“Why did you not let me fall?” she asked, leaning wearily against him, her voice quiet and broken with despair, “What good is life to me now?”
Underwood attempted to force her upright, gently enough, but with a determination born of increasing embarrassment. Not a single head turned towards them, but he knew every ear was attuned to eavesdrop upon every word which passed between them, “I realize you are distressed, madam, but life is always worth living – and we must not add to Mrs. Rogers’ burden, must we?”
She threw a poisonous glance directly at the older woman, “Why not? She made my poor Godfrey suffer enough. It’s her fault he is dead. If she had given him some money, we should be married and far away in France by now, and my baby would not be condemned to life without a father or a name.”
“Are you telling me that you believe the child you carry is the offspring of Godfrey Rogers?” he whispered incredulously. A belligerent look came onto her face, “What do you mean ‘believe’? I know it to be so! What kind of a girl do you think I am?”
Underwood had been trying to avoid thinking about her at all, but he did not offer that as a response, instead he quietly pointed out that the moment had come for those closest to the dead man to cast a handful of soil upon the lowered coffin. Mrs. Rogers threw the first handful, but the girl swiftly left Underwood’s side and forced herself through the crowd so that she might be the second.
Underwood seized the opportunity to hastily depart, though he knew he was not by any means free. Now that she had confided her story to him, they young woman was almost certainly going to seek him out again.
Mrs. Rogers had hired the Assembly rooms for the consumption of the funerary feast, for she had been unable to bear the thought of entertaining in her own home – a home she supposed she no longer possessed, though her cousin-by-marriage had been too polite to say so. The notion of yet another wake, so soon after the laying to rest of her beloved husband was painful to say the least. And Godfrey in no way deserved to follow in his father footsteps – not even to the grave.
His burial had been in the churchyard, not the family vault, and to anyone who knew the family well, this could be seen as nothing other than what it was – an insult. The official excuse was that the Rogers’ tomb could not be re-opened so soon, as the existing contents might cause offence to the eyes and noses of the pall-bearers, but this fooled no one. The boy had been a disappointment to his parents in every way and the mother who had sought to hide the worst of his excesses from a morally upright father, now tried to keep them apart even in death.
For his own purposes, Underwood was delighted with the choice of venue, for it gave him a freedom of movement and speech which would not have been possible in the home of the hostess.
Lady Cara, trying not to look happy at his presence, joined him first, softly expressing her condolences for the loss of his sister-in-law. He accepted her comment rather brusquely, hoping she would now leave the subject alone, but she did not understand his reluctance and felt the need to pursue it, “Your brother was extremely courageous to take the service today. I don’t think I could have done so.”
“He is a man of high principles. He would never be absent when he felt himself needed.”
“He must indeed be so. I wanted to weep for him with tears which Godfrey Rogers never inspired.”
Underwood could not prevent his lip curling with an expression of excessive distaste, “To mention the two in the same breath is to insult the finest man who ever lived, Miss!”
She was taken aback for a moment, unaccustomed to being chastised in so forthright a manner, and rather unhappy to have been so misunderstood by a man whose good opinion she craved, but she soon recovered. Such affection and admiration between brothers could only betoken a superiority of mind which she had so far failed to find in any other man. Underwood was blissfully unaware that the apology she uttered was among a very few ever expressed by the lady. In her life so far, she had rarely, if ever, found anyone who dared or indeed wanted, to find fault with her.
The brother of that ‘finest man’ was, as usual, single-mindedly eager to push all other matters aside in pursuit of his latest interest, so he vaguely murmured, “Pray think no more about it,” in response to her heartfelt assurance that on offence had been intended.
“Now I come to think of it,” he intercepted hastily, lest she continue with her present train of thought, “You are probably the very person I need.” He eyed her speculatively. She smiled, the beginnings of a flirtatious light entering her deep blue orbs, “How very daring of you to admit such a thing!”
His glance had begun to sweep across the occupants of the room, but at this comment he transferred his gaze to her face, a slight frown between his brows, “I beg your pardon?”
“There is no need, I do assure you. I find your lack of finesse rather charming.”
“Be that as it may,” he replied testily, “I have no time for your nonsense now, so pray do not begin to talk in riddles! Do you know any of the people gathered here?”
“Quite a lot of them, yes. Why do you ask?”
“I require as much information as you can give.”
“Why?”
“Was there ever a woman with so much damnable curiosity? Are you quite incapable of answering a question without asking one of your own?”
She smiled, mischief dancing in her eyes, “Do you think I am?”
He heaved an irritated sigh, “No, I do not! I shall ask for help elsewhere. Good day to you, Miss.” Her hand flew out to detain him as he made to walk away. “Pray, do not be so cross, Mr. Underwood. I promise I shall behave with perfect propriety from this moment hence.” She was still smiling, entirely entranced by his cavalier attitude. She had grown so tired of compliments from toadying individuals, to whom her every word was law. Underwood made a refreshing alternative. It did not occur to her for a second that his disinterest was rooted in true apathy. She thought he was being so contrary merely to tantalise her.
