Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2)

by Suzanne Downes

  “Very well,” he agreed, “I’ll speak to Gratten. It had better be soon though. She is about to be transferred from Hanbury’s own ‘lock up’ to the gaol at Chester, to await trial.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  *

  It was a pale-faced young woman who greeted them, her hair scraped back from her face in a severe style which did little to relieve the harrowed expression in her eyes.

  For once Underwood took no part in the conversation, beyond asking how she did. Her reply of, “I’m well enough, thank you,” could safely be discounted.

  The Major allowed Underwood to wheel him across the room, so that he was beside her chair, then with a jerk of his head, his dismissed his porter. Underwood grinned ruefully and retreated to a seat at the far side of the room, leaving the floor to Thornycroft, whilst hoping he had done the right thing in trusting him with the tender heart of the young girl.

  “Robertson is not going to come here, Adeline,” began Major Thornycroft, with no preamble.

  “I did not think he would.”

  “Yes, you did. You’ve been hoping against hope that he loved you enough to save you – but it’s an empty gesture, because he doesn’t give a damn!”

  Tears glistened in her eyes, “Are you pleased to turn the knife in my breast, Major? Believe me, you need not bother. No one could twist it more painfully than I do myself.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you, sweetheart, but only make you see what a fool you are being. Do you think that pompous ass is going to torture himself for the rest of his life because you are dead? He won’t. He’ll have forgotten you in a sennight.”

  She gave a grim smile, “Thank you, sir, for reminding me how utterly worthless I am, how ugly, how forgettable. Of course no man could love me!”

  “You are wrong about that. I’m more than half in love with you myself – but do you think I could ever have told you if none of this had happened? You speak of worthless, ugly, forgettable – and you sum me up in those three words. Add pitiful cripple and you have it all. But I’ll be damned before I would let any of those cold-hearted little witches know how they wound me with every sympathetic stare, with every glance of contempt and disgust. The fault lies with Robertson, not with you. When I tell you he doesn’t give a damn, I’m criticising him, not you.”

  Tears slid slowly down her cheeks; “You don’t know me. You could never say you loved me if you knew…”

  “I’m half a man, Adeline, what right do you think I have to see flaws in you? If you told me now you had killed your mother, it would not change my feelings.”

  She laughed through her tears, “But I didn’t…” He pulled her into his arms and quickly kissed her cheek, “I know that. And I don’t care whatever else it is you think you have done.”

  “You would care, if you knew.”

  “It could not be any worse than all my follies, my dear. Now, are you going to stop this nonsense and let Underwood get you out of here?”

  “I suppose so,” she hesitated then looked into his eyes, “Did you mean any of that, or were you just being kind?”

  “It’s not my nature to be kind.”

  “I think it is. Are you really in love with me?” She could see he regretted having said it, he grinned, but it did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes, “Lord, what have I been saying? Bless you child! I’m in love with every woman I meet, knowing I’m safe from their wiles.”

  “Don’t you want to be married?”

  “God, no! What sort of a man would I be, shackling some woman to a cripple? I’ve nothing to offer on the marriage mart, sweetheart. A small pension, a huge mound of gambling debts – even with legs, I wouldn’t be much of a catch.”

  “I think you are perfect,” she whispered. He hugged her, roaring with laughter, “For god’s sake, get us out of here, Underwood. The woman belongs in Bedlam, not gaol!”

  *

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  (“Proprium Humani Ingenii Est Odisse Quem Laeseris” – It is human nature to hate a person whom you have injured)

  Toby had spent an incredibly boring few days. Following Rachael Collinson was wearisome. Out of work and barred from leaving Hanbury to find new employment, she did very little but wander from kitchen to kitchen, drinking tea and gossiping with her cronies, but he had promised Underwood and he always kept his word. Privately he thought the vicar’s brother was over-reacting to the possible danger Collinson was courting. Toby had seen no evidence of any peril; on the contrary, she led a life of mundane safety, which he had not in the least enjoyed sharing, even for a few hours a day. He was sick of snatched meals, and hanging around street corners waiting for her to do something interesting.

  On the evening after Underwood’s return, he was loitering outside her boarding house, waiting for the light in her bedroom to dim, knowing that was the signal for him to hasten back to the vicarage and hopefully a hot meal. Even as he gazed up the candle was extinguished, but for once his instincts told him to wait a little before leaving and to his astonishment his patience was rewarded.

  The caped and hooded figure of Collinson stole out of the door and down the steps. There was no hesitation in her pace; she knew exactly where she was going – and she had no idea she was under observation.

  Toby dogged her steps until they reached the less salubrious end of town, where she slipped into a common alehouse. Toby went across and peered in through a window, considering it too dangerous to enter the place, for though it was dimly lit and smoky, he was a rather conspicuous man. He saw her sit in a high-sided booth, and he recognized the man who presently joined her, though unfortunately he was never to be privy to the conversation, but he felt that judging by their gestures, and her wild expression, the content was neither friendly not satisfactory to either party.

  Presently they rose to leave, and Toby shrank back into the shadow of the wall, watching the man walk away, followed some minutes later by the girl.

