A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) (30 page)

Underwood was only too glad to turn away from the personal and discuss the machinations of the murderous mind, “It was a silly little thing, really, but the night Blake was shot I noticed several things happening which did not quite add up.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, forgetting her own misery in the fascination of learning how he had solved the mystery.

“That night was as perfect a reflection of the morning the body was discovered as I was ever going to witness.  Fortunately you had given me an invaluable insight to the events of the previous occasion and I was able to mentally compare them.  For example, you told me that Brownsword had insisted on getting dressed before coming downstairs, but when I hammered on the door, he came down almost immediately, with only his coat thrown over his nightshirt.  He had learnt a lesson a year ago, namely that when the door is knocked upon at an unusual time of day, it is likely to herald an emergency, therefore when it happened again, he did not wait to get dressed.  However, several other members of the household behaved in the same way as they had the year before, Sir Henry being the worst offender.  He pretended not to be woken by the front door, even though his room is directly above the hall, for the same reason as he had last year, because he knew what had occurred and did not want to rouse suspicion by being too quickly on the scene and thereby showing that he had never been undressed, had never been to bed, and was certainly not asleep at the vital times.”

“Yes, I see what you are saying.  The innocent parties altered their behaviour because they had been shocked by the events of last year, but the guilty did exactly the same as they had before because their actions had helped to cover their crimes.”

“Precisely.”

“How did you guess about Harry being Harriet’s son?”

“There were several reasons, though I did not recognize some of them initially.  The major thing was his size.  I realise there are some strapping fifteen year olds – I ought to know, I teach boys of all ages and backgrounds – but the way Harry handled that monster of a horse made me wonder.  He is also remarkably like Hazelhurst, though the resemblance eluded me for quite a while.  The final conviction came when Hazelhurst told me Harriet’s child had been a girl, but the church records disagreed.  They had probably forgotten the birth had even been recorded, since Harriet left Bracken Tor soon after the birth.  There could only be one reason for such an obvious lie and that was had I found people who had known Harriet in London and Manchester, they would all have told me that she had lived with a daughter and not a son.”

“I wonder why Harriet agreed to let Sir Henry have her son?” mused Verity thoughtfully, knowing that she could never let any child of hers be taken away.

“She loved him and she thought Sir Henry would give him a better life than she ever could – and to her credit, she never abandoned the girl, despite the drain she must have been on her resources, and even after it was obvious Sir Henry had no intention of keeping his word and paying her.  She would have fared better without a child to worry about, and there are orphanages, poorhouses and baby farmers aplenty in London where she could have deserted her.  The sad fact is many women with unwanted children simply leave them on the street to die of hunger and cold.”

“Harriet is quite a remarkable woman, when you consider it in that light, isn’t she?”  Verity asked diffidently.  Mr. Underwood raised a faintly quizzical brow before nodding rather reluctantly, “I suppose she is, though one can scarcely condone her committing incest, then passing off her brother’s child as Sir Henry’s.”

“No, but she had to do something, didn’t she?  As you have said, there is nothing easy about the life of a girl with a baby and no husband.”

Mr. Underwood, who tended to have a surprisingly black and white view of wrong-doing, despite his innate reluctance to stand in judgement of his fellow man, was forced to seriously consider the justice of Verity’s words.

“Do you intend to see her again?”  The quietly spoken question took him by surprise, for the truth was he had been thinking of a trip to Hill Farm before he left Bracken Tor for good.  It did not occur to him that he had been rather attracted to Harriet, but instead he convinced himself he ought to see if Harry was coping with his new life.  He had vaguely thought he might offer to pay for the boy to go to University.  It was the only salve to his conscience he could consider worthwhile.

When Verity asked the question, however, he knew he would not go to Hill Farm, nor would he offer Harry anything, and that Harriet must hate him quite as much as Charlotte did.  It was a sobering thought, and one which did nothing to remove the mantle of melancholy which had draped itself about his shoulders and  

which was growing heavier by the day.

“No, I won’t see her again.  I think I have meddled enough, don’t you?”

“I don’t see what you have done to be meddling.  I think you did what Mary deserved and I know what it cost you to do the right think.  I have nothing but admiration for you … for your actions,” she amended hastily.

“Bless you for that, Verity, but I cannot forget that two men have died since I set myself the task of finding Mary’s murderer, and that numerous other lives have been shattered beyond repair – I have even managed to lose your place of employment for you.”

She smiled gently at his determination to take the blame for every ill in the world, “That was no loss, believe me.  But for Isobel, I should have left Sir Henry’s employ within a week of arriving to take up the position.”

“You were fond of Isobel, weren’t you?”

“Very.  She has a sweet disposition.”

“I wouldn’t know.  I never managed to reach beyond her shyness.  Strange to think I would have been her brother-in-law.”