She told him the names of most of the minor aristocracy who were present, never imagining that their interest in her and her male companion was quite as avid as her own. Before the day was out, letters would be flying to London, telling her parents that Cara at last had found a gentleman who took her fancy – true he was older than her by several years, and not a member of the ton, but he was personable enough, and had already succeeded in curbing her excesses, for she had chatted with him for hours, both their faces serious and engrossed. Within days the Earl was setting out for Derbyshire, ready to either welcome a new son into his family, or to shoot the rogue who was trifling with his daughter.
How very fortunate that Underwood was destined to remain unaware of his Lordship’s intentions for some considerable time to come.
Meanwhile he was taking mental note of Cara’s character references. One man in particular took his interest and he drew Cara’s attention to him, “Do you know that fellow, Cara? He looks an uncommonly fine specimen!”
Cara looked in the direction indicated, and saw that Underwood was being sardonic. The man concerned must indeed have believed himself to be an ‘uncommonly fine specimen’, but everything about him screamed of much money, but very little taste. His clothes were far too loud, especially for a funeral, but even at a society ball, he would have looked vastly overdressed. His coat was well-fitted and had probably been made by one of the top London tailors, but it bore a broad stripe which gave Underwood the suspicion of a headache when he looked for too long at it, and which frankly did nothing to give his plump figure the illusion of slenderness. His waistcoat was red – bright, vivid, blood-red, and his breeches were white satin. The buckles on his shoes shone with what looked like real gemstones, and his watch chain and fob could have happily held a fair sized ship at anchor in a choppy sea.
“Good God! What is Conrad doing here? If Godfrey was involved with him, then he was an even bigger fool that I took him for.” Cara’s surprised comment was wrung from her before she had time to
think of the impropriety of such an unladylike speech. She stole a glance at Underwood from beneath lowered lids and was immensely relieved to see he appeared to be quite unmoved by her fall from grace.
“Tell me more, my dear girl,” he said eagerly. At last it seemed he might finally begin to piece together some of Godfrey’s past life which might possibly give a clue to the reason for his untimely end. The depth of feeling in Cara’s voice had told him more than her unguarded words had done. She was both horrified by and rather afraid of Conrad. It seemed he was a man it was not wise to know – and Godfrey had known him well enough to have him attend his funeral. Mr. Underwood was suddenly very interested in the bright-buckled Mr. Conrad.
“His name is Barclay Conrad, and his profession is gambler – but he is not Godfrey’s sort, a pigeon for the plucking! Oh no, Conrad owns several gaming hells – and he always wins, even if he has to cheat and threaten violence to do so. He looks harmless enough, doesn’t he? But you cannot begin to imagine how many young men he has brought to the brink of despair with his tricks. You can be sure that if he knew Godfrey, it was either as a card-sharp or an opium addict.”
Underwood raised a quizzical brow, “Opium?”
“Conrad trades in opium. If he cannot get your money one way, he will get it another! He owns drinking clubs, houses of ill-repute …”
“Dear me, my Lady! Should you know about such places?” he asked teasingly, but it was her turn to be irritated by the course of the conversation. Her face was rather pale as she replied, quite evenly, but with a wealth of emotion churning beneath the surface, “It is easy to mock, Mr. Underwood, but when your nearest relation falls into the clutches of such a man, it is remarkably difficult to find anything even vaguely amusing in the situation!”
“I do beg your forgiveness. I had no idea that was the case – how could I? The relation in question was your younger brother, I assume?”
“Yes. Like all stupid little boys when they are first released from the schoolroom, he thought himself an adult, and proceeded to indulge himself in every excess. It took all my father’s ingenuity, and a considerable sum of money, to extricate him.”
“I can imagine. I am not unfamiliar with foolish school boys – I taught for many years at Cambridge University. But you were not aware that Rogers was involved with Conrad?”
“Not at all, or I should have warned him most strongly to cut the connection. Not that he would have heeded me, but at least I would have had the satisfaction of knowing I tried to save him.”
“You really feel that this Conrad is seriously dangerous?”
“I do, and if Godfrey knew him well enough for him to be here today, then no good will come of the association. I wish you would counsel Mrs. Rogers that she must not, on any account, allow Conrad to ingratiate himself with her.”
“Consider it done, Cara.”
*
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(“Non Licet Omnibus Adire Corinthum” – Circumstances deny us certain pleasures)
It is usually the case that the last person one desires to meet is going to be the very next to approach.
Underwood could do nothing but wait, like a condemned man, as Conrad sauntered across the room, making directly for him and Lady Cara. He felt, rather than saw, her stiffen beside him, the smile sliding from her face and the colour fading from her cheeks. If Conrad noticed the change his presence wrought, he merely found it amusing, for his grin broadened as he drew nearer. His proffered hand was rudely ignored by her, as was his friendly greeting, “My dear Lady Cara, what a rare pleasure. I hardly dared hope you would travel so far in remembrance of our sweet Godfrey. How is that divine young brother of yours? He has been sadly missed by all his close friends in the East End.”
