A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) (21 page)

“We have the rest of the morning before us.  Why don’t we walk back to the vicarage through the woods and you can tell me all about yourself.  That way if you mama asks any awkward questions, I shall be able to dazzle her with my complete knowledge of her son.”

“Very well.”

As they strolled towards the stables, Charlotte leading Merryman, and Underwood avoiding him, she suddenly spoke, “By the bye, I understand you have been expressing an interest in the Hazelhurst family?”

  “Only in a very general sense,” answered Underwood guardedly, “why do you mention it?”

“I simply thought you might want to know that Hazelhurst’s sister has come home.  It is the talk of the village.  She hasn’t been seen for years.”

“I imagine Miss Chapell does not encourage her charges to indulge in village gossip, so how came you to hear of it?”  Underwood tried – and managed – to sound disinterested.

“Oh, Harry and Papa were riding over that way the other day and happened to meet her on the road.”

With his somewhat intimate knowledge of their joint past, Underwood doubted that any meeting between Sir Henry and Miss Hazelhurst was accidental, but naturally he made no such comment to his betrothed.

“Why were you asking about the Hazelhursts?” she asked after a moment, trying to instil the same level of boredom into her tone as he had, but scarcely succeeding.  She had heard of the beauty of Miss Hazelhurst and had been tortured by the thought that Underwood knew of it too.  His evasive answer did nothing to calm her fears; “Did I ask about them?  I can’t recall ever having done so.”

“Ellen Herbert told Verity that you had asked the doctor about them.”

“And Verity told you?”  Underwood’s tone was a little sharp, caused by surprise and disappointment in Verity.  He had not thought she would be so careless of his confidences.

Charlotte bit her lip guiltily, “Well … she did not exactly tell me.  I sort of overheard them talking.”

Underwood smiled, “In other words you were eavesdropping?”

“Certainly not!” protested the young lady, but she made no further comment.  How could she admit that she had been passing a door slightly ajar, had heard his name mentioned and had not been able to resist the lure of hearing him discussed, even in so obscure a manner?  Men were quite vain enough, without being presented with snippets like that.

Once Merryman had been handed over to Abney and Charlotte had changed her dress, the newly betrothed couple were free to wander in the general direction of the woods, which would finally lead them to the highroad and thence the vicarage.  Since they had, as Charlotte had pointed out, a goodly portion of the morning still before them, their steps were unhurried and their conversation animated.  There was much to discover about each other.

“Tell me about your father,” she asked him, “Was he much like you?”

“Not in the least.  He resembled Gil more than I.  Dark hair and eyes.  He was a merchant and spent much of his time abroad – China, India.  We saw him very infrequently really, hence our close attachment to our mother.  I think he was rather disappointed that neither Gil not I shared his adventurous spirit, though of course, it was due to his success that he was able to ensure a good education for us.  He died of a recurring fever he caught whilst on his travels.”

“How old were you when he died?”  The sympathy in her voice made him smile.  She was evidently imagining a small boy bereft of his father.

“I was rather older than you are now, my dear.  But it was not a pleasant experience for any of us.  During his last illness he was at home more than he had ever been in our lives before, and Gil and I had the chance to grow very fond of him.  When we were small he tended to be a passing visitor who brought exciting gifts.  We did not appreciate him until it was almost too late.  My mother adored him.  She took his death very badly.  I think she felt cheated, having spent so much of her married life without him, she had wanted a long and happy old age in his company.”

By this time they had almost reached the spot where Charlotte had suffered her accident with the trap and since it had been the moment which had first drawn them together, she could not resist bringing his attention to the fact.

She was unaware that for her own purposes, she could have done nothing worse.  She was extremely gratified to find that he insisted upon stopping and looking around the area she indicated, having first received her assurance that her papa had had all the traps cleared from this section of the wood. 

For the first time in days Underwood turned his thoughts back to Mary Smith and found that he was not proud of himself.  He had forgotten her more completely than he had ever envisioned he could, and was swamped with guilt that he should have been so utterly selfish and shallow.

As he began to look about him, Charlotte was swept from his mind.  She chattered happily at his side, never knowing that he had ceased to listen to her and was instead concentrating on the mystery once again.

There was, naturally, no trace left of that past tragedy, no bloodstains now on the grass, no imprint of a body amongst the rapidly fading bluebells.  He could not ask Charlotte to show him the exact spot where the body had been found, desiring her to have no knowledge of his macabre investigation, but when he saw a flat rock, still bearing the strike marks of an axe or similar implement, he knew he could not be far away from the place where the girl had lain.

“Underwood!” her sharp retort brought him swiftly back to the present and he glanced up, “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

She laughed, “Yes, I said we ought to be getting on.  We’ll be late for lunch and your mother will think I’m to blame.”

Looking into her happy face renewed the depression which he had fought so vainly to banish that morning.  What manner of monster could snuff the life from a living, breathing girl?  Who could bring themselves to cruelly douse that spark of fire which supposedly raised man above the animals?  It took a kind of madness which Underwood had no desire to either understand nor forgive.  With a sudden fierceness which took Charlotte by surprise he drew her into a close embrace, pressing her tight against his chest.  They remained thus for a few moments then Charlotte gently said,

“I’m touched by this display of affection, but you are crushing my ribs and I can barely draw breath!”

Her prosaic complaint broke the spell.  He laughed, rather self-consciously,

“I do beg your pardon.  I was overcome with a sudden desire to protect you from all the evils of the world, and instead I almost manage to do you an injury.”

Released from his grasp, she brushed her dishevelled hair from her face, “You sound very serious.”