“Perhaps you still could be.  Charlotte was very much in love with you.  Edwin is determined that all this should be kept quiet.  Sir Henry’s death has already been ruled by the coroner to have been an unfortunate accident – they said he was cleaning his gun when it went off.  Harry being disowned is to be the result of a violent quarrel which caused his father to change his will in a fit of pique, dying before he could change it back.  He has even put it about that he is paying the Hazelhursts to give the boy lodgings, because he feels sorry for him. He also has no intention of admitting Maria’s illness is mental and not physical, for he intends to divorce her for desertion and he would not be allowed to do so if it were known she is insane.  He has friends in Parliament who have assured him of their support.”

Mr. Underwood’s disgust at Edwin Wynter’s self-interest was clearly reflected in his expression              “Has the man no soul?  I find it incredible he should be able to think so clearly to protect himself and make sure he gets everything he wants, when all about him is crumbling.”

“Don’t you think you should take a leaf out of his book?  If Edwin is to get everything he wants out of this situation, why should you not have Charlotte?”

He slowly shook his head, “I doubt she would even agree to see me.  Why should she?  I have ruined her life.”

“You have done no such thing.  She has lost a father who cared little for her, and a home which she would have left when she married anyway.”

“I had not considered the matter to be quite as simple as you seem to suggest.”

Gil made his presence known at that moment, though in fact he had been standing in the doorway for some minutes and had heard most of Verity’s impassioned pleas for Underwood to go to Charlotte.  When Underwood presently decided he was tired and went to his bed, the vicar turned to his guest and without thought of the proprieties he took her hand in his, “My dear girl, forgive me, but I must speak candidly.  I know quite well how much you feel for my brother, and I can only be stunned by a spirit such as yours which can encourage him to go to another, when you long to keep him for yourself.”

There were tears in her eyes and her fingers clutched convulsively at his, “I cannot bear him to be so unhappy.  If he loves Charlotte, then I have no right to keep him from her.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, “Verity, if Underwood succeeds with his Charlotte, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Despite her best efforts to be brave, this made the tears spill onto her cheeks, but she managed to give a small smile, though her chin trembled in a manner very much reminiscent of a child, “Why wait until then, Gil?  He does not even know I exist!  Thank you for your very kind offer.  May I have time to think about it?”

“Of course.”

*

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

(“Suaviter In Modo, Fortiter In Re” - Gentle in manner, firm in action)

For the first time in weeks Underwood felt relaxed and comfortable.  The Rev. Josiah Blackwell had a talent for making his guests feel at home, and despite mounting misery, Mr. Underwood was not impervious to the man’s innate charm.  They had long discussions, sitting late into the night, and Underwood found himself telling Blackwell things he had never disclosed to another human being. Mainly it was his sorrow and guilt that his beloved Elinor had died purely because she was betrothed to him.  Her uncle had stood to inherit her wealth had she remained unmarried after the age of twenty-five.  She knew nothing of the details of her father’s will, so it was with grateful trust that she had allowed her uncle to nurse her through a minor illness.  By the time Underwood realized she was being slowly and systematically poisoned it was too late to save her.  Her uncle – a man Underwood had long considered a friend - had gone to the gallows cursing Underwood’s name.

The events of the past month had brought back so many painful memories for Underwood that Rev. Blackwell had taken the unprecedented step of interfering unforgivably in his guest’s affairs.  When he returned from performing the funeral of Sir Henry Wynter in Bracken Tor, he brought Charlotte and Isobel with him.

He had found it no easy task to persuade Charlotte to accompany him, but Isobel had provided the final lever, telling her sister that since it was she who had pursued Mr. Underwood, she therefore owed him the courtesy of telling him face to face she no longer wished to marry him.

Charlotte had grown up a great deal in the days which followed her father’s death and her sister’s break down, and it was a very poised, though pale, young lady who faced Underwood across the expanse of Rev. Blackwell’s parlour.  She was dressed in unrelieved black, and Underwood feared she would swoon, so white did she appear to him.  The longing to cross the room and sweep her into his arms was almost overpowering, but instead he was forced to make what he considered to be the most fatuous remark of his life, “How are you, Charlotte?”

Her green eyes looked huge in her ashen face, and at this they glittered dangerously.  Without replying she moved swiftly towards him, raised he hand and dealt him a stinging slap on the cheek.  He accepted the blow without flinching, though a muscle in his jaw tightened perceptibly.  For a moment they looked at each other, then Charlotte cast herself against him and burst into violent sobs.  She beat her hands against his chest, crying, “How could you do it?  I hate you!  Why did you have to meddle?  Why couldn’t you leave the girl dead and unknown?  We could have been happy – and no one cared about her.”

