Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2)

by Suzanne Downes

  “To the former question, the answer is yes, but if it comforts you any, I can fully appreciate your annoyance. I would have been a little put out myself.”

  “Thank you,” muttered Underwood sardonically.

  “Well, it makes a man look a rare fool when he is the last to know of his own impending paternity.”

  “Is that remark designed to make me feel better or worse, Thornycroft?”

  The Major grinned again, but with the slightest edge of unkindness, “Better, of course, my friend.”

  “Good, then make me feel better still, and tell me where my wife is hiding herself.”

  “Now, that I don’t know, sorry.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me if you did know, would you?” His only reply was a shake of the head, but Underwood could not be sure if it denoted denial, or merely weariness at the folly of his fellow man.

  “I shall not press you. No doubt she will come running back when she comes to her senses.”

  “I would not rely on that, if I were you, my friend. Women can be damnable awkward creatures when they get an idea into their heads.”

  “Not Verity!” asserted Underwood firmly, “She does not have an awkward bone in her body. A sweeter, more biddable girl you are never likely to meet.”

  Thornycroft roared with laughter, “Good God, man, you really don’t know the first thing about your wife, do you?”

  Underwood chose to ignore this remark. What, after all, could the Major know about Verity? He could not have known her more than a few weeks.

  “Where is everybody? I have never known the Pump-rooms so empty.”

  “Most of the tabbies are staying away because there was a rumour flying about that Dunstable was coming here this morning with his new wife. None of them want to be contaminated by her presence.”

  “Great Heavens! You are quite right, Major, women are strange creatures. What do they think the poor girl can do to them?”

  “Give their daughters naughty ideas, I imagine. The wages of sin are supposed to be death, but she comes trotting back with a wedding ring on her finger. Not the sort of example which will make rebellious young ladies listen to Mama’s strictures.”

  “Very true. Well, no doubt it will delight those same mamas to know that the Dunstable’s sins, at least, have found them out. Mr. Gratten arrested Oliver yesterday for the murder of his first wife. The second Mrs. Dunstable stands in immediate danger of the same fate for aiding him.”

  The Major looked suitably serious, “I can’t say I’m sorry, for that means Adeline Beresford need no longer fear the gallows, but I must admit to feeling somewhat confused. I thought you were maintaining Dunstable’s innocence.”

  “I was.”

  “Had a change of heart?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So what next?” pursued the Major, reflecting that getting Underwood to show his feelings was like extracting a sentence from a foot soldier which did not include a volley of curses.

  “I have no idea.”

  The Major scanned his companion’s face, but still gained no insight into the thoughts hidden behind his impassive features, “I realize I have not known you for long, Underwood, but I must say you never struck me as a man who gives up so easily.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Ah, well,” he said comfortingly, “we are all of us wrong sometimes, Major, pray don’t let it weigh too heavily upon you.”

  *

  It was with a joyous smile that Catherine greeted Gil, running down the stairs into the hall of her house, “He is much better this morning, oh, my dear, I really think he is going to get better.”

  He took both her hands in his own, an answering smile on his lips, “That is good news indeed, my love.”

  Even in the midst of her own overwhelming emotions, her loving eyes could not miss the troubled look in his eyes, “Something is wrong, Gil. What is it?”

  “Nothing that need concern you,” he responded swiftly, knowing it was useless to deny the existence of a worry. Already she possessed an intuition about him that rather stunned him, “Pray think no more about it.”

  Her hand cupped his cheek as though he too were her sick child, “Anything which causes you distress is my concern.” With that she seated herself determinedly on the third step and pulled him down beside her, “We neither of us will move from this spot until I am told the whole story.”

  He laughed, “I bow to a will stronger than my own. Verity has left town.”

  “By that I presume you mean to intimate she has left her husband?”

  Gil, only too aware how shocking such an enterprise by any wife would be, had been extremely reluctant to place that explanation on Verity’s actions, however his uncomfortable silence answered the question more eloquently than words ever could.

  The breathy, “Oh dear!” hardly expressed her true feelings, but she felt lost for a wise or comforting comment, at least for the present. Once married, a woman almost literally belonged to her husband. There had even been instances of unsatisfactory wives being sold at auction by disgruntled spouses, though admittedly it was rare and generally amongst the poorer classes. Even so, the child Verity carried was the property of her husband and he could pursue her to reclaim his own, or force her to return to him, no matter how unwilling she might be. Men had the right to beat their wives; they automatically became the owners of all money and property after the wedding, unless her father had made provision in the form of a trust. Even a wife’s personal earnings belonged to her husband and he could sue any employer who paid his wife without recourse to him. Naturally Underwood was no such ogre, but Verity had chosen a difficult path, and at worst could be laying herself open to persecution, the loss of her child, destitution…

  Catherine’s worried glance met Gil’s, “Oh, my dear! Does your mother know? She will be so distressed.”

  “Underwood seems to think Verity will go home to mother, but I did not share his confidence, so I sent an express letter. If she returns her answer by the same method, we should know in a day or two if Verity is with her.”

  “And if she is not?”

  “Then God alone knows what has become of her, for as far as we know, she has no living relatives at all.”

