However, all too soon he was venturing out into the wet and misty morning, still grey and chilly from the rainstorm of the evening before. The main street was unusually empty – as it had been on the day he had arrived in Bracken Tor, but never since – and he unfortunately met no one with whom he could exchange friendly greetings. Normally this would not have concerned him in any way, but today there was a slight depression hanging over him which he felt a merry smile could have helped to dispel. He squared his shoulders and set his feet determinedly on the path, comforting himself with the thought that he would soon be seeing Charlotte. Her smile was surely merry enough for any man.
As he drew nearer the moors his mood grew even more despondent. The heather looked dull and lifeless, the lowering clouds had an ominous darkness to them which betokened more rain before the day was over. It was with immense relief that he turned his back on them and took the path which led to Wynter Court. He hoped
That once in amongst the trees he would be able to shake off his mood, but the silence was oppressive and the drips which fell from the branches seemed to be aimed directly at the back of his neck, then slid icily down his spine. This was no way to approach his future father-in-law and he knew it. If he gave even the slightest indication of weakness, Sir Henry would sense it and tear him to shreds like one of his own hunting hounds on a cornered fox.
Evidently the servants had been told to expect him – much to his irritation, as he liked to think of himself as an enigma – and he was shown directly into Sir Henry’s study. Thus he found himself facing the man across the expanse of his enormous desk – or so it seemed to Underwood, he was suffering from the curious sensation of having shrunk in the night. It was a desk which was not merely decorative, but at which Sir Henry worked exceedingly hard, running his estate with knowledge and precision, and studying the cases he was called upon to preside over with an impartiality which was legendary.
Sir Henry ignored Underwood’s presence for a few moments, a strategy which the younger man had expected and therefore accepted stoically, and when he finally leant back in his chair and looked at his visitor, it was to size him up between shrewdly narrowed eyes, mentally weighing his good and bad points as though buying a horse from a none-too reliable dealer. Underwood was annoyed with himself for feeling discomforted beneath this basilisk stare and admitted for the first time that he was seeing the Judge and not the drunkard and the bully.
“I shall put you out of your misery, Underwood, and tell you that Charlotte has warned me of your intentions.”
“So I imagine, but there was really no need for her to have done so. I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself,” Underwood’s tone was quiet and measured as though, even at this early stage in the conversation, he was trying not to let the older man betray him into a display of irritation.
“Speak then,” countered Sir Henry, with a cruel grin, “Convince me that I should hand my daughter into your care – for I do assure you, she will be entirely in your care, once you have her, for I have no intention of paying anything other than a token dowry.”
“I had never supposed otherwise. Charlotte will want for nothing, I promise you that.”
“Good. I’m more than ready to admit that I have little time for my daughters. So many of them are merely a drain on my resources, whereas sons could have helped me run the estate and brought honour to the family name. I could have had a brace of military men and even one for the Church, had things fallen out better for me, but a gaggle of useless girls was all I could get from that mealy-mouthed saint that I married – though I suppose I should be grateful that I finally got my boy. However, if I do have a favourite, it is Charlotte – Gad! What a boy she would have made! There is not a cowardly bone in her body. I’ve seen her take a fence a grown man would baulk at, and she only fifteen or sixteen at the time. Yes, Charlotte is undoubtedly a favourite.”
“I’m sure she is signally aware of the honour,” commented Underwood dryly. He tried hard, but could not keep the note of sarcasm from his tone. He took a deep breath and added, rather coldly, “Do you wish me to acquaint you more fully with my financial situation?”
“There’s no need. I can’t say I very interested. You are no fortune hunter; I can see that – and much good it would do you if you were. And you are a sensible man. You must know whether you are able to keep a wife in comfort. As long as you feed and clothe her decently, ad don’t come whining to me for handouts, what you do or don’t have is your own affair – but I’m warning you now, Charlotte is expensive to keep and don’t take kindly to being curbed.”
“I presume you are similarly uninterested in our place of abode?” Underwood was beginning to understand the reason for the depression which had haunted him all morning. If this was the way Sir Henry disposed of his favourite daughter, God help the others. His indifference was genuine and complete.
Sir Henry leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the table and his chin was supported by his interlocked fingers, “You are beginning to bore me, Underwood. Frankly I have no interest in your arrangements whatsoever. Doubtless Charlotte will visit from time to time, bringing, if you are man enough, a procession of grandchildren for me to dandle upon my ageing knee, and that is all I require of her. Obviously you think me an unspeakably callous parent,” Underwood’s scornful expression told him as much. “But should the day ever dawn,” he continued, “that you have six daughters for whom you have to find suitable husbands, weeding out the rogues and villains along the way, you will perhaps understand the relief one feels when one of those daughters takes it upon herself to find her own husband – albeit not the man you would have chosen for her yourself.”
It was as much as Underwood could do not to demand to know in what way he fell short of Sir Henry’s exacting standards, but he was wise enough to know that the older man would have no compunction in telling him, and in doing so would probably convince him of his own unworthiness. Instead he summoned a false and humourless smile, “Well, for once we find ourselves of one accord, Sir Henry, for if I am not your choice of a husband for Charlotte, you are most certainly not my choice of father-in-law.”
