He said no more, but let Verity leave him. He heard her cross the landing and go into her own room. He stayed by the patient until he was relieved by the housekeeper about an hour later, then he went to seek his brother.
It was much later than he had thought, for Underwood was alone in the parlour, the fire sunk to mere embers. Toby had evidently retired and judging from his sleepy expression, Underwood did not intend to linger very long either, “How is the patient?”
Gil did not bother to restrain the curt reply which sprang to his lips, “Asleep still,” he said snapped, “I wish the same could be said for your wife.”
That brought Underwood sitting upright, his voice betraying a concern his face tried to hide, “Has Verity complained of insomnia?”
“Verity never complains. Not even when she is being treated appallingly by the man who swore to love and cherish her not eight months ago.”
He had the grace to look slightly shame-faced, but there was an edge to his voice which showed Gil that the wound was still raw, “I believe she made similar vows – along with honour and obey.”
Gil softened his tone a little and spoke in a conciliatory way which did nothing to appease his brother, “Verity is well aware she has behaved badly, Chuffy, but surely the punishment is now vastly outweighing the crime. What did she do, after all, but keep something from you, which you felt you ought to have known. Many women do the same, wanting the first few dangerous months to be over before confiding the news.”
“If that was the case, perhaps you would like to explain why a mere brother-in-law was privy to the secret?”
Gil was a man who rarely blushed, but that stinging comment brought the blood rushing into his cheeks for he had the distinct impression there was more behind the question than was at first apparent, “I have been about in the world more than you, Chuffy. Verity did not tell me – I guessed – in fact, I believe it was I who told her what ailed her.”
“How very gallant! Now the question that haunts me is why did you not then tell me? I have been reticent, Gil, because, apart from being my brother, you are a man for whom I have a great regard, but I must tell you now that some weeks ago, I awoke to find Verity gone and when I went in search of her, I happened across the two of you, in the kitchen, embracing. Being a trusting sort of man, I attributed this to the affection I know you share, but by God! When I find you knew of my wife’s pregnancy when I did not, I find that trust slipping from my grasp like water between my fingers.” His voice grew louder as he spoke and Gil went white as the implication of his words hit home like physical blows, “What … what are you saying, Chuffy?”
“Don’t use that stupid name, Gilbert. We are not boys any more!”
Gil was slashed to the heart by the vicious edge to his brother’s tone. Never in his life had Underwood spoken to him with such malice. It took several seconds for him to recover sufficiently to frame a reply, “Are you suggesting that you think I am having a love affair with your wife?” his voice was barely above a whisper and Underwood’s face was ashen when he listened to his brother put his confused thoughts into words. If he admitted the truth, he did not know what he believed. He had never been more hurt or angry, and he was utterly confounded by a situation of which he had no experience and over which he had no control. The stark blankness of his brother’s expression was enough to make him regret the words he had used, but the doubt was there and he could not now deny it. He breathed deeply and answered as evenly as he was able, “You asked Verity to marry you before I did, you wrote to her – not to me! – to request this visit; you knew about her baby – a baby which she fully admits she was too frightened to tell me about. And in the early hours of the morning I found her – in her night attire, mark you! – in your arms. You tell me, Gil, what should I be thinking? What would you say if the situation were reversed?”
“I don’t know, Cadmus. I have no answer for you. I can only tell you that Verity and I both love you.”
“Your affection for me is not the issue. It is your feelings for each other which concerns me.”
Gil threw him a look of profound contempt, “You do not deserve the devotion Verity ahs lavished upon you. You are a selfish, thoughtless fool!”
With that he was gone. Underwood stared sightlessly at the door, his thoughts unfathomable behind the impassive set of his features.
*
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
(Medice, Cura Te Ipsum” – Physician, heal thyself)
An early morning visit to Mr. Gratten was just what Underwood needed to complete his dose of the megrims, but he went anyway.
The Gratten family were still at breakfast when he arrived, so he was left to kick his heels in a small room off the hall for a quarter of an hour until the Constable sent for him.
Fifteen minutes of solitary cogitation did nothing to improve his mood and Gratten was immediately aware of things being vastly wrong when he faced his visitor across his impressive desk, “More bad news, I see, Underwood?” he said tersely.
“It’s that obvious, is it? Well, I suppose it rather depends upon your point of view,” was the bitter reply, “Miss Collinson has been attacked and only escaped with her life because I had set Toby on her trail. He witnessed the incident and stopped it.”
“Good god! This is terrible – but you say she survived?”
“Only just – and may not yet. She is still unconscious.”
“Poor girl,” he said automatically, “But you hinted that this might not be entirely bad news – why so? In what way, pray, could it be construed as anything other than tragic?”
“You are right, of course. It is tragic and I had no right to intimate otherwise. I was merely considering that one man at least can be relieved that the assault happened when he was out of town. Dunstable cannot possibly be held responsible for this, thank God.”