  By now much more interested in his task, Toby fell into step some yards behind her, not near enough for her to be aware of him, but with every sense alert. Something told him that if Underwood was right, this was the moment of Collinson’s greatest danger.

  The streets were unlighted and it was almost as if some part of his unease communicated itself to the girl, for her footsteps quickened and panic sounded in every click of her heels.

  With a speed which shocked Toby a dark figure suddenly appeared from the pitch blackness of an alleyway and with a gurgling, hastily stifled scream, Collinson was dragged backwards into the dark.

  Toby ran, his weight causing the pounding of his feet to echo and crack between the closely crowded buildings. Into the alley he sped, then hesitated, trying to accustom his eyes to the lightless murk. It seemed an eternity before he could make out the crouched figure huddled over the prone female form. A roar of fury burst from him, which he afterwards regretted, for it occurred to him the man was so intent on his task it might have been possible for Toby to approach him and grapple him to the ground. As it was, he looked up, saw the furious bulk of Toby bearing down on him and wisely took to his heels, leaving Collinson insensible and possibly dead.

  Toby was beside her in a moment, feeling frantically for a heartbeat, a pulse which would show her assailant had failed in his task, but his panic grew as it became more and more unlikely that she had survived the attack. It was only as his fingers quested in the darkness that he realized the cord which had been thrown over her head and tightened about her throat was still biting cruelly into the soft skin. He dragged it away with a force which ripped off two of his fingernails, but the pain of which he did not feel until hours later.

  There was still no response, and with sweat gathering on his brow and dripping down his face, he hoisted the inert form into his arms, and set off at an unsteady run to the vicarage.

  Fortunately Toby knew the vicar never locked the door until the family retired to bed, so he burst into the hall, thence into the parlour, calling at the t
op of his voice for aid as he did so.

  The family came running and in a few, breathless words, Toby explained what had happened, whilst laying his burden on the sofa. Underwood was swiftly on his knees, tearing at Collinson’s clothing in his hurry to loosen the cord which held her cape in place, and then attempting to find a pulse in her neck.

  “I don’t think she’s breathing,” he said in despair, “If she is, it is just barely!”

  Verity pushed him firmly to one side, aware, as he was not, of the intricacies of female attire, “Help me turn her over, we must cut the strings of her stays.”

  Within seconds a knife had been produced, and Collinson’s best muslin was reduced to rags and the laces of her stays slashed through. The violence with which she was thrown over again onto her back seemed to force the air from her lungs and with a gurgling groan, she breathed.

  “Thank God!” murmured Gil fervently.

  “No, thank Toby!” said Underwood heartily, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his sweat-streaked face, “That was a truly horrible five minutes. I thought we had lost her.”

  He picked up the knotted rope which still hung, though loosely now, about her throat, “A clumsy garrotte, the knots are not even positioned correctly, too far apart. This was not used by a professional footpad. He would know that the knots have to fall either side of the windpipe to ensure no sound issues from the victim. These would have been almost under her ears, no wonder it did not kill her straight away.”

  “Perhaps death was not the intention. Mayhap the man meant only to rob or rape her whilst she was unconscious,” suggested Gil, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt, even if it was to the committing of a slightly lesser crime than murder.

  Toby shook his head, “He wanted her dead, I’d stake my life on it. He was still twisting the rope when I came upon him and she was obviously unconscious then. Why not take her purse, or her virtue then run?”

  “Quite,” agreed Underwood brusquely, “Could it have been our friend, Toby?”

  “I can’t be sure of that. All I know is he left before her, and he probably knew her route, but in the darkness, I could not swear it was him.

  “That’s a pity, but the girl may have recognized him. If she ever wakes, we may find out.”

  Gil gazed down at the insensible Collinson with great concern; “Do you think she may not regain her senses, Chuffy?”

  “It is always possible. She has been brutally attacked, and was barely breathing for several minutes. She seems to have been lucky, but it may not yet prove to be the case.”

  “We had better get her into a warm bed and call the doctor to her,” said Verity, with great common sense.

  Toby lifted his burden once more and she followed him out of the room. Underwood gazed thoughtfully after them, “I knew he was unscrupulous, Gil, but I swear I hoped him to kill again. Snuffing the life from an old woman is evil enough, but there is something undeniably chilling about strangling a girl at the very beginning of her life.”

  “Yet you set Toby to guard her.”

  “Thank God I did – but it was a precaution only. The girl was his mistress, I honestly thought he must have some affection for her that would protect her.”

  “Are you so sure it was Gedney?”

  “Well, for once, our friend Dunstable had done the right thing in being out of town when the attack happened. If he should happen to turn up tomorrow, with no alibi for this evening, even I will have to begin doubting his innocence,” replied Underwood with a laugh.

  *

  The doctor shook his head over Collinson in a thoroughly depressing manner,

  “I might as well be frank with you, Mrs. Underwood, she’s a very sick girl. If she lasts the night, you might have a chance of pulling her through.”