Sir Henry laughed, “Whatever else I may think of you, Underwood, I have to admit you are always painfully honest. There are not many men who would have spoken thus to the man who holds their future in his hands. Aren’t you even a little afraid that I shall throw you out of my house and forbid Charlotte ever to see you again?”
Sir Henry looked and sounded jovial, but Underwood sensed he was being tested and answered with perfect gravity, “Not in the least. Shakespeare was a man who wrote many truths, none more so than when he told the tale of Romeo and Juliet. Your opposition would merely make me even more attractive to Charlotte. I should simply ask the lady to elope with me – in fact, the idea has several advantages which heartily recommend it, foremost amongst them being the complete absence of relatives at the wedding.”
The older man roared with laughter, “I’ve a mind to put you to the test, Underwood. I don’t believe for a moment you have the courage to arrange an elopement, much less carry it through.”
“Don’t tempt me!”
Suddenly Sir Henry seemed to lose interest in the subject and flung out an inviting hand, “Sit yourself down, Underwood. We’ll seal the agreement with a glass of brandy and you can tell me what sort of a cricket player you are.”
Mr. Underwood was startled by the unexpected veer in the conversation and he sank obediently into the seat he had been gestured towards and asked faintly,
“Cricket? I can still knock up a half-century, but what has that to do with anything?”
“There is a match next week and we are a couple of men short. Will you play?”
“Certainly, I’d be delighted, but who are we to play against?”
“It is the annual match between Bracken Tor and Calden. Dr. Herbert captains Calden and I, naturally, captain Bracken Tor. Competition is fierce and at the moment we are running neck and neck. We
need to win this match to make the score even. Do you think you are up to the challenge?”
“I sincerely hope so,” Underwood answered automatically, his thoughts elsewhere.
“I hope so too. If you let the side down, I’ll have to seriously reconsider your marriage to my daughter. What about your brother?”
Underwood looked startled, “What about my brother?”
“Does he play cricket?”
“Yes … yes – or at least he did. Do you want me to ask him?”
“No, I’ll tell him myself. He’ll refuse if he thinks he can.”
“Very well. Do you think I might be allowed to see Charlotte now?”
“See her whenever you like.” Underwood took this to be a dismissal and took himself off, leaving Sir Henry to partake of the celebratory brandy alone.
The maid Sally was in the hall when he came out of the study and he wondered vaguely if she had been listening at the door. She certainly had an extremely pert smile on her face. It crossed his mind to chastise her, but decided on reflection to ignore her. He would never wager on himself if it came to a battle of wills with a woman. “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell Miss Charlotte that Mr. Underwood wishes to see her?”
“She’s out in the paddock on Merryman, sir. Shall I send Abney to fetch her?”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I shall go out to her.” His shoulders stiffened as he heard her giggle as he walked away.
Merryman was always a mettlesome beast, but today, as Underwood approached the paddock, he seemed even more spirited than usual. Charlotte was evidently having some trouble holding him, her face quite pink with exertion and beads of sweat shining on her nose and brow. Underwood’s blood ran cold at the thought of what damage so huge a horse could do, should he manage to unseat his rider. Very sensibly he did not call out to Charlotte, or distract her in any way, until she brought the wheeling animal under some sort of control.
“Phew! He’s feeling his oats this morning,” she called brightly, when she caught sight of her beau by the fence, sliding deftly from the saddle. The glimpse he caught of her long slim legs made Underwood unworthily think the horse was not the only one! The wedding need not be long delayed.
She led the skittish Merryman behind her as she walked towards him and Underwood could not help but notice how small she looked beside the great beast.
“Do you think it quite safe to ride that animal?” he asked diffidently.
She laughed up at him, her eyes sparkling with glee; “Does he worry you, Mr. Underwood?” she asked softly, “There’s really no need to be afraid of him. He’s an absolute lamb.”
Underwood warily eyed the now softly blowing Merryman; “A wolf in lamb’s clothing, perhaps.”
“Just like Papa. And speaking of Papa, have you seen him?”
“Indeed I have.” He took her hand and kissed it, “Our betrothal is now formally acknowledged by all, and my mother bade me bring you back to the vicarage for a celebration luncheon.”
Some of the sparkle died from her eyes, “Oh, Underwood, She terrifies me so!”
“My mother?” He was genuinely shocked; “My mother couldn’t terrify anyone - and she would be most distressed to hear you say so.”
“But if she does not like me?” cried the anguished Charlotte, “Maria’s mama-in-law makes life a perfect misery for her, constantly causing dissent between her and Edwin. I could not bear it if your mama were to cause quarrels between you and I, simply because she hates me.”
“Calm yourself, my dear child. There is no possibility at all that my Mama won’t adore you as I do.”
Charlotte raised tear-drenched green eyes to his, “And do you?” she whispered.
“Do I what?”
“Adore me?”
“I suppose I do,” he answered softly, lowering his head to kiss the pretty lips which were raised so invitingly to his.
Merryman, sensing that his mistress was too preoccupied to pay him any attention, nudged Underwood rather roughly aside with his large head. They laughed and Underwood said ruefully, “I think we had better save that until we are completely alone.”