“I cared, Charlotte – and she was your sister.  It could easily have been Isobel or even yourself whom your father cheated, then killed.”

She raised her head, the bitter tears still flowing, “Do you think I forgive my father any more than I forgive you?  I hope he rots in hell’s flames forever!  I did not want to attend his funeral, but Edwin forced me, saying that to stay away would cause comment.  He still wants me to marry you, so concerned is he that nothing should throw suspicion upon the circumstances surrounding my father’s death.”

“Edwin is mistaken.  Marriage is now impossible for us.  You will always see what I have done as a betrayal of your love.  You and I both know that had I loved you enough, I would not have disclosed your father’s secret.  I do not see my actions in that light, but it is something which would be forever between us.”

Charlotte looked at him, aghast, “You have said everything I have been thinking, but was not able to put into words.  I have tortured myself with my thoughts

For days, not able to understand how I could hate you, yet long for you with all my heart.  Now I understand.  You could, and should, have kept what you learnt to yourself, for me.  If you did not love me enough to protect, then you did not love me enough to make me happy.”

He silenced her by lowering his head and pressing his lips to hers, but the spark was gone and though she responded, they both knew it was a farewell and not a new beginning.

When he escorted her into the hall he found Isobel sitting on a chair, waiting for her sister.  Charlotte took her leave of him very formally, offering him her hand which he held only for a moment, kissed swiftly, then released.  As she went out to the waiting carriage, Isobel stood and much to Underwood’s surprise, she approached him and stood on her tiptoes in order to reach him.  Instinctively he bent so that she could attain her goal.  She kissed him softly on the cheek, the same cheek Charlotte had slapped, and which still bore traces of reddened finger marks, “I like you very much, Mr. Underwood,” she whispered shyly, “I think Charlotte is stupid not to marry you – and I’m very glad you killed my papa.  He was a hateful man!”

He was appalled, “I didn’t kill…” he trailed off, suddenly aware that in Isobel’s and probably Charlotte’s opinions kill their father was precisely what he had done, “Goodbye, Isobel,” he said sadly.

“May I write to you?” she asked diffidently.  He knew he should refuse the request, that all connection with the Wynters should be cut, swift and painless, like pruning a dead branch from a tree before disease can affect the whole, but he could not quite bring himself to do it, “I should be happy to occasionally hear how you are faring,” he said, weakly.

“And you will give my love to Miss Chapell?”

“Yes, yes I will.”

“You should marry her, Mr. Underwood.  She really is much nicer than Charlotte.”

He smiled at her childish method of solving all the misery.  If one love affair doesn’t work, simply move on to another.

“I don’t think Miss Chapell has any idea of marrying me, Isobel.”

“Oh yes, she does!  Goodbye, Mr. Underwood.”

She went briskly to join her sister, who sat in the carriage, staring straight ahead, not even turning to give him a last glance as the vehicle pulled away.  Underwood closed the front door very gently.

Rev. Blackwell was walking down the stairs as his guest turned away from the door and Underwood raised his eyes to look at him.

“I have an apology to make, Underwood.  Obviously I should not have brought Charlotte here?”  There was a note of diffidence in his tone which Underwood had never heard before from the usually confident clergyman, and which caused a smile to light briefly on his sombre features, “No, my dear fellow.  No apology necessary.  You did exactly the right thing – as usual.  Charlotte and I needed to see each other and finish the thing properly.  Loose ends have a habit of tripping one up.”

Blackwell smiled, a mixture of relief and affection, “You have a succinct way of expressing yourself, Underwood.  Now you can out this incident, and the others we have discussed, firmly behind you and pick up the threads of your life.”

Underwood smiled rather humourlessly, “Strangely enough, despite everything, I think I can.  Thank you for your hospitality, Blackwell, and your counsel, but I think I am ready to go home now.”

“The pleasure has been entirely mine, my dear fellow.  There is a stage leaving tomorrow, and I took the liberty of booking your seat for you.  Your mother has been appraised of your imminent arrival, and your brother has been granted a short holiday, leaving Bracken Tor in the very capable hands of the newly returned Pollock!”

When Underwood laughed, it had the ring of authenticity, “Are you ever wrong about anything, Blackwell?”

“Not often, Underwood, not often.”

*

A summer spent at his childhood home, just outside Bath, did much to restore and repair Underwood’s battered reserves of strength, though he could not, as ever, be persuaded to take the waters.

He began to write a very erudite, and extremely boring, book.  He walked for miles with his mother and Miss Chapell, who had been quickly persuaded that she was not suited to the life of servitude which was the lot of a governess, and accepted an offer to stay as Mrs. Underwood’s paid companion.  Verity knew this was a kindly civility, and that Mrs. Underwood had managed for years alone, but she could not help but grant herself these last few precious weeks in Mr. Underwood’s company.  She was fully aware that when he went back to Cambridge for the winter term, it would be for good, and that she would never see him again.  When that happened, she would have to decide whether to accept Gil’s offer of marriage, or to find some new source of employment.

