“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.”
The look on their faces was comic to behold. Neither of them had allowed himself to become adept at domesticity, so this remark drove all other thoughts from their minds, “She wants us to clean?” asked Underwood, aghast.
“Well, as she so pertinently remarks, she cannot do it all alone, and certainly not before your guest arrives.”
The reminder that they were due to greet a visitor in less than four hours did much to drive away any lingering doubts that they should not be wielding mops and brooms, as Mrs. Trent had undoubtedly known it would when she sent the carefully word
ed message. The Underwood brothers still had much to learn of the subtleties of woman.
*
CHAPTER FIVE
(“Homo Doctus In Se Semper Divitias Habet” – A learned man always has wealth within himself)
Dr. Russell was more than somewhat bemused to have the front door opened to him by one of his hosts, and, even more astonishingly, that host was holding a broom and was dressed in his shirt sleeves, waistcoat and breeches, and was running his fingers through his thick, blond hair, a rueful grin on his face, “Dr. Russell, welcome! Forgive my appearance. We had a minor crisis – now thankfully resolved. Pray come in.”
“Quomodo vales, Underwood?” he said.
“I am well, my friend – and you?”
“Beginning to feel my age.”
Underwood, subconsciously aware of Gil’s sceptical remarks on the subject of their old tutor, now looked at the older man with rather more depth than would ordinarily be the case. He could see nothing which verified that gentleman’s statement. Dr. Russell looked much as he always had; small, well built, not precisely overweight, but certainly not slender. Perhaps his crisp white hair was a little thinner, but he had healthily pink skin, with no more wrinkles than Underwood remembered. He looked, in short, precisely what he was, an elderly, stocky little man, who had rather less strain in his life than most people, was well-fed and well cared for by those who thought of him with fondness.
“One would never guess it. Let me take your cape, and stick, then you must come and meet Verity.”
“Your wife?”
“My wife,” asserted Underwood, leading the way.
“You surprised me with that announcement, you know, my boy. I thought you would be the one man I could rely on to end his days at Cambridge as an elder statesman.”
“Ah, but you have not met Verity,” said Underwood, with a fond smile.
He turned away and did not see the quizzical lift of Russell’s eyebrows as he answered, “She must indeed be special.”
Over a late and leisurely luncheon the family explained the disaster of the morning. Naturally now that the danger was passed, the incident, at least to Verity and Gil, had taken on an amusing aspect. The bundle of rags had been swiftly and expertly converted by Toby into a disused bird’s nest, and anything which might seem vaguely threatening had been adeptly turned into a joke. Gil, of course, was entirely oblivious of anything untoward. The truth was he had enough to occupy his mind without re-examining the evidence presented by his brother and Toby. Verity had been a little harder to convince, but deep in heart, she did not really want to know if there was something wrong, and so she buried any doubts she might have, for her own peace of mind.
So the house filling with smoke, and Underwood refusing to leave his bedroom without his breeches all became the reason for much hilarity. Underwood believed he had lied very successfully, until he became aware of Dr. Russell’s eyes upon him, speculative and wary.
The afternoon was to be spent in resting; Dr. Russell to regain his strength after the strain of his long journey, and the rest of the household to recover from their exceptionally early morning and the subsequent cleaning – something which was now playing on inexperienced muscles. It was therefore not until dinner that the guest and hosts met again. Because of the still unsatisfactory condition of the parlour they were gathered in the vicar’s study, enjoying a pre-dinner sherry, when the front door knocker threw out its imperious summons. Mrs. Trent presently showed Godfrey Rogers into the room. He was full of bonhomie, as usual, and as the housekeeper walked into the hall, he called after her, “It seems I’m just in time for dinner. Set another place for me, Mrs. T. there’s a sweetheart.”
Mrs. Trent cast an enquiring glance at her master and the vicar nodded almost imperceptibly. He did not like Rogers, and he deeply resented the intrusion, but he was a kindly man and there was no possible way of snubbing the boy without making him look a fool. Gil would not cause an embarrassing scene without a very good reason indeed.
Underwood’s feelings at this unexpected interruption were mixed. The major part of him wished Rogers in Hades, but on the other hand, it was well-nigh impossible for the young man to cause mischief whilst safely under his eye. On the whole he was not too displeased, so it was with tolerable composure that he said,
“Good evening, Rogers. Allow me to present my old friend, Dr. Russell.”
Dr. Russell rose from his chair, where he had been effectively hidden by the bodies of those who were standing, and the way Rogers’ startled glance flew to his face before swiftly returning to its habitual grin, told Underwood, at least, that they had met before.