  *

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  (“Suppressio Veri” – Deliberate suppression of the truth)

  The triumphant Gedney was never going to waste any time in seeking out Underwood and gloating noisily. Naturally he chose the Pump-rooms to stage his performance. Maximum audience to ensure the deepest humiliation for his victim.

  “Well, Underwood, it looks as though Gratten has more intelligence than you ever suspected! He has finally arrested the murderous Dunstable, I hear.”

  “Your hearing is evidently acute, Gedney, and does not deceive you!” acknowledged the vicar’s brother evenly.

  Gedney leant forward so that his reddened face was within inches of Underwood’s, causing him to turn his face slightly so that the foul, drink-sour breath was deflected to his cheek, “God rot you! You would have liked to see me swing, wouldn’t you? You sanctimonious bastard!”

  “There are ladies present, you ill-bred oaf, so I suggest you curb your language, or I will be forced to teach you some manners!”

  Gedney staggered backwards, roaring with laughter, “Do you really think you could? Pray challenge me, my friend, for I’d like nothing more than to smash my fist into that smug face of yours!”

  “The feeling is entirely mutual, believe me, however, I have never yet so far forgotten myself as to strike a drunken man, so I suggest you try and stay sober long enough to grant us both the satisfaction we so crave!”

  “Drunk or sober, I can take you on!” growled Gedney, infuriated by the slur, but unfortunately quite unable to refute it.

  “No doubt you think so, but I have no intention of finding out. The way my luck is running, the first blow I struck would spin you off your feet and you’d break your neck as you
hit the floor! If I die by anything other than natural causes, I intend it to be with better reason than for ridding the world of your worthless hide!”

  Gedney gathered what was left of his shredded dignity; “I’ll be back, Underwood. Look to your safety!”

  “Don’t worry yourself on that score, Mr. Gedney,” he returned sweetly, “I fully intend to stay well away from dark passageways.”

  The drunken man glared suspiciously at him, his bloodshot eyes focusing with difficulty, “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “Did you not know? There is a maniac with a knotted rope on the loose in town. Rachael Collinson barely escaped with her life.”

  “I knew that, of course. That black ape of yours saved her – if it was not him who jumped on her in the first place. His tale of a gallant rescue is probably pure fantasy!”

  Underwood was on his feet in a second, “By God, Gedney! You go too far. You are vastly offensive sober, unfathomably obnoxious drunk, but when you insult a friend of mine in that way, you are unspeakable!”

  Both men were by now so involved in their dispute that they had quite forgotten their surroundings. So oblivious were they, that they were only brought to their senses by the round of applause which greeted Underwood’s words, and the several shouted vilifications directed at the universally unpopular Gedney. His skin flushed almost purple and he turned on the gathering with an almost bestial snarl, “Be damned to you all! Keep out of it. This is a private conversation!”

  “Then keep it that way!” snapped the Major with rapidly rising fury, “And get out of here before I shoot the legs from under you and cut you down to my size!”

  “All right, Major, I can handle this situation,” murmured Underwood, trying to placate without stripping the man’s masculinity from him, but equally unable to let him offer to fight the odious Gedney.

  “Oh, I know that, my friend, but I really should not allow you to soil your hands with such scum!”

  Gedney threw him a look of intense loathing, “Why don’t you shut your mouth and go back to the protection of the ladies’ skirts, you pathetic little cripple!”

  This was more than the residents of Hanbury were going to allow. Gedney found himself literally submerged beneath a barrage of complaints and outraged protests. Several ladies loudly demanded the immediate calling of the Constable and the Major was roaring for his seconds and his pistols.

  With a wheel-chair bound man offering him a duel, Gedney did not have much choice but to leave, but he was evidently still fighting mad and Underwood decided he might just be wise to avoid his society for a few days.

  Underwood was not a coward, he never backed down from a quarrel, and he would never refuse to pick up a gauntlet, once thrown down, but he was a peaceable man and the very thought of physical violence was deeply abhorrent to him. He would happily claim craven cowardice in order to diffuse a volatile situation, but it was very far from the truth. In fact he showed greater courage in facing such situations than many a man who flung himself into a fight without thinking of the consequences. It was far easier to be brave when animal instinct took over than when those instincts had been successfully controlled and one was coldly and fully aware of the damage about to be inflicted.

  Major Thornycroft took one look at his companion’s drained face and said,

  “Come, my friend, you need a stiff drink. Push me to the nearest hostelry.”

  “I don’t need drink to give me Dutch courage!” was the slightly bitter response, but the Major laughed, “Don’t be a fool. One brandy is not going to turn you into another Gedney! And for myself, I desperately need a large whisky!”

  Underwood, who had not thought himself quite so transparent, grinned wryly,

  “I suppose not.”

  They chose the White Boar, knowing it not to be one of Gedney’s haunts, and Thornycroft insisted on paying his corner, despite Underwood’s protests, “Put your money away. The King allows me a large enough pension to buy a few drinks, besides which, I intend to be unbearably impertinent, and that’s always easier when your drinking partner stands in your debt.”

