old being the word which best describes him,” interjected Gil decidedly, “He must be about a hundred and three.  He was easily in his eighties when he taught Chuffy and I.”

Underwood managed a laugh, but he shot Gil a puzzled look.  It was very unlike the vicar to be so scathing, “Nonsense!  The man is not a day over seventy.  Gil merely resents him because he saw flashes of my future brilliance, but utterly failed to notice anything even slightly interesting in my younger brother.”

“That was because you were an odious little bookworm.”

It was the vitriol apparent behind this remark which made Underwood decide that the conversation had progressed far enough.  He spoke in a jocular tone, “Have I to write and tell the poor old fellow he is not welcome?”

“Certainly not.  Have him here if you want to, but I take leave to doubt he is either poor or in need of a restorative.  That letter was franked by an M. P. and I never saw a livelier hand.  Dr. Russell may want to come to Hanbury, but I think you will find he has his own reasons.”

*

His great admiration and affection for Dr. Russell made Underwood eager to have the vicarage and its inmates looking their best for his arrival, and therefore everything which could go wrong, did so.

Dawn next day saw the whole household gathered on the lawn in various stages of undress, whilst Toby ran back into the house, to try and extinguish a fire which had broken out in the parlour.

It seemed Mrs. Trent had wanted the room to be warm for Verity when she came downstairs, so she had set the fire in the grate, lighted it, then gone to the kitchen to begin the tasks of the day.  When she returned some time later, smoke had begun to billow back into the room.  Assuming the chimney had caught fire, she had hastened upstairs in order to rouse the family.  By the time the ensuing panic had calmed, and everyone was out of the house, the flames had spread.

Verity was ushered down the garden by Underwood and settled onto a garden seat, a blanket about her shoulders.  Toby insisted on going back into the house to try and douse the flames, so Gil and his brother gladly filled pails with water for him from the long-disused well in the garden.  They both had a lively sense of self-preservation along with a profound scorn of all things material, so nothing would prevail upon either of them to re-enter the building, once the living creatures had been removed.  Toby, however, had no intention of seeing them lose their home, after all they had done for him in the past.  Nothing they could say would convince him that they would really rather he did not risk his life on their account.  It transpired that the peril was not so very great; as it often proves, the smoke was rather deceiving.  Several buckets of water soon dampened the worst of the flames and Underwood was able to join Verity; his night shirt and the breeches he had managed to pull on were covered in smuts, his face was dirty, his hair romantically disordered, but he was otherwise unscathed.

“Where is Toby?”  enquired the fretful Verity, noticing that the big man had not yet come out of the house.

“Merely assessing the damage.  He sustained no hurt, I promise you.”

Presently Toby reappeared and he called Underwood to him.  That gentleman went gladly to answer the summons, thinking nothing of it, but fear clutched at Verity’s heart.  Something was wrong.

Toby had been a free man now for many years, but there were still certain little mannerisms ingrained in his nature from his years as a slave.  One was that he never called people to come to him, but always went to their side.  The fact that he had called Underwood to go to him could mean only one thing.  There was something he did not wish Verity to hear or see.

In the parlour, Verity’s fears were being realized.  Toby met Underwood at the door and gestured towards the hearth, “I think you ought to see this, Mr. Underwood.”

For a few minutes Underwood could see barely anything for the room was still full of smoke, though it was rapidly clearing, thanks to the open windows and doors.  The waterlogged mess which had spilled out of the fireplace seemed to hold nothing of particular interest.  It was evident to Toby that his companion had no idea what he was supposed to see, so he drew him across the room.  The object turned out to be a bundle a rags, sticks and stones, blackened and still smouldering slightly.

“How the devil did that get there?”

“It was stuffed inside the chimney.  It blocked the flue and forced the smoke back into the room.  Denied an outlet, the flames were forced out too, into a tinder dry room, so it was not many minutes before the floorboards and beams began to catch fire.”

“How did it get into the chimney?  Dropped from above?”

“Not very likely.  Chimneys bend, that’s why they send boys up rather than just brushing them.  I think someone broke into the house and planted it.  If you look you will see the two largest sticks are secured crosswise, then the other stuff tied around the cross.”  As he spoke he broke open the charred bundle, to show Underwood what he meant, “If some one passed that up the chimney sideways, then twisted it as it went beyond the narrow part of the flue. The crossed sticks would hold it suspended above the fire, almost fully blocking the chimney – hello, what’s this?”

Underwood leaned closer, his eyes smarting from the muggy atmosphere,

“Well?”  he asked impatiently, “What is it?”

Toby raised worried eyes to his companion’s face, “I thought this was merely a prank, a smoke-filled room, but nothing more ominous.”

“What makes you think it was not?”

The big man held the filthy rags out to the bemused Underwood, “You see this inner wrapping?”

“Yes”

“It is filled with stones, nails and gunpowder.”

“My God!  You mean it was meant to catch fire and explode?”

“I think so.”

“Is it possible it might have worked?”

