*
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
(“Dabit Dues His Quoque Finem” – God will grant an end even to these troubles)
She was sewing by the open window, her head bent industriously over a tiny white garment, her ringlets falling forward and stirring gently in the warm breeze.
He did not think she had heard him enter and so he hesitated for a few moments in the doorway, reluctant not only to startle her, but also to lose the precious seconds of examining her face whilst he was unobserved.
She looked a little pale, perhaps, but otherwise unscathed by the misery Gil had assured him she had suffered. He was astounded to feel that along with the overwhelming relief at seeing her safe and unharmed, fury was also rising rapidly within him. What right had she to look so serene and well when he had been plagued by worry and sleeplessness since she had taken it into her head to run away? Gone now was the memory of the fervent prayers for her safe return.
As if by intuition she gradually became cognisant of another presence and slowly raised her head.
He admired her coolness, for only by the slightest widening of her eyes, and the lightest of in drawn breaths did she betray her surprise, and she very quickly mastered herself, laid aside her occupation and rose to her feet, “Hello, Cadmus. You have found me then?”
If he had expected her to fly, weeping into his embrace, he was sadly disappointed. She merely stood, looking calmly at him, waiting for his response.
“So it would seem,” he replied quietly, determined to be as stoic as she, “I trust you are in good health?”
“Fair.”
He scarcely heeded her answer for, standing as she was, with the sun behind her, her figure was clearly outlined in the muslin morning dress she wore. The high waist simply served to accentuate the thickening of her body, and he was stunned that the child within her had grown so much in – how long had it been? It seemed months must have passed since he last saw her, but in reality it was less than a fortnight.
She quickly realized he was shocked by her appearance, and immediately placed the wrong explanation entirely upon it. He was disgusted, of course, appalled by her bloated body! She moved away from the unforgiving light of the window and went to the sofa; “Won’t you sit down?” She invited him nervously, all her sang froid gone now.
“Thank you.” He took the proffered seat and waited for her to sit beside him, but she moved away and took one of the chairs across the room from him.
“How did you find me?” It was hardly the most tactful thing she could have said, for it merely reminded him with painful clarity, of just how much anguish she had caused him. His voice was tightly controlled as he answered; “Your sketchbook showed a drawing of your day out with Mrs. Leigh of Draythorp. The rest was easy. It solved the mystery of why no vehicle had been hired by you or Vivian Pepper. You walked here, of course.”
“Vivian Pepper? I thought he had gone off to the races, so what has he to do with the matter, pray?”
“Apparently nothing,” he retorted, and after a slightly puzzled frown crossed her brow, she decided not to pursue the topic any further and presently changed the subject, “How are you, Cadmus?” she asked politely, bereft of anything more interesting to say.
“I have been better,” he responded, with equal civility, but no emotion, “Worry, of course, tends to have an extremely adverse effect on my nerves, but no doubt I will recover swiftly, now that I know you are safe.”
She blushed vividly at the sarcasm, but refused to dignify it with a word of protest, “I’m sorry to hear it, though I must own I too know something of the effects of insecurity on the system.”
He looked into her eyes, no flicker of his fraught feelings showing in his face,
“It was a wretched thing to have done, Verity. I have been half out of my mind, wondering where you were, if you were ill – or worse!”
She gave him stare for stare, “I do not care how you have been feeling,” she said, at last, her voice cracking with emotion, “I have worn myself out caring about you and how you are feeling, and never receiving one ounce of regard in return.”
He tried not to show it, but his anger was near the surface now, a bubbling brew of pride, passion and resentment, “That is incredibly unjust. I fully admit I have been at fault, but so have you. It was unforgivable to keep the knowledge of your condition from me.”
“It was unforgivable of you to spend your days flirting with Charlotte Wynter, then to accuse me of having an affair with your brother.” She was no longer calm, nor felt any particular desire to be so.
His face was ashen with suppressed fury, “I? Flirting? That is precious, coming from the woman whom half of Hanbury believes to have eloped with Vivian Pepper.”
It was her turn to grow pallid, but her emotion was shock and distress, not anger, “What!”
“Do not, pray, pretend such surprise, my dear. How could your wanton conduct with the boy prompt any other supposition?”
“My conduct? Oh, oh! How I hate being a woman.” She jumped to her feet in agitation; “Your behaviour with Charlotte was far more outrageous than mine with Vivian, yet it is I who is vilified. How appallingly unfair it is!”
“Unfair? You use the word very lightly, madam. You do not seem to think your own accusations of wrong-doing on my part to be ‘unfair’.”
She glared at him, her hands fisted and clamped to her sides, and stamped her foot in utter fury and frustration, “You beast! I don’t know why you have come here, except to torment and distress me. What do you want of me?”