Mr. Gratten’s face became severe. “Don’t thank Him too soon, Underwood. Apparently He had another trick to play on you and your friend. Dunstable and his bride arrived back in Hanbury yesterday afternoon. He came immediately to me to apologise for absconding, explaining the delicate condition of the woman who is now his wife, and telling me that he had returned in order to fulfil your own instructions. I took pity on him, feeling he was no threat, and allowed him to return to his wife on the understanding that he would come to me today and give a full account of himself.”
Underwood stared at him, utterly incredulous, “Please tell me you are playing some not-very-amusing hoax on me, Gratten!”
“’Afraid not, my dear fellow. Dunstable is back. If Collinson knows anything, then the man who killed Mrs. Dunstable would want the girl dead too. Dunstable has chosen exactly the wrong moment to come back – if he is innocent!”
“Or someone else has chosen exactly the right moment to attack Collinson. Damn, I am not fated to have a moment’s luck with this case. No doubt his only alibi for last night will be that witless wife of his.”
“No doubt,” Gratten hesitated, looking thoughtfully at his companion before adding quietly, “You know, Underwood, the time may have come for you to admit defeat. Dunstable really is the only sensible suspect in this case. He was the only one to benefit from the old woman’s death; he had motive, means and opportunity. Collinson was our only witness and she has now been half-killed, just as Dunstable arrives back in town. Don’t you think that’s rather overwhelming evidence?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
“Are you going to admit defeat and let me arrest Oliver Dunstable?”
“Will you allow me one last favour, before I do?”
Gratten, who was an irascible man, but not impervious to the charm of the vicar’s brother, who had risen in his estimation during their association, was only too willing to oblige – but only within the confines of his duty.
“I’ll do my best – what is it?”
“Let the world think Collinson is dead – just for a few days, at least.”
The Constable shook his head dubiously;
“I don’t see how it can be done, my friend. If she had died there would have to be a Coroner’s Inquest. How do I explain the lack of an inquest to the public, or the lack of a body to the Coroner?”
“Yes, I hadn’t thought of that. I see the difficulty. Very well, you’ll have to arrest Dunstable, but I want it to be assumed Collinson is much worse than she presently seems. As far as everyone is concerned, she is despaired of, and we are only waiting on her demise in order to charge Dunstable with her murder also.”
Gratten eyed his companion warily, “This sounds like complete submission, Underwood, and yet I have the distinct impression that it is not.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Gratten. I cede utterly. Dunstable is the murderer of his wife and the assailant of Rachael Collinson.”
*
Since the church was the only place Gil could be sure of not being overheard, it was there he asked Verity to join him to discuss their predicament.
She came readily enough, hardly prepared for the thunderbolt which was about to strike her. Gil, uncharacteristically furious with stubborn, unreasonable sibling, made no attempt to lighten the blow, “I spoke to Underwood last night, and he, in so many words, accuses us of having an affair.”
Verity was already pale, she had growing daily more colourless for weeks, almost as though the child within her was leeching the very life from her, but this drove the last vestiges of blood from her cheeks and Gil thought she was about to faint yet again. He thrust out a steadying hand to catch her should she fall, but she cringed from his touch as thought it were the hand of a leper extended to her.
“He said that?” she whispered, her eyes huge, dark and full of pain. Gil instantly regretted his hastiness and lack of diplomacy, but could not now unsay the words.
“It … it was what he intimated,” he adjusted weakly, aware that any retraction was too late, then added with slightly more spirit, “I admit I was never nearer to striking him.”
“Why did you not?” she spat, suddenly vicious, “Why don’t you try and knock some sense into his stupid head!”
Gil forced a smile, albeit a wry one, “I’m afraid that is not really my way of dealing with things, my dear.”
“I wish it were. I wish you had hit him hard. He deserves it for even thinking such disgusting things.”
The vicar was rather taken aback to be referred to as ‘disgusting’, but he knew what she meant and tried not to take her vehemence personally, “He does, but I fear you will have to find some other gallant to beat him for you. I really could not bring myself to do it.”
Verity looked thoughtful, “I wonder if Vivian would…” she murmured, then shook her head, “No, he would be too afraid of ruining his clothes with blood.”
“Verity!” admonished Gil, really shocked that she could even consider violence. He spoke so seriously that she found herself laughing a little, “Oh Gil, I did not mean it. I can’t imagine Underwood engaging in fisticuffs – and certainly not with you or Vivian Pepper. But what am I to do? If he can really believe such a thing of us, there is no hope.”
“Balderdash! There is always hope. You must now sit him down and talk sensibly to him. This not-speaking nonsense has gone quite far enough.”
“No, the time for talking is gone. I know what I must do. I’m so sorry Gil. You can’t begin to understand how mortified I am to have come between you and your brother, but I promise, it will soon be in the past.”
“What are you going to do, Verity?” he asked, greatly concerned by her suddenly determined tone and the martial lift to her chin. She was a woman preparing for battle and he knew it.
“Never mind me. You have your own life to live. Isn’t it time you went to see how Alistair does?”
Gil consulted the watch in his waistcoat pocket, “By Jupiter, you are right. I should have been with Catherine ten minutes ago. You’ll forgive me, Verity, if I go. Good luck with my witless brother.”
