“I’m touched by this display of affection, but you are crushing my ribs and I can barely draw breath!”
Her prosaic complaint broke the spell. He laughed, rather self-consciously,
“I do beg your pardon. I was overcome with a sudden desire to protect you from all the evils of the world, and instead I almost manage to do you an injury.”
Released from his grasp, she brushed her dishevelled hair from her face, “You sound very serious.”
“Not at all. Come, we have lingered long enough, and Gil detests tardiness.”
If she was puzzled by his curious behaviour, she made no remark upon it, but happily allowed him to lead her back to the path. Strangely enough she was feeling more confident about meeting his mother now, and for the most part because of that embrace. It was the first time he had embraced her unprompted, and she realized that he did indeed feel strongly about her. He was so controlled that until that impetuous action she had half-believed he was only being courteous in not rejecting her advances. In that moment she ceased to be a girl and became a woman, worthy of being loved by a man like C.H. Underwood.
*
Underwood was desperately eager to find and interview Seb Gray, but could think of no possible way to escape his filial duties without occasioning the sort of interest in his doings that Gil was so keen to avoid. When his opportunity arose the following day, he grasped it with both hands.
Mrs. Underwood expressed a desire to visit Tambrook falls, having been told of them by Gil in one of his many letters. Underwood gave a martyred look and sighed heavily at the thought of another visit so soon after his first, and thus prompted both mother and brother to omit him from their plans. Most fortunately it was Verity’s free afternoon and she was more than willing to borrow the gig and drive Underwood to Beconfield on the pretext of needing to shop. Rather than draw attention to their departure together, Underwood walked to the high road and was met within a very few minutes by a flushed and rather agitated Miss Chapell, “All was nearly lost, sir,” she said breathlessly, as he took his place beside her, “Isobel suddenly decided to accompany me in order to visit the lending library. It took all my ingenuity to persuade her out of the notion.”
“Ah, now I feel a complete rogue for denying the young lady a trip into town – especially for the laudable purpose of reading,” said Underwood with a smile.
“Nonsense! Isobel can call up a carriage at any time – she has no right to encroach upon my freedom.” Verity looked and sounded cross, as indeed she was. The time was fast approaching that she would lose Underwood’s company forever, and she fully intended to make the most of every precious moment before Charlotte claimed the spoils and she was left to dream of what might have been.
Underwood raised a quizzical brow, but wisely made no comment.
“Can you tell me now why we are going to see this Mr. Gray? Your note was cryptic, to say the least.”
Underwood briefly told her what Tom Briggs had said about Seb Gray, and also the doctor’s assessment of the suffering the man had endured at the hands of Sir Henry.
“I have to say,” he concluded, “that if any man has the right to be angry, then it is Gray. Sir Henry not only used illegal man-traps on his land, causing the poacher to be maimed, he also sat on the bench and sentenced the fellow to three years in gaol for his petty thieving. It would be logical to wreak revenge in those circumstances.”
Verity looked thoughtful, “It seems a little far-fetched to me. There must be other ways to embarrass a man – committing murder is a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?”
“If it was murder, then yes, I agree – but what if he merely dumped the body of a woman who had already died of natural causes?”
“A very convenient death, if it occurred at exactly the right time to affect Sir Henry.”
“True enough – but I imagine death is no rare occurrence amongst the poor.”
“I suppose not.”
“In any event, having been presented with a hypothesis, we are obliged to question the man – no matter how unlikely the idea.”
“Of course. I was not questioning your motives, merely debating the theory.”
Beconfield not being very far distant – at least not when a vehicle was available – Underwood and Verity were very soon alighting outside the first hostelry named by Tom Briggs as one of Gray’s watering holes.
It was not, however, until they reached the third place on the list that they were fortunate enough to find Seb Gray. It occurred to Underwood that the inn was not of the most salubrious sort, and therefore he ought not take Miss Chapell inside, so he immediately requested a private room and ordered coffee, asking the inn-keeper to direct Mr. Gray to join them.
They were left alone for a few minutes until the sound of wood tapping upon floorboards alerted them to the advent of Gray. Rather boyishly Underwood had been expecting a man of piratical appearance, probably due to the knowledge of the wooden leg, and so he was surprised that Gray, far from being hearty and muscle-bound, was actually somewhat small of stature and of a distinctly stoat-like appearance, with small, wary eyes, and a sharp nose. His sparse, wispy grey hair spoke of a man of fifty years or more, but he could have been less. Deep lines etched on his face hinted at pain and poverty rather than age. He doffed his hat politely towards Verity, but addressed himself directly to Underwood.
“Bentley tells me you want a word, sir,” he said gruffly, jerking his head towards the tap-room, so that Underwood correctly surmised that Bentley was the name of the landlord.
“If it would not be too much trouble, Mr Gray, my companion and I would very much like to speak to you.”