She threw him an icy look, and then turned to Underwood, “You will forgive me, my dear sir, but I fear there is an intolerable stench of corruption in the vicinity. I shall go outside to take the air. Perhaps we will meet again later?”
Underwood rose hastily to his feet, “Allow me to bear you company, Cara…”
But she was already gone, sweeping her skirts aside that they might not brush against the newcomer, who laughed unkindly and gently pushed Underwood’s shoulder in a playful manner, “Shame on you, Mr. Underwood! You are old enough to be her father.”
Underwood, neither expecting the thrust, nor the latent strength behind it, found himself sinking back into his seat.
“That’s right, dear fellow, bear me company for a few moments. We shall have a pleasant coze – pleasanter by far, I dare swear, than one could ever expect from that little termagant.”
This familiarity irked him sufficiently to enable him to recover his wits and his reply was uncharacteristically scathing, “Have we met?”
“We have not, sir, but your fame goes before you. It is a great honour indeed to at long last make the acquaintance of the celebrated C. H. Underwood.”
“Celebrated? I hardly think so,” his tone of incredulity left Conrad in no doubt that he thought the man had taken leave of his senses.
“Oh, I do assure you it is so. I had scarcely arrived in town before I was inundated with voices singing your praises – none more so that Godfrey’s dear mama. The descriptions of your saintliness were so overwhelming I almost expected you to stand as ‘sin-eater’ for the boy.”
Underwood, who had a hearty contempt for such barbaric and nonsensical customs as eating bread and salt over a corpse in order to lift its sins onto oneself and allow the deceased easy passage into heaven, replied with vitriol, “It would take a braver man that I to assume the sins committed by Rogers.”
“As one who was privileged to witness the committing of many of them, I must heartily concur – but I digress. It is not the past I wish to discuss, but the future. Mrs. Rogers has given me to understand that you are acting as her agent in the sad coil which unfortunately surrounds her son’s death.”
Underwood was about to vehemently deny this statement when it occurred to him that it could be vaguely said to be true, and would also confer a certain right of access to information, so he shrugged with assumed disinterest, “I suppose I am.”
“Good, then you are the very man I require. You will be good enough to present the lady with my account, when you feel she has sufficiently recovered from her grief to accept it.”
“Account? What account is this? What the devil are you talking about?”
Conrad smiled softly at the hot words; “Hardly the language of business, my dear sir, but I will overlook you passion. The boy owed me money – a great deal of money – and I now request that his mother honour his debts.”
The ominous drawing together of Underwood’s brows ought to have warned Conrad that he was about to lose his temper, but frankly the man didn’t care one jot. He merely grinned as Underwood said mulishly, “A nice try, Mr. Conrad, but you must know as well as I that gambling debts have no place in law. Mrs. Rogers has no obligation to pay you your winnings – and I shall strongly advise her to have nothing whatever to do with you.”
Conrad looked unbearably smug and Underwood felt the first premonition of approaching disaster, “Hasty, hasty, Mr. Underwood! I made no mention of gambling, did I? Of course the boy did lose a fortune at my tables, but I am not a fool. It was painfully obvious to all who knew him that Rogers was playing a dangerous game. If the drink or the opium or the pox hadn’t killed him, then a whore sick of his cruelty or one of his more hotheaded cronies would have! Rogers made no friends, Underwood, but many, many enemies - even those who showed him a smiling face hated him. I did not become a rich man by birth or by accident. I can read a man more clearly than the printed word, and when I play with one as obviously marked for vast debt and early death as Rogers, I cover every eventuality. He thought my plan of going into business together was a capital one. The position of sleeping partner appealed greatly to his idleness. His debts to me are well accounted for by bogus bills and invoices - but the tortuous tangle, which leads back to me would b
e impossible to uncover – and, I might add, and incredibly dangerous undertaking! I am a peaceable man, but I have … shall we say … associates, who would be terribly offended to see me unhappy…”
“Are you having the temerity to attempt to threaten me?” asked Underwood softly.
Conrad lifted a plump, beautifully manicured hand, as though to ward off something horrible and unsightly – a hand which had quite evidently never done a stroke of honest work, “God forfend that I should do anything so outrageous! Or stupid! No, no Mr. Underwood, I do not threaten, merely warn. This is why I have been so forthright, to save you the very tedious task of finding out all this for yourself. No one has heard this conversation, none can support your word against mine – and it has taken a great deal of time and money to ensure I have friends in high places. If Mrs. Rogers wishes to enjoy her present good health and happiness, she would be well advised to pay what her son owes. I have never lost a court case yet – and Debtor’s prison is not a place I would ever recommend – certainly not for a lady of her age and delicacy.”
With great difficulty Underwood swallowed the bitter words which sprang to his lips. Only his tightened jaw and fisted hands gave any indication of his fury and detestation of the creature who stood peacocking before him, “You do realize that the deaths of her son and husband have taken ownership of Hanbury Manor out of Mrs. Rogers’ hands? I understand she has been left a mere competence. You surely cannot intend to rob the poor woman of that, merely because she had the misfortune to have a son like Rogers?”
Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) Page 15
