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

by Suzanne Downes

  “Oh.” Gil suddenly remembered his manners; “I do beg your pardon Miss Chapell. Won’t you be seated, perhaps I could offer you some tea?”

  Underwood’s heart sank – that would ensure his escape would be delayed by at least another hour.

  “Thank you, but no. I have only just finished luncheon, and it is my free afternoon, so I am rather eager to be on my way.”

  “Then let us detain you no longer. Thank you for delivering the invitation.”

  “I trust I am not included in it,” said Mr. Underwood suddenly. Miss Chapell had been endeavouring to keep her eyes upon the vicar whilst she conversed with him, but upon hearing this remark, her glance flew to Underwood’s face, “Oh dear…” she faltered, “Do you have some other engagement? I was asked most particularly…”

  “No, no, Miss Chapell,” interrupted Gil hastily, “We have no other engagement. My brother and I will be delighted to accept Sir Henry’s kind offer.”

  She looked very relieved and began to pull her gloves back on again, “I really must go. Poor old Noble hates to be left standing, especially when he is coupled to the gig. As an old hunter, I think he feels it is beneath his dignity.”

  Mr. Underwood became very interested when he heard the word ‘gig’.

  “Am I to understand you are in possession of a vehicle, Miss Chapell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it be very much out of your way to give me a ride into Calden?”

  “We must not encroach upon Miss Chapell’s free time,” intercepted the vicar, and the lady thought she heard a note of warning in his tone.

  “As a matter of fact, I was planning to drive through Calden. About a mile outside the village there is a very pretty waterfall. I thought I might go there and do a little sketching.”

  “Then would you be kind enough to take me to Calden?”

  “Most certainly, Mr. Underwood.”

  He thanked her charmingly, gave his brother a triumphant smile, then offered her his arm and led her from the house, “Goodbye Gil. Don’t wait dinner for me, I may be late.”

  Miss Chapell managed to restrain her curiosity until they had mounted the rather rickety gig and were bowling along at a brisk trot, leaving Bracken Tor far behind them. Since it would have been unforgivably rude to ask her companion outright what his plans were, she was forced to employ considerable cunning and tact. Had she but known it, Underwood had no inclination to hide his destination from her, and he would have been vastly amused to know how her feminine wiles were stretched to their utmost.

  “I had not realized you were acquainted with anyone living in Calden.”

  “I’m not.”

  She could see he was not being deliberately obstructive, it simply never occurred to him that anyone should be, in the slightest degree, interested in his actions, and so he made no attempt whatsoever to explain or justify them.

  She gave a laugh, which even to her own ears sounded false, “Then I can’t imagine what takes you there. It is not a very interesting place – similar to Bracken Tor, but without even the benefit of a church. I don’t think it is the sort of place to attract visitors.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to see the village. I intend to visit the doctor.”

  She knew a moment of intense disappointment. She recalled with painful clarity, the conversation with the vicar regarding his brother’s supposed hypochondria, and since meeting him, she had hoped it wasn’t true. Such a glaring defect of character was not particularly attractive in a man.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” she asked tentatively, glancing sideways at him.

  “Never better,” he asserted heartily, “Why do you ask?”

  Miss Chapell began to feel that they were not communicating on quite the same level, “But…” she foundered in a morass of confusion, “the doctor. You said…”

  Mr. Underwood laughed; his head thrown back, his golden hair glistening in the sunlight, for he invariably went hatless. She thought it rather strange that he did not wear a hat, when almost everyone else did, even the poorest people covered their heads when outside. The truth was he constantly lost anything which was not physically attached to his person, hats, gloves, walking sticks – he left them in shops, circulating libraries, carriages. To simplify his existence, he abandoned the use of anything which could be misplaced.

  “I said I was going to visit the doctor, not consult him.”

  “You also denied knowing anyone in Calden,” she countered, mildly irritated that she should be laughed at, when it was he who had caused the confusion, “Why visit a man you don’t know?”

  Underwood was suddenly silent. He realized, too late, alas, that he had said too much. His promise to Gil not to discuss the murder unless strictly necessary was in danger of being broken less than twenty-four hours after being made. His abrupt change of expression made Miss Chapell feel unpleasantly excluded.

  “I don’t think I ought to confide that.”

  “Oh.” She was hurt and sounded it. Mr. Underwood was acutely aware that he had disappointed her. It was not an emotion he cared for, and it was many years since he had allowed himself to be swayed by the guilt others tried to thrust upon him.

  “Miss Chapell…” he began, but she cut viciously across his attempt at reconciliation. She was not only hurt, but humiliated that he had found her intrusive,

  “Please don’t say any more. I quite understand that you think me impertinent and not to be trusted!”

  Damn it all! Why must women always bring every issue to the personal? Had he spoken thus to any man, he would merely have shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject.