“Can’t for the life of me think what the likes of you wants with the likes of me, sir, but I’m willin’,” answered Gray and fell thankfully into the chair Underwood offered him. He winced slightly as he shifted the weight off his wooden leg, and Verity could not help but stare in fascination as he thrust it out before him. It was beautifully carved with all manner of things; twisting ivy snaked its way up and around, with birds, bees, butterflies and other insects peeping amongst the foliage. She had never seen a piece of wood more cleverly worked. Gray of course saw at once that she was impressed and grinned amiably at her, with an accompanying wink and a leer, “If you have to have a peg-leg, might as well make it one the ladies like to look at,” he said. His tone suggested that he had no shortage of ladies to do just that, and Verity blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Did you do it?” she asked breathlessly, stunned at such artistry.
“’Deed I did.”
“Tell me, if you could do that, why on earth should you need to be a poacher?”
The smile slid from his face, “Who told you I was a poacher?” he demanded roughly.
Having made the error, Verity saw that she had no choice but to be completely honest with him, “I’m so sorry, I meant no offence. Tom Briggs was so very matter-of-fact with your history, it never occurred to me to guard my tongue.”
“Oh, Old Tom? Still alive is he? I thought he’d be long dead – he deserves to be, the old reprobate. One day that wagging tongue of his will fall back in his throat and choke him – that’s if someone doesn’t throttle him first!”
Verity looked so startled by this that Underwood felt it was a good moment for him to intervene, “I shall send Tom your regards, shall I, Mr Gray?”
Gray looked at Underwood warily for a moment, then grinned, “Aye, you do that.”
“If I may say so,” continued Underwood, “Miss Chapell raises a fair point. It does seem foolhardy to pursue a career of crime when you are capable of such fine craftsmanship.”
“Like so many things in life, sir, I found out too late where my talents lay! Laid up in bed, a burning ache in a limb I no longer had, near losing my mind with the tedium of it, I took up a stick of wood and began whittling. Pity I couldn’t have done it before, then I would never have lost my leg.”
“Ironic, to say the least,” murmured Under
wood, not without sympathy, “Well, Gray,” he continued, more robustly, “Since our cards are firmly on the table, I see no reason to dissemble. Briggs told us how you lost your leg and it is for that reason I have come to speak to you.”
“And what interest do you have in my misfortunes, sir?” asked Gray, visibly bridling at Underwood’s blunt manner – something which disturbed Underwood not at all.
“I assume you recall the incident last year in Bracken Tor, when the body was found in Sir Henry’s wood?”
“Young girl, wasn’t it?” asked Gray.
“It was. I’m investigating the girl’s death – and Tom Briggs intimated that you might be the man to help me.”
“Me?” Gray looked and sounded astounded, “What the devil made him think that?”
“Not to put too fine a point upon it, he thinks you would have been more than capable of revenging yourself upon Sir Henry by acquiring a body and dumping it in his grounds.”
Gray laughed – really laughed, loud and hearty – until the tears rolled down his cheeks and he slapped his thigh, “By God! I wish I had thought of it. I’d liked to have seen that old popinjay burst a blood vessel on account of my japes!”
Underwood could not resist a small smile, so infectious was the man’s merriment, “I can take it that Tom has sent me on a wild goose chase, Mr Gray?”
“He has – and he deserves to be well trounced for his impertinence – but since he has given me such an amusing half-hour, I’ll let the matter go.”
“Whilst I appreciate that you are obviously being truthful in your denial, some small gesture of proof would be welcome. An alibi, perhaps?” suggested Underwood gently.
Gray raised his wooden leg off the floor, “I need no other alibi than that, sir,” he answered, “Tell me how I could carry a body into a wood without sinking knee-deep in the mire and I’ll admit I did it.”
“A good point – but I would be grateful if you could find some one who will confirm your whereabouts on the night in question.”
“You don’t know much about the criminal brotherhood if you imagine I can’t find a dozen who will swear on the Bible that I spent the entire evening with them.”
“Then I shall have to take your word for it – but be sure, Mr. Gray, that I am never deterred. If I find one shred of evidence linking you with this crime, I will be back.”
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve a thirst to be slaked – and coffee won’t hit the spot.”
With that he shuffled off down the passageway back to the tap-room.
Underwood turned to Verity, “That would seem to be that.”
*
CHAPTER TWENTY
(“Terrae Filius” - a son of the soil)
Mrs Underwood was determined to atone for her clumsiness in mistaking Verity for Charlotte, so accordingly she made a special effort to make the girl feel warmly welcome at the vicarage. Since she possessed her elder son’s charm in full measure, it was not long before Charlotte was quite as enchanted with the mother as she was with the son. Daily luncheon at the vicarage became a regular event and Gilbert, delighted to see his brother looking happy and relaxed was also in sparkling form and the luncheons proved to be jolly affairs.
Charlotte was quite accustomed to being the centre of attention in any gathering, so she quickly lost her apprehension and was soon joining in with the family, even to the extent of voicing the question she had longed to ask since first meeting Underwood.
“Please, Mrs. Underwood, won’t you tell me what Underwood’s first name is? He refuses to disclose it to me, but how can I marry a man when I don’t know his given name?” She threw a flirtatious glance in Underwood’s direction, but he merely smiled calmly and waited for his mother’s reply.