“I don’t know – gunpowder is a strange substance.  It is a lot harder to ignite than most people realize, but if the intention was not there, why include the powder?”

“Verity would have been alone in this room in less than an hour’s time.”

“And I would guess if those rags had caught alight instead of sending the smoke and flames back into the room, then they would have smouldered for about an hour before the inner package of gunpowder was reached by the flames.”

Underwood’s face whitened perceptibly, “And you say the man broke into the house?  He was in the house whilst we were all asleep?”

“It looks that way.  The kitchen window was open, the latch broken.”

Underwood dropped his head into his hands, “What am I to do, Toby?  This madman looks determined to hurt Verity and it seems I can’t even protect her when I am with her!”

“Can’t you leave town?”

“How can we?  I can’t risk having Verity thrown about in a carriage at this stage in her pregnancy.”

“No, that’s true.  Well, we must simply be all the more alert.”

“I suppose there is nothing else we can do, but by God, when I do find the man, I swear I will see him in hell!”

“And yourself at the end of a hangman’s noose.  Talk sense, man.  The chances are that if we are vigilant enough, and he finds he can’t get to Mrs. Underwood, he’ll cease his tricks.”

“I hope you are right – and for pity’s sake, not a word of this to her.  She must not know anything is amiss.”

“In that case, I suggest we keep this between our two selves.  I’m fond of your brother, Mr. Underwood, but sometimes he is too honest for his own good.”

“Yes, yes.  Quite!  Gil always did let his tongue run away with him.”

He went back out into the garden, where he found the vicar sitting in the place he had left Verity, of whom there was no sign.  She, it seemed, had grown chilly, and since all danger was now passed, she had gone indoors to get dressed.  The vicar was gazing thoughtfully towards the house, looking, his brother thought, rather more human in his brocade dressing gown, with smuts on his face and his hair untidy, than was his wont.  Gil had always felt that a severe demeanour was the first requirement of a clergyman, and rather tended to bury his very lively sense of humour.  That part of his character was certainly not on display at this particular moment, however.  Underwood thought he had never seen him look more melancholy.  It was therefore with a false heartiness that he greeted his only sibling.

“No need to repine, Gil.  The damage is little.  Dr. Russell need never know of our misadventure.”

Gil appeared to drag his thoughts back to the present with great difficulty,

“What?  Oh, yes, I had momentarily forgotten Dr. Russell.  Well, he must make the best of the situation, I’m afraid.  I have rather more important things on my mind.”

“And what might they be?” asked Underwood, with a fraternal lack of tact, “Still fretting that Verity and I are on your hands and you cannot marry your Catherine?  Worry not.  We shall be moving into Windward House very shortly.”

Gil looked at his brother, leaning against the trunk of the old apple tree, careless now of the green mould which was rubbing off against his night attire,  “My dear Chuffy, it looks as though you and your wife can stay here indefinitely.  Catherine and I will never be married.”

This made his brother drop his pose and stand up straight, “Good Heavens, why?  You surely have not chosen the church over that lovely girl?”

“No, of course not.  This is none of my doing.  Imagine my dilemma, Chuffy.  As a man of God, I have to choose between wishing for the death of a child, or giving up the woman I love.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“When Catherine agreed to be my wife, her son was dying.  She had agreed to convert for me, but Alistair has made a remarkably recovery and we are now in a quandary.  Her late husband’s family are threatening to take the child away from her if she marries me, arguing that he will not be raised a Catholic under my care.”

“Will they win?”

“That scarcely matters, does it?  Would you risk your child – or ask a woman to do so?”

In asking this question, Gil had struck a chord with his brother.  Only the evening before Verity had shyly held his hand against her body and he had felt their baby stirring beneath his fingers.  Until that moment the coming child had been anonymous to him.  He had known in his mind that it was a fact, but his emotions were detached from it.  Impending fatherhood had been a shock, partly due to his age, but mostly due to a distinct lack of imagination on his part.  In his forty two years he had very little contact with babies and young children, and simply did not think of them – certainly not as a part of himself.  Knowing his wife was carrying a child was an entirely different matter to seeing that child as a living, breathing human being, with thoughts and feelings of its own.  When Gil asked, “Would you risk your child?” he was forcing his brother to see his own situation from a completely new angle.

“No, I would not,” was the tardy reply, “I’m terribly sorry for you both, Gil.  Is there really no compromise which could be reached amicably?  Perhaps you could visit these people and reassure them of your good intentions towards both Catherine and the boy?”

“I have suggested that to Catherine, but she thinks not.  Apparently they are extremely devout and see the Church of England as the epitome of heresy.  I don’t see my presence will do anything to alter feelings as deep as that, do you?”

His brother had to admit that he did not.  He was entirely bereft of words of comfort to offer, and could only be quietly relieved when Toby joined them and saved him the effort of searching for some.

“Mrs. Trent has sent Mrs. Underwood back to bed for an hour,” he announced, “And she now requires us for cleaning duties.”