“To discuss our divorce, naturally.” He didn’t even know where the words came from, for they had certainly not been in his mind at the onset of their meeting, but they shot at her like bullets and felled her just as surely.
She stared at him, the cheeks which had reddened with temper only seconds before now grew as white as parchment, she took one tottering step towards him, then dropped like a stone at his feet.
“Oh dear God!” He was on his knees at her side in moments, “Verity, my dear one, my sweet life. What have I done?” He lifted her into his arms and carried her tenderly to the sofa, laying her gently down, then kneeling beside her and patting her hands until she opened her eyes once more.
She looked hazily at him, until the memory of his harsh words came swiftly back with her senses, “You … you said something … about divorcing me?”
He raised her hand to his lips, overcome with remorse, “I deserve to be horsewhipped! I am so very sorry, sweetheart!”
She seemed not to understand what he was saying; “You did not mean it?” she asked pitifully.
“Of course I did not! I was angry – furiously angry. Not an emotion to which I am accustomed. Very few people are capable of making me lose my temper.”
She closed her eyes wearily, “Good,” she whispered, “then I shall divorce you!”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked incredulously.
“I think you heard me well enough,” she said, in a voice growing ever stronger, “Now, please go away. I want Mrs. Leigh.”
“Do not play silly games, Verity. I have apologised, what more can I do?”
Her eyes opened, the spark of anger hot within them, “You can go to the devil for all I care. You are cruel, completely heartless! You have used me as a convenience since the day we married, never showing one whit of unprompted affection or concern for me, allowing the likes of Charlotte Wynter to look down on me and pity me. If you had, just once, shown me the kind of adoration you profess to feel for me, then she would never have had the impertinence to throw herself at you as she did.”
“My dear – be reasonable. I am not a man who easily displays his feelings…”
“Balderdash!” she said rudely, much to his surprise, “I saw you kiss Charlotte in public when you were engaged to her – but have you ever done so to me? No, you have not.”
He looked astounded, “Good God! I should have thought you were past the age of wanting idiotic, immatur
e exhibitions of romance.”
“Past the age…” Her furious tones trailed off into the silence of disbelief and it was a minute or two before she could add coldly, “Just exactly how old do you think I am? One hundred and three? Of course I want you to make an exhibition of yourself for me. You did it for the lovely Miss Wynter.”
He stood up and paced about the room, as though trying to escape an awkward situation, “Oh, God preserve me from women. Don’t you think I might prefer to forget that I ever made a prize fool of myself over Charlotte?”
To his astonishment she suddenly began to yell, in an extremely unladylike way, for Mrs. Leigh, who arrived with an alacrity which suggested she might not have been as far away as Underwood would have desired.
“What is it, my dear?” she asked, her voice gentle with concern. Verity threw a poisonous glance in her husband’s direction and said, with considerable vitriol, “Mr. Underwood is distressing me. I should like him to leave.”
Underwood, who had already had one battle with the lady of the house, when he demanded to see his wife alone and unannounced, now found himself suffering the ignominy of being ejected from a house. He listened to her stunning pronouncement with a frozen face. Mrs. Leigh looked askance at him, so he bowed stiffly, “I shall remain in Hanbury for the present, Verity. Should you wish to contact me, you know where I am – I, at least, accord you that gesture of civility.”
Mrs. Leigh showed him out.
*
His expression was thunderous when he entered the vicarage, and his mood was not improved by the gathering who were waiting to greet him.
It seemed the stage had arrived in his absence and now, along with Gil and Toby, were his mother and her husband, General Milner.
She immediately rushed towards him as he walked into the parlour, “Chuffy! What have you been doing to upset Verity? Where is she? Why have you not brought her back with you?”
“If you would care to hold your tongue for long enough to allow me to get a word in edgewise…” he began testily, whereupon the General intercepted gruffly, “Now, now, my boy. No way to address your mother, don’t you know?”
Underwood, though seething, recognized the justice of this, however much he might resent the quarter from which the reminder came, and after a deep breath, he forced a smile, and resumed, “I beg your pardon, mama, I’m a little fraught! Verity has taken it into her head to be awkward. No doubt her condition can be blamed, as I understand women can be unpredictable at times like these – but by God! I’d like to throttle her!”
“Oh dear,” whimpered his mother faintly, “What has she done?”
With great self-control he managed a small, not very convincing, laugh,
“She’s threatening me with divorce.”
Mrs. Milner’s horrified gaze hurt him more than he cared to admit, “Oh, Chuffy!”
“Be calm, mother, for pity’s sake. It is nonsense and she knows it. Quite apart from anything else, the cost would be prohibitive. It takes a debate in both houses of Parliament, and a wife cannot divorce her husband for adultery – even if he had committed it, which I most certainly have not. Her only recourse would be non-consummation – and I doubt very much she would win on that, given her present condition.”