Gil returned to Bracken Tor only briefly, to arrange for his property to be packed and removed from the vicarage.  It was not a comfortable visit.  He confided the story to Verity, but would tell Underwood nothing.  Edwin Wynter was happily established at the Court, and had brought the girls home, Jane to be his housekeeper, the others to give his presence an air of respectability, for Harry’s situation was regarded as scandalous by many.  Harry himself seemed to be quite happy in his life as a farmer.  Harriet made sure he had a horse to ride, and his old cronies from his past life were kindly making sure he was occasionally invited to meets and shoots.  Had they been aware of his true, and humble, roots, they would doubtless have dropped him, but as far as they knew, he had merely suffered a reversal of fortune.  He had greeted Gil with surly aggression, for he blamed the Underwood’s utterly for the death of a father whom he, at least, had always held in the greatest affection – until the last, vitriolic meeting, when his rejection had shocked and wounded the boy.

Underwood’s original aim that the word ‘unknown’ be replaced on the gravestone with a name was also doomed to failure.  As the new power in the district, Edwin Wynter refused absolutely to have the stone interfered with, for, as he had privately and bitterly pointed out; what name could they use?  Adela Wynter was out of the question, for in law, no such person existed.  She had lived as Mary Hazelhurst, also a lie, and died as Mary Smith, but how pointless to carve that on the stone when it was also false.  So ‘unknown’ remained, and when Gil went, as a last gesture, to place flowers on the unhappy mound of earth, he found that Harriet Hazelhurst had been there first.

Gil and Verity agreed that Underwood must never know these things, and grew ever closer to each other in a kindly conspiracy to keep Underwood in ignorance.  Underwood noticed their mutual affection, but placed an entirely different complexion upon it.

With the first fall of leaves, the early morning chill, the remnants of mist which lingered in the hollows, Underwood knew the time had come to make his decision.  Cambridge beckoned strongly and he found his missed his rooms, dark-panelled and musty, that he even missed his boys – but only a very little.  He looked forward to a winter closeted within the thick stone walls, which shut out the fiercest winds and held the world at bay.

Mrs. Underwood, realizing as clearly as Verity, that once shut away, Underwood looked unlikely to ever re-emerge, went in frantic search of her young friend.  She wasted no time upon pointless pleasantries, but came straight to the point,

“He is going back to Cambridge, Verity.  What are you going to do about it?”

Verity was shocked, and showed it, “What has it to do with me?  It is not my business.  I cannot intervene.”

“But you must.  We both know that if he goes back now, he might just as well enter a monastery.”

“Mrs. Underwood…” began Verity in protest, but the older woman brushed aside her interjection with a wave of her hand, “Verity, I want grandchildren.  If I don’t take a hand now, I might never have them.”

Verity blushed at such forthright expressiveness, but admitted shyly, “Gil has proposed to me.”

“But you are in love with Chuffy.”  Mrs. Underwood blundered on, not seeming to notice that she had shocked Verity by voicing a knowledge which Verity thought she had kept closely confined, “Mistake me not, I adore both my sons, and Chuffy is not one whit better than Gil.  In fact, in many ways, he’s more of a trial to me, but on this occasion Gil must shift for himself.  At least he is out and about in the world, and there is always a slim chance he might find himself a girl – but how is Underwood to fall in love if he never sees a woman from one year’s end to the next?  No, I am quite determined!  It would be better for Chuffy to marry a woman who loves him, rather than the other way about, for he has notoriously poor taste and always chooses the wrong types.  Even poor Elinor, God rest her soul, was so delicate that a good gust of wind would have felled her.”

Verity was inclined to ask further about the mysterious Elinor, but managed to restrain herself.  Once started on another subject, Mrs. Underwood was likely to completely lose her train of thought.

“But I can’t force myself into his notice;  I can’t ask him to marry me,”  she said hotly, feeling that it was most unfair of Mrs. Underwood to show so little concern for her emotions in all the mess.  Of course, there was nothing she desired more than to marry the man she loved, but what could be worse for a woman, than knowing that her husband was not only not in love with her, but was still deeply in love with another?

She said as much to Mrs. Underwood, who was at once contrite, “Poor Verity.  I did not mean to be so bombastic.  It just distresses me so, to see both you and Chuffy throwing away what might be your only chance of happiness. Don’t you think I know, beyond any shadow of doubt that Underwood will fall in love with you, once the idea penetrates his thick skull?  If I recall, it was Charlotte and not he, who initiated their romance.  Why should you not do the same?”