  Verity wished he would do less assuming disaster and more doctoring, but she could understand his pessimism. The girl looked even more ghastly now dressed in a white night gown, which was all too reminiscent of a shroud, laid out flat and motionless on the bed. She was so impossibly still and pale that she might be dead already but for the slight rise and fall of her breast and the livid bruises on her neck, which seemed to grow more angry and purple even as she watched.

  “Is there anything we can do to make her more comfortable?” she asked diffidently, trying to jerk him into action without offending him.

  “She looks perfectly comfortable to me,” he answered, with indifference “You can moisten her lips with a wet cloth if you want to.”

  Verity could not keep a horrified expression passing across her face at his callousness, but he smiled understandingly, “You’ve done as much as you can, my dear, the rest is in God’s hands. The girl will live or die, as He wills. I cannot help her. Bathe her bruises with witch hazel and keep her quiet, that’s all I can advise. She may wake as though nothing has happened, but I doubt it. More likely she will find her larynx had been so severely crushed that she cannot speak, either temporarily

  or permanently, I know not which. She may have been deprived of air for so long that her organs have been damaged, including her brain. You may end this with a gibbering wreck on your hands – time will tell. I’ll call back in the morning. Of course, if she doesn’t wake quite soon, she will die from lack of water and food, unless we force feed her – even then her throat may be too damaged to allow her to swallow.”

  When he had gone, Gil quietly came in to see how things were going and found his sister-in-law sitting by the bed, gazing at the recumbent Collinson. Without looking up she said, “When my time comes, Gil, for God’s sake, don’t let that Job’s comforter within a mile of me.”

  Gil laughed quietly, “I’m so sorry, my dear. Dr. Burford was out on a case, so we had to settle for Haining. I’ve just taken it upon myself to dismiss him from Alistair’s case, and the boy seems brighter for his loss.”

  She turned swiftly, “I’m so sorry, Gil, with my troubles, I have been too selfish to ask how Alistair is doing.”

  “I understand,” he assured her, “And as it happens, I think he may recover. Haining is one of those dreadful men who think we should bow to the Lord’s will and let the sick die peacefully, without the distress of a fight for life – as though he were in direct contact with the Almighty, and knows which should live and which should die! I sent him about his business and sat by Alistair for an hour coaxing him into eating a cup of custard. The poor little man had been fretfully turning his food away, and Haining told Catherine not to force him.”

  “Oh, Gil! He said he would come back in the morning – is there any way you can turn him away?”

  “Leave it to me.”

  He fetched a chair from by the wall and sat beside her, “Let me help you, Verity. I can’t stand much more of this madness! I know you think I will make things worse, but tell me honestly, how much worse could they be?”

  Tears trickled slowly down her face; “They could not, of course. But I know you would be wasting your time. Underwood is never going to forgive me for this.”

  “My dear, you speak as though you had committed some cardinal error, and Underwood some fearsome tyrant. I cannot believe things have come to such a pass between you.”

  “Neither can I – and the only conclusion I can reach is that if he loved me as I love him, none of this would have happened. I would not have felt the need to keep the secret from him, and if I had, he would not have hated me for doing so.”

  “Verity, he does not hate you…”

  “Yes, he does!” Sobs broke from her, stifled so that she should not disturb the sleeper, for even in her distress her first thoughts were of others, “He does. And I cannot bear it.” She stood and her chair fell over backwards with a crash, much to her horror, but the noise did not penetrate the coma of the unfortunate Collinson, “I cannot bear it for one more day, to see him looking through me as though I do not exist for him. It is breaking my heart.”

  She brushed past him, trying to reach the door, but he caught her hand,


  “Verity, you must not think these things. I know he has been angry, but I promise you he will calm down. It is not the end of the world.” She dragged her fingers from his grasp; “It is for me. I don’t think he has ever known how I adore him. He is my reason for living, Gil, stupid fool that I am, to fall in love with a man who wanted someone else – and so deeply too. What was I about, letting him have my heart? I should have held something back, but I did not. I have destroyed myself!”

  This remark engendered real panic in Gil for he took her words literally and was assailed by the sickening fear that she might attempt suicide. She seemed distraught enough even for that. His dread showed in his face when he cried, “Verity, for God’s sake…”

  “Oh don’t concern yourself, Gil. I won’t kill myself. I have a baby to think about, but I must do something, or go mad.”

  “Please don’t do anything until I have spoken to Chuffy…”

  “I forbid you to do anything of the sort. He has humiliated me enough. I’ll not hand him the rest of my pride on a platter, so that he can throw it back in my face.”

  “But if he knew how upset you are, how ill all this is making you…”

  “If he cannot see that with his own eyes, then he does not deserve to be told!”

  Gil felt as though he was parrying the thrusts of an expert swordsman armed only with a fish knife. With the pride of Verity on one hand and that of his brother on the other, he was very much between the devil and the deep blue sea. He had only two choices; either keep out of the argument, or speak to Underwood without telling Verity he had done so. He was reluctant to take the latter course, being a man of honour, but the consequences of either action could be equally disastrous, and he could only conclude that had he at least tried to set things right, then he could at least live with himself.