“There is no need to be vulgar, Cadmus,” said his mother severely, the use of his forename amply demonstrating the depth of her displeasure.
For the first time Underwood began to see a glimmer of humour in the situation. He grinned broadly, “Forgive me, mama. I forget myself.”
“You most assuredly do!”
*
Two days later, he was no longer amused. Verity had not contacted him; his mother was frantic, Gil silently condemning. Underwood attempted nonchalance, but was hardly convincing.
He knew his affairs were the staple of Pump-room gossip, along with what was happening to the Gedneys, and though he utterly deplored the situation, there was little he could do to halt the prattle.
Major Thornycroft joined him at the fountain as he collected water for his mother, “How goes it, Underwood?”
“Badly,” returned the dutiful son tersely, “What about you?”
“Never been better, my friend. Miss Beresford has done me the honour of accepting my hand.”
Underwood, relieved at finally having some good news to celebrate, greeted this announcement with delight, “You old rogue! I thought you were too noble to ask her to saddle herself with a gambling, alcoholic, reprobate.”
“I was – she asked me – and being a gentleman, I could hardly refuse.”
“You, a gentleman? I think not.”
“Watch your manners, sir, or I shall ask Toby to stand as my best man in your stead.”
It took Underwood a moment to assimilate this invitation, then he smiled with a genuine fondness and shook the Major warmly by the hand, “It would be an honour. When is the wedding to be – and is Gil to officiate?”
“Of course, but it cannot be until the Dunstable and Gedney saga is at an end. Speaking of which, have you heard the latest?”
“I knew, of course, that Miss Collinson and Mrs. Gedney have become unlikely allies and have told Gratten everything they know. Gedney is as guilty as sin, his wife an accessory, but likely to be dealt with leniently for turning King’s evidence.”
“Dunstable has now been released, not a stain on his character.”
“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” murmured Underwood wryly.
“Quite,” grinned the Major, “However, he and his new wife have offered to give a home to young Melissa.”
“Thank God. I must admit to several sleepless nights on her account. She may have had appalling parents, but at least she had someone. My actions will probably leave her an orphan.”
“Well,” continued Thornycroft, “Adeline and I were not so sure Dunstable and Frederica were quite capable of raising a child with her problems. Those two can barely control themselves, let alone a difficult child. It also occurred to us that she stands to inherit a fair amount when Josie’s will is finally executed. Dunstable may not have murdered Josie for her money, but he did marry her for it.”
“Very true, but what alternative is there? We don’t want the child ending up in a sanatorium or some such place.”
“Adeline and I are going to have her.”
“Good Lord!”
Thornycroft laughed, “Thank you so much for that vote of confidence.”
“I’m sorry, my friend, but as you so succinctly say, she is a difficult child. Are you sure you will be any more use to her than Dunstable?”
“Not at all, but at least she will have guardians who understand her pain and frustration. When she throws one of her temper tantrums, I shall probably join her on the floor.”
This presented a mental image which Underwood found vastly amusing, and it was with his broad, boyish grin on his face that he lifted his head and glanced towards the doors, where newcomers were entering amidst a buzz of excitement.
The smile swiftly slid away as he recognized his wife, and apparently he was not the only person to do so. There fell a profound silence and all eyes were upon them as Verity made her way slowly across the room, a passage forming for her as those in her path fell back.
Gossip had been busy and now almost the entire population of Hanbury knew that Verity had committed the unforgivable act of leaving her husband – very possibly for another man. The whole room was agog to know what Underwood intended to do about this tardy – and judging from the stubborn expression on Verity’s face – unrepentant return.
Underwood met her eyes though there was still some distance between them, and she stopped, stock still, no clue in her demeanour to tell him how she wanted him to behave.
He knew their future together depended upon his handling of this moment correctly. Without more ado, he thrust his mother’s cup into Thornycroft’s hands, not caring that the overfilled vessel spurted water all over the proud red tunic, and he began to walk swiftly towards his wife.
He said not a word, but swept her up into his arms and kissed her passionately. There were several shocked gasps from some of the elderly spinsters, but most of their acquaintance were smiling fondly, a blend of relief and amusement adorning their features.
This display was so very unlike Underwood, and so unexpected in the face of
tales of desertion and divorce, adultery and elopement, that a loud and spontaneous burst of applause greeted the moment that their lips parted. Verity blushed delicately and hid her pink cheeks against his shoulder. With a triumphant, and wholly ungentlemanly grin, Underwood carried his wife out of the Pump-rooms and bore her away.
Mrs. Fancourt rapped her son over the knuckles with her folded fan, “If you had done that to Meg Rowbottham forty years ago, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me now!” she exclaimed loudly.
“Oh, hush, mother!” was the vastly irritated reply.
“Eh?”
“HUSH!”
- o 0 o -
Copyright 2014.
Food For The Gallows by Suzanne Downes.
Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) Page 26