“Not at all.  Come, we have lingered long enough, and Gil detests tardiness.”

If she was puzzled by his curious behaviour, she made no remark upon it, but happily allowed him to lead her back to the path.  Strangely enough she was feeling more confident about meeting his mother now, and for the most part because of that embrace.  It was the first time he had embraced her unprompted, and she realized that he did indeed feel strongly about her.  He was so controlled that until that impetuous action she had half-believed he was only being courteous in not rejecting her advances.  In that moment she ceased to be a girl and became a woman, worthy of being loved by a man like C.H. Underwood.

*

Underwood was desperately eager to find and interview Seb Gray, but could think of no possible way to escape his filial duties without occasioning the sort of interest in his doings that Gil was so keen to avoid.  When his opportunity arose the following day, he grasped it with both hands.

Mrs. Underwood expressed a desire to visit Tambrook falls, having been told of them by Gil in one of his many letters.  Underwood gave a martyred look and sighed heavily at the thought of another visit so soon after his first, and thus prompted both mother and brother to omit him from their plans.  Most fortunately it was Verity’s free afternoon and she was more than willing to borrow the gig and drive Underwood to Beconfield on the pretext of needing to shop.  Rather than draw attention to their departure together, Underwood walked to the high road and was met within a very few minutes by a flushed and rather agitated Miss Chapell, “All was nearly lost, sir,” she said breathlessly, as he took his place beside her, “Isobel suddenly decided to accompany me in order to visit the lending library.  It took all my ingenuity to persuade her out of the notion.”

“Ah, now I feel a complete rogue for denying the young lady a trip into town – especially for the laudable purpose of reading,” said Underwood with a smile.

“Nonsense!  Isobel can call up a carriage at any time – she has no right to encroach upon my freedom.”  Verity looked and sounded cross, as indeed she was.  The time was fast approaching that she would lose Underwood’s company forever, and she fully intended to make the most of every precious moment before Charlotte claimed the spoils and she was left to dream of what might have been.

Underwood raised a quizzical brow, but wisely made no comment.

“Can you tell me now why we are going to see this Mr. Gray? Your note was cryptic, to say the least.”

Underwood briefly told her what Tom Briggs had said about Seb Gray, and also the doctor’s assessment of the suffering the man had endured at the hands of Sir Henry.

“I have to say,” he concluded, “that if any man has the right to be angry, then it is Gray.  Sir Henry not only used illegal man-traps on his land, causing the poacher to be maimed, he also sat on the bench and sentenced the fellow to three years in gaol for his petty thieving.  It would be logical to wreak revenge in those circumstances.”

Verity looked thoughtful, “It seems a little far-fetched to me.  There must be other ways to embarrass a man – committing murder is a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?”

“If it was murder, then yes, I agree – but what if he merely dumped the body of a woman who had already died of natural causes?”

“A very convenient death, if it occurred at exactly the right time to affect Sir Henry.”

“True enough – but I imagine death is no rare occurrence amongst the poor.”

“I suppose not.”

“In any event, having been presented with a hypothesis, we are obliged to question the man – no matter how unlikely the idea.”

“Of course.  I was not questioning your motives, merely debating the theory.”

Beconfield not being very far distant – at least not when a vehicle was available – Underwood and Verity were very soon alighting outside the first hostelry named by Tom Briggs as one of Gray’s watering holes.

It was not, however, until they reached the third place on the list that they were fortunate enough to find Seb Gray.  It occurred to Underwood that the inn was not of the most salubrious sort, and therefore he ought not take Miss Chapell inside, so he immediately requested a private room and ordered coffee, asking the inn-keeper to direct Mr. Gray to join them.

They were left alone for a few minutes until the sound of wood tapping upon floorboards alerted them to the advent of Gray.  Rather boyishly Underwood had been expecting a man of piratical appearance, probably due to the knowledge of the wooden leg, and so he was surprised that Gray, far from being hearty and muscle-bound, was actually somewhat small of stature and of a distinctly stoat-like appearance, with small, wary eyes, and a sharp nose.  His sparse, wispy grey hair spoke of a man of fifty years or more, but he could have been less.  Deep lines etched on his face hinted at pain and poverty rather than age. He doffed his hat politely towards Verity, but addressed himself directly to Underwood.

“Bentley tells me you want a word, sir,” he said gruffly, jerking his head towards the tap-room, so that Underwood correctly surmised that Bentley was the name of the landlord.

“If it would not be too much trouble, Mr Gray, my companion and I would very much like to speak to you.”

“Can’t for the life of me think what the likes of you wants with the likes of me, sir, but I’m willin’,” answered Gray and fell thankfully into the chair Underwood offered him.  He winced slightly as he shifted the weight off his wooden leg, and Verity could not help but stare in fascination as he thrust it out before him.  It was beautifully carved with all manner of things; twisting ivy snaked its way up and around, with birds, bees, butterflies and other insects peeping amongst the foliage.  She had never seen a piece of wood more cleverly worked.  Gray of course saw at once that she was impressed and grinned amiably at her, with an accompanying wink and a leer, “If you have to have a peg-leg, might as well make it one the ladies like to look at,” he said.  His tone suggested that he had no shortage of ladies to do just that, and Verity blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Did you do it?” she asked breathlessly, stunned at such artistry.

“’Deed I did.”

“Tell me, if you could do that, why on earth should you need to be a poacher?”

The smile slid from his face, “Who told you I was a poacher?” he demanded roughly.

Having made the error, Verity saw that she had no choice but to be completely honest with him, “I’m so sorry, I meant no offence.  Tom Briggs was so very matter-of-fact with your history, it never occurred to me to guard my tongue.”