She pulled a handkerchief from her cuff and made a great play of dabbing her eyes, “My dear Charlotte, you have managed to hit upon the one subject which quite mortifies me! How can a mother live with herself when she realizes that her child so detests the name she gave him, he absolutely refuses to use it?”
“But surely it can’t be as bad as all that?” protested Charlotte, shocked that Underwood had been heartless enough to castigate his poor mother for her choice of name.
“Well, his papa and I thought it most unusual and strong-sounding, but obviously Underwood did not agree.”
“I did not,” intercepted Underwood wryly, “And I can assure you my mother is under strict instructions never to tell you or anyone else what it is. It was a ridiculous name to give to an Englishman.”
“Oh, but this is horrid! You can’t mean to keep such a secret from me,” cried Charlotte, between laughter and tears.
“Indeed I do,” asserted Underwood, “But I am prepared to allow Mama to tell you why she so far forgot herself as to bestow the name upon me in my innocent infancy, and if you can guess what it is, I promise to tell you if you are right or wrong.”
With that Charlotte had to be satisfied, “Very well.”
Mrs. Underwood looked startled, “Good heavens, Chuffy! You must be in love, for you have never made such a concession before, to my knowledge.”
Underwood continued to smile his infuriatingly serene smile and Gil imagined he knew the reason. Charlotte was far from being bookish – he doubted she had opened the covers of anything other than a novel since leaving the school-room – and the chances of her knowing and Greek mythology was remote, to say the least.
“Why did you name him so, Mrs. Underwood?” prompted the now impatient Charlotte, feeling confident that she would soon share the secret of her loved one’s name with those closest to him.
“My husband and I went on the Grand Tour after our marriage. We happened to be in Athens when…” she blushed delicately, “When we became aware that a child was a possibility. We were in Rome when we were sure.”
Charlotte was too engrossed in the puzzle to share Mrs. Underwood’s embarrassment at this intimate disclosure, “so his first name is Greek?”
“And his middle name Roman,” inserted the wholly British Gilbert with a grin.
“Are they the only clues I am to receive?” asked the now clearly disappointed Charlotte. Gil was quite right, she knew nothing of Greece, ancient or modern, and very little of Rome.
“No, I shall give you a little more,” said Underwood, determined to be strictly fair, and aware that any amount of clues could be provided, and still Charlotte would be in the dark, “The gentleman for whom I am named married Harmonia, the daughter of Aphrodite.” Since both these ladies were famed for their beauty, he had intended that Charlotte should take this as a compliment, but her blank look told the assembled company quite plainly that the names meant nothing to her. Gil began to feel rather sorry for her, but more, he experienced a sudden qualm. He had been so eager to encourage Underwood in his courtship that he had taken little heed of the characters of those involved. Would his brother and the flighty Charlotte really be happy together? He saw now that they had very little in common. She seemed young and innocently amusing, but would her husband grow to despise her ignorance of those things which so fascinated him? Perhaps he had rushed Underwood into a decision which might, one day, cause great unhappiness to them all. To cover his own fears and worries, he hastily changed the subject, and the previous happy mood soon returned, at least on the surface.
By mid-afternoon Charlotte regretfully decided that she must take her leave, and when Underwood did not offer to see her home, the vicar gallantly, and swiftly, filled the breach.
Underwood, still mildly troubled that he had been neglecting his investigation, was entirely unaware that he had shown, in any way, a lack of concern for his betrothed. As far as he was aware, Charlotte had been wandering about Bracken Tor alone since she could walk and he saw no reason to pander to her sudden desire to be thought of as small and helpless. If she could hold that great beast Merryman, then God help anyone who tried to accost her!
He had been thinking about Charlotte’s information
regarding the Hazelhursts ever since she had made the comment about them and it was borne upon him that a visit to their farm was long overdue. As always, when he had a specific goal in mind, all else was cast aside, including Charlotte and his mother.
As soon as Gil and Charlotte left the house, he gave his mother a hasty kiss and bade her tell Gil not to wait dinner on him.
“But where are you going?”
“Oh, just for a walk. I feel the need to blow the cobwebs away.”
“That is hardly the most romantic way to describe an afternoon spent in the company of your betrothed,” she chided him gently. He grinned unrepentantly, “My dear, I think the world of the girl, but I cannot wrap my entire existence around her pretty form, now can I?”
“I suppose not. Shall I come with you?”
“Not this time, mama, if you don’t mind. I would rather be alone.”
“Very well.”
As Underwood reached the door, she called him back, “She is quite lovely, my dear.”
He rewarded her with his most boyish smile; “She is, isn’t she?” With that he was gone, and his mother was left alone with her thoughts, not all of them happy.
*
Underwood turned left out of the vicarage gate, past the church and left again when he reached the blacksmith. He had made it his business to know where every villager lived, and where they could usually be found during the course of a normal day, but he had never travelled along this particular track before, so it was with great interest that he looked about him.
A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) Page 22