  “My dear child, I never suggested I thought you impertinent – and it is not a question of trust. I have been asked to keep this thing quiet, therefore my first deed cannot be to tell you all about it!”

  “I may not have attained your great age, but I am not a child – dear or otherwise!” she countered swiftly, “And I would not dream of asking you to break a confidence – in fact, I insist you do no such thing!”

  “By all that’s holy, give me a woman for contrariness!” Miss Chapell was not to know it, but she was witnessing a rare circumstance – Mr. C. H. Underwood in a state of extreme irritation.

  As he grew more ruffled, she became more serene – a stratagem usually employed by himself – and all the more annoying for that.

  “There is no need to insult my gender, Mr. Underwood. I quite understand the male code of honour. You cannot tell me your silly little secret – let that be an end to it!”

  “Silly little secret!” He was painfully aware that he was beginning to sound insufferably pompous, “My good girl…”

  “Woman,” she corrected calmly, unsettling him to such a degree that he quite forgot the gem of a rebuff which he had been about to use.

  They subsided into silence, which was maintained until Calden was reached, and Miss Chapell hauled on the reins and Noble came to a standstill outside the gate of a large stone-built house, the walls of which were festooned with rather unkempt ivy.

  “Dr. Herbert’s residence,” she announced formally, waiting for him to vacate the seat beside her. He did so, but instead of walking away from her as she expected, he went to the horse’s head, grasped his bridle and began to lead the creature in through the gateway.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Underwood?” she asked sweetly, determined not to spoil her previous victory by becoming rattled now by his odd behaviour. Her only answer was the pleasant scrunch of the gravel beneath feet, hooves and wheels.

  At the door he released the horse and approached the side of the gig, “Get down,” he said curtly.

  “Certainly not!”

  He whipped the reins from her hand then gripped her waist and jerked her unceremoniously into his arms, taking her so much by surprise that she had no chance to reject his aid.

  “Put me down…” she began breathlessly, but even as she spoke he dropped her to her feet, then taking her hand once more he began to drag her tow
ards the front door.

  “Stop it, Mr. Underwood! This foolishness has gone far enough. What will Dr. Herbert think if he sees us?”

  “I don’t give a damn!”

  She was profoundly shocked, “Mr. Underwood!”

  “I do beg your pardon, Miss Chapell. I quite forgot myself. What I meant to say was that if you do not wish Dr. Herbert to think ill of either of us then pray stop struggling, and do as I tell you.” She knew he was being sarcastic, and that he was not in the least sorry he had sworn at her, but she found herself not minding very much.

  With great dignity, she withdrew her hand from his grasp, tugged her pelisse straight, adjusted her bonnet and said quietly, “Very well.”

  The elderly maid who admitted them showed no surprise at all to see a rather flustered Miss Chapell, cheeks pink, hair slightly untidy, in the company of a tall, blond gentleman, who was also looking far from calm. Over the years, Gertrude had seen far stranger sights on the doctor’s doorstep.

  “What name shall I give, sir?” she asked, when the request to see Dr. Herbert had been voiced.

  “Underwood,” was the brusque reply.

  “Oh, then you’ll be the Reverend’s brother?” With that she walked away, thankfully missing the explosion of annoyance which this comment provoked, “Is there anyone in these parts who doesn’t know me as anything other than the vicar’s brother?” Though she felt his irritation was justifiable, still Miss Chapell laughed unkindly,

  “Why should you mind?”

  “I’ve no idea, but I know I do mind – very much indeed!” This was not strictly true. He did know exactly why it angered him so much, but he was not about to confide in his companion. For the most part, his life was one of quiet and pleasant anonymity; the only fame he ever attained was within the precincts of his college, where he knew he was discussed with a mixture of affection and fury, depending upon the point of view of the speaker. He did not like to have that anonymity stripped so crudely from him, and he detested the notion that here he was known only as an appendage of someone else’s life, and not a person in his own right. Minor matters, of course, but his very trying morning had suddenly endowed minor matters with a whole new importance.

  The arrival of the doctor at the door of the small side room where Gertrude had left them prevented further cogitation, and Mr. Underwood happily put his feelings of discontent aside and began to concentrate on the task in hand.

  Introductions made – unnecessary in Miss Chapell’s case, since she was already known to both Dr. Herbert and his wife – Underwood lost no time in pursuing his line of enquiry, “I understand from my brother that there was an unsolved murder committed in Bracken Tor approximately a year ago, and that you performed the post mortem examination. I have set myself the task of trying to solve the case, and I would be grateful for your co-operation.”

  If the doctor was shocked by this forthright opening, it was nothing to Miss Chapell’s astonishment, but she had the supreme intelligence to remain silent.

  Dr. Herbert took a moment to recover himself, and to decide exactly how he felt about this turn of events before he spoke, carefully avoiding