*
An atmosphere of harmony and relaxation hovered about the lovers. The new Mrs. Dunstable was reclining on a chaise longue; a tasselled silk shawl spread over her feet, legs and her now all too obviously expanded middle. Underwood, who had never much associated with women, still less pregnant ones, was astounded that so short a length of time could make such a difference to her bulk, though he naturally made no comment upon his observations. The doting husband and expectant father was feeding her pieces of fruit from a china dish. He merely glanced over his shoulder at their entrance, grinned amiably and said, “Well met, Underwood. Allow me to present Mrs. Dunstable,” for all the world as though he had done something exceptionally clever in marrying his already pregnant mistress, with the threat of a murder charge hanging over his head. Gratten summed up Underwood’s own feeling admirably with a contemptuous snort.
“We have met once before,” said the vicar’s brother stoically, “though under happier circumstances. Dunstable, I’m sorry to have to tell you that I can no longer prevent Mr. Gratten from performing his duty as Constable of Hanbury. He has come to arrest you for the murder of Josephine Dunstable and the attempted murder of Rachael Collinson.”
Oliver leapt to his feet, the dish of fruit flying from his hand and landing with a clatter, but miraculously unbroken, on the polished wooden floor, “What the devil!”
Underwood crossed the room to retrieve the abused porcelain, and absent-mindedly handed it to the young woman, who was so stunned that she simply took it from him and sat cradling it to her breast, as though it were her child.
“Dear God! You know I did not do this, Underwood. You cannot mean to desert me now.”
“I’m sorry, Oliver, but I have no choice. In the absence of any shred of evidence to prove your innocence, Mr. Gratten feels he has wasted enough time.”
Dunstable’s face twisted into ugly fury, “God damn your hide, Underwood! I only came back because you swore you would help me. Frederica and I were all set for France, but the little woman believed in you and persuaded me back to clear my name. Now you tell me that I’ll hang for a crime I didn’t commit!”
“Have you any proof of that assertion, Mr. Dunstable?” asked Gratten quietly.
“You know damn well I have not!”
“Then I must ask you to come with me.”
These quietly spoken words caused all hell to break loose.
*
Underwood returned to the vicarage in the late afternoon, his mood as grey as the lowering skies, which presaged rain before the day was out.
Dunstable, hardly surprisingly, had taken the physical act of arrest very badly, having convinced himself and his bride that Underwood had arranged everything for their safety, and he could not bring himself to believe the nightmare had actually happened. The object of this misplaced confidence was physically, mentally and emotionally drained by the raw passions which his and Gratten’s arrival had provoked. He was not a particularly demonstrative man himself and he had found the display of grief, fury, fear and a dozen more minor feelings, not only wearing, but also intensely embarrassing. He could only wish Dunstable and his spouse had possessed more self-control – preferably from the very beginning of their association.
He found he had entered the house only a few seconds after his brother, who was standing in the hall, reading a letter, which he had apparently found on the hall table.
Aware that he had behaved unforgivably the night before, Underwood now desired nothing more than to slip past the vicar unnoticed and gain the comparative peace of his room, but it was not to be. As the door had opened Gil raised his eyes from the missive and looked grimly at his sibling, “I think you had better read this, brother.”
“Not now, if you don’t mind, Gil. I’m exhausted. It has been a very trying day…”
“The day is not yet over,” interrupted Gil harshly, “I think you will find your wife has left you.”
Underwood’s head jerked up, “What?”
Gil thrust the piece of paper into his hands, “Read for yourself. She says she can’t bea
r any more. She has gone from here, and she has left no indication of her destination.”
The shocked husband quickly recovered himself, determined to show his brother a level of dignity not displayed by the Dunstables, “Of course, she has gone to Mother. Where else does she have?”
The vicar wore an expression of contempt, which was almost alien to one of his kindly and forgiving nature, “I hope to God you are right. For a woman to be alone in the world in her condition is not a position I would envy.”
Underwood raised his eyes from the note written in Verity’s hand, but shaky and tear-splashed in a way which pierced his heart not only with sorrow, but guilt, and he stared at his brother, “Thank you Gil, that was just what I needed to hear at this moment.”
*
Such was Underwood’s pride, he was determined not to deviate one iota from his usual routine. Having convinced himself during the course of a long, and largely sleepless, night, that Verity’s only possible haven was with his mother, and she would indeed relish the idea he was frantically searching for her, he forced himself to make his usual trip to the Pump-rooms. His relief at seeing the friendly countenance of Major Thornycroft was no less deep for not being shown.
“Good day to you, Jeremy. Is it my imagination, or are we rather thin of company here today?”
The Major gave him a knowing glance; “You seem rather thin of company yourself. No Verity or Gil? All is well, I trust?”
Underwood threw him a look of mild loathing, “Damn you, Major! Am I to gather from that sly comment you are fully acquainted with the trouble in the Underwood household?”
The Major grinned, “I have my sources of information,” he admitted smugly.
“Since you have the confidence of every woman in Hanbury, you no doubt know how abominably I have treated my poor wife, and where she is now residing? Which one of the tabbies is sheltering her, Jeremy?”
Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) Page 21