“We have the rest of the morning before us. Why don’t we walk back to the vicarage through the woods and you can tell me all about yourself. That way if you mama asks any awkward questions, I shall be able to dazzle her with my complete knowledge of her son.”
“Very well.”
As they strolled towards the stables, Charlotte leading Merryman, and Underwood avoiding him, she suddenly spoke, “By the bye, I understand you have been expressing an interest in the Hazelhurst family?”
“Only in a very general sense,” answered Underwood guardedly, “why do you mention it?”
“I simply thought you might want to know that Hazelhurst’s sister has come home. It is the talk of the village. She hasn’t been seen for years.”
“I imagine Miss Chapell does not encourage her charges to indulge in village gossip, so how came you to hear of it?” Underwood tried – and managed – to sound disinterested.
“Oh, Harry and Papa were riding over that way the other day and happened to meet her on the road.”
With his somewhat intimate knowledge of their joint past, Underwood doubted that any meeting between Sir Henry and Miss Hazelhurst was accidental, but naturally he made no such comment to his betrothed.
“Why were you asking about the Hazelhursts?” she asked after a moment, trying to instil the same level of boredom into her tone as he had, but scarcely succeeding. She had heard of the beauty of Miss Hazelhurst and had been tortured by the thought that Underwood knew of it too. His evasive answer did nothing to calm her fears; “Did I ask about them? I can’t recall ever having done so.”
“Ellen Herbert told Verity that you had asked the doctor about them.”
“And Verity told you?” Underwood’s tone was a little sharp, caused by surprise and disappointment in Verity. He had not thought she would be so careless of his confidences.
Charlotte bit her lip guiltily, “Well … she did not exactly tell me. I sort of overheard them talking.”
Underwood smiled, “In other words you were eavesdropping?”
“Certainly not!” protested the young lady, but she made no further comment. How could she admit that she had been passing a door slightly ajar, had heard his name mentioned and had not been able to resist the lure of hearing him discussed, even in so obscure a manner? Men were quite vain enough, without being presented with snippets like that.
Once Merryman had been handed over to Abney and Charlotte had changed her dress, the newly betrothed couple were free to wander in the general direction of the woods, which would finally lead them to the highroad and thence the vicarage. Since they had, as Charlotte had pointed out, a goodly portion of the morning still before them, their steps were unhurried and their conversation animated. There was much to discover about each other.
“Tell me about your father,” she asked him, “Was he much like you?”
“Not in the least. He resembled Gil more than I. Dark hair and eyes. He was a merchant and spent much of his time abroad – China, India. We saw him very infrequently really, hence our close attachment to our mother. I think he was rather disappointed that neither Gil not I shared his adventurous spirit, though of course, it was due to his success that he was able to ensure a good education for us. He died of a recurring fever he caught whilst on his travels.”
“How old were you when he died?” The sympathy in her voice made him smile. She was evidently imagining a small boy bereft of his father.
“I was rather older than you are now, my dear. But it was not a pleasant experience for any of us. During his last illness he was at home more than he had ever been in our lives before, and Gil and I had the chance to grow very fond of him. When we were small he tended to be a passing visitor who brought exciting gifts. We did not appreciate him until it was almost too late. My mother adored him. She took his death very badly. I think she felt cheated
, having spent so much of her married life without him, she had wanted a long and happy old age in his company.”
By this time they had almost reached the spot where Charlotte had suffered her accident with the trap and since it had been the moment which had first drawn them together, she could not resist bringing his attention to the fact.
She was unaware that for her own purposes, she could have done nothing worse. She was extremely gratified to find that he insisted upon stopping and looking around the area she indicated, having first received her assurance that her papa had had all the traps cleared from this section of the wood.
For the first time in days Underwood turned his thoughts back to Mary Smith and found that he was not proud of himself. He had forgotten her more completely than he had ever envisioned he could, and was swamped with guilt that he should have been so utterly selfish and shallow.
As he began to look about him, Charlotte was swept from his mind. She chattered happily at his side, never knowing that he had ceased to listen to her and was instead concentrating on the mystery once again.
There was, naturally, no trace left of that past tragedy, no bloodstains now on the grass, no imprint of a body amongst the rapidly fading bluebells. He could not ask Charlotte to show him the exact spot where the body had been found, desiring her to have no knowledge of his macabre investigation, but when he saw a flat rock, still bearing the strike marks of an axe or similar implement, he knew he could not be far away from the place where the girl had lain.
“Underwood!” her sharp retort brought him swiftly back to the present and he glanced up, “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
She laughed, “Yes, I said we ought to be getting on. We’ll be late for lunch and your mother will think I’m to blame.”
Looking into her happy face renewed the depression which he had fought so vainly to banish that morning. What manner of monster could snuff the life from a living, breathing girl? Who could bring themselves to cruelly douse that spark of fire which supposedly raised man above the animals? It took a kind of madness which Underwood had no desire to either understand nor forgive. With a sudden fierceness which took Charlotte by surprise he drew her into a close embrace, pressing her tight against his chest. They remained thus for a few moments then Charlotte gently said,
A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) Page 21