  Underwood accepted a large brandy and found himself a seat in a secluded corner with enough space beside him for the Major to draw in his wheeled chair,

  “What form is this impertinence to take?” he asked, after a swallow of the reviving liquid.

  “I want to know what the hell has gone wrong between you and Verity. The woman adores you, as any fool can plainly see, even a confirmed old cynic like myself. What the devil has happened to drive her away?”

  The fact that he was able to hear this without anger or resentment surprised even Underwood, who would normally be furious to hear his private affairs discussed in a common ale house – or indeed anywhere else, but there was a sincerity about Thornycroft which took the sting from his comments. He cared – and for a man with troubles enough of his own, that showed a generosity of spirit which even the supposedly insensitive Underwood could appreciate. He took another gulp at his brandy and opened his heart, “I found I couldn’t talk to her, Jeremy. It was not just the fact she had kept me in the dark, it was the idea of there being a child at all! I was not expecting it to happen. It never crossed my mind for a single second. And when I realized it was true, I simply could not cope with the knowledge. She thinks it is because I don’t want children – God, if she knew I’m terrified of the prospect!”

  Thornycroft was kind enough not to laugh out loud, but his lips twitched in appreciation of a private thought, “My dear fellow, how long were you confined to the monastic atmosphere of Cambridge? How could you possibly overlook that aspect of marriage? Your brother must have told you the purpose of marriage is procreation.”

  “Well, of course he had no need to! He tried, but I can’t say I enjoyed our pre-nuptial lectures. He’s my younger brother, for God’s sake! I wasn’t going to discuss those things with him,” was the disgusted rejoinder.

  “Then how could you not know that making love to your wife was probably going to result in a child.”

  “I’m over forty. I thought it was too late – and God knows it probably is! What kind of a father am I going to make at my time of life?”

  “The best kind, you fool! Indulgent, doting and ever aware of the little miracle you have created, instead of taking your offspring for granted, as many a younger man has done! I don’t mind telling you, I envy you. The chances of my planting my seed in fertile soil is fairly remote now.” He slapped bitterly at what was left of his thighs.

  “Nonsense,” interjected Underwood, only too glad to divert the conversation from himself, “Adeline Beresford would marry you tomorrow. She’s utterly infatuated, and you know it.”

  “She may be – but I wouldn’t marry her. She’s barely out of the schoolroom and has her whole life before her. She deserves more than a cripple for a husband!”

  “You are arrogant, my friend!”

  The Major looked suitably aghast at this stinging rebuke, “Good God! How came you to that conclusion? I thought I sounded rather noble and forbearing!”

  “Exactly. Hiding behind your injuries, refusing to take the risk of being rejected. Not allowing the young woman to make her own choices so that the world will think you noble and self-sacrificing. Balderdash! You are headed for martyrdom, Major.”

  “I thought we came here to discuss you.”

  “I thought we came here for a drink.”

  “So we did.” Major Thornycroft hailed the landlord, “Two more over here, my good man – and keep ‘em coming!”

  When their glasses were set before them, refilled, the Major continued, “What are you going to do about your wife?”

  “None of your damned business,” was the cheerful reply.

  “In other words, you don’t know what to do.”

  “In other words, I don’t need to do a thing. She has flown back to my mother, and will presently be persuaded back under the old lady’s protection. I will be given a severe dressing down, wil
l immediately apologise sweetly and all will be forgotten.”

  His companion shook his head in disbelief, “No one as smug as you should be allowed such a lovely little wife”

  “I’ll make it up to her.”

  “I sincerely hope you do!”

  “Are you going to propose to sweet Adeline?”

  “None of your damned business – to borrow your own very evocative mode of expression.”

  Underwood, suddenly brandy-serious, gripped his friend firmly by the shoulder, “Don’t be a fool, Jeremy! Don’t let stupid pride stand in the way of happiness. Believe me, she carries scars as deep as yours. They are just not visible.”

  Thornycroft raised his eyes and looked into Underwood’s, “You’ve hinted so before. Are you going to tell me what ails her?”

  “No, that must lie with the lady, but if she ever trusts you enough to tell you, treat her kindly.”

  “You have my word on it.”

  “Good.”

  *

  Completely unaware that he was destined to shortly suffer a double blow, Underwood pursued his enquiries with stoicism which astounded all whom knew of his wife’s desertion. Especially concerned was Lady Hartley-Wells, who sent him one of her more strongly worded invitation. Underwood grinned as he read it, debating whether to risk giving the old lady an apoplexy by refusing to attend. On reflection, however, he decided to go, as she sounded mildly frantic and he had little else to occupy him.

  He was surprised to be greeted by a woman who was evidently struggling to control a rising panic, so unlike the usual forbidding demeanour of the redoubtable widow. They wasted no time in exchanging pleasantries, “Is it true Verity has gone?”

  “Merely on a visit to my mother,” he replied evenly, trying not to be irritated by this blunt style of questioning, and the unmannerly interest in his affairs.

  She sank into a chair as though relief had knocked the legs from under her, and briefly rested her hand on her formidable breast, “Thank God!” Doubt seemed to assail her for she looked at him through narrowed lids and demanded, “You are quite sure of that, are you?”