“Your servant, Dr. Russell,” said the young man automatically, holding out his hand. Russell took the proffered hand with a smile, “My dear Godfrey, what a surprise. How strange that fate should cause our paths to cross yet again.”
“Mighty queer,” agreed Rogers, with little conviction and even less enthusiasm, “I had no idea you were acquainted with the Underwoods.”
“Oh, yes, for many years. I tutored them both as youths,” said Russell, “How came you to know them?”
“Mr. Underwood oversaw part of my brief Cambridge career,” Rogers explained quietly in return.
“And, as I now recall, also ended it,” jibed the old man, without real malice, but Underwood cringed at the error. He did not want Rogers to know he remembered that particular fact until he was sure the boy was not guilty of the pranks against his family.
Rogers managed to grin ruefully, “You need not think I hold that against him. If it had not been Underwood, it would have been someone else.”
This remark ought to have set Underwood’s mind at rest, unfortunately it did no such thing. Rogers had merely said the only thing it was possible to say under the circumstances. One thing did puzzle him, however. How did Dr. Russell know it was he, Underwood, who had been responsible for the sending down of Rogers? He had not seen his erstwhile tutor for over fifteen years, though they had corresponded erratically during that time. The sacking of a student was not something which Underwood felt he would have included in a letter. Suddenly he wanted to know more of the relationship which evidently existed between Rogers and Russell.
“So, my dear Theodore, you too have been plagued by the infamous Rogers. How came this about?” he asked heartily. Rogers and Russell were not the only ones who were masters of the art of dissimulation.
Dr. Russell tore his eyes from Rogers and turned to his host, with a smile which to Underwood looked rather forced – and was the old man a little less pink of cheek than was his wont?
“The same reason as your good self, Underwood. I tutored Mr. Rogers after he was sent down. His father refused to send him out into the world without at least a rudimentary grounding in the things a gentleman should know.”
“What a task. I’ll warrant you were unsuccessful?”
“Spectacularly,” agreed the old man.
Rogers blushed uncomfortably, “Very well, gentlemen. You’ve had your little joke at my expense. Shall we agree to a change of topic? Mrs. Underwood and the Reverend gentleman cannot wish to listen to your private reminiscences.”
Mrs. Trent saved him from further embarrassment by arriving at that moment to announce dinner.
Under cover of the chatter at the table, several conversations progressed. Verity asked Gil where Catherine was hiding herself. From this innocent inquiry, the vicar realized that his brother had not told Verity of his difficulties. For some reason, which he did not try and fathom, Gil found he had no wish to confide those difficulties to his sister-in-law. Fortunately there was another excuse he could legitimately offer, “She is in bed with a quinsy. The doctor recommended peace and quiet for at least a week, so I doubt you will see her for a while.”
“Poor Catherine! I will send some flowers and bon-bons – oh no, not bon-bons. I don’t suppose she will find them easy to swallow?”
“I think not. I understand she can barely manage liquids at the moment.�
��
“Oh dear. I shall certainly send her some flowers tomorrow – but how very remiss of you, Gil, not to tell me sooner. Catherine must think me quite dreadful.”
“Catherine understands that you have had an unpleasant few days yourself, my dear.”
Gil did not even notice that this careless remark sent Verity into a brown study. She did not want to relive her terrors, but a chance comment could send her plunging back into that dark abyss. No one particularly noticed that she pushed away her plate, the food scarcely touched.
Meanwhile Rogers, who had deliberately seated himself by Dr. Russell, took the opportunity to hiss viciously to the old man, “What in Hell’s name are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, my dear boy.”
“Why?”
“I thought you might stand in need of my help. I heard of this proposed court case to be brought by your mother and …”
“And nothing! I can handle that myself. Spend your few days here with the Underwoods, then take yourself off.”
“Certainly, if you are sure that is what you want.”
“It is!”
Dr. Russell said nothing more, but turned away from Rogers with great deliberation and addressed himself to Underwood, “I understand there are magnificent lime caves in the hills near here, do you know of anyone who could serve as a guide? I should be fascinated to see them.”
“But of course. It is obligatory for all visitors to see the caves. The real difficulty is getting away from Hanbury without being subjected to their beauties. I will arrange it tomorrow. Do you accompany us, Rogers?” This last was said aloud to the table in general, but Rogers had evidently been following their conversation for his reply was immediate and emphatic, “God, no! I’ve been dragged around those dashed caves more times than I care to remember! I’ll take Mrs. Underwood to the Pump-rooms and endeavour to entertain her.”
Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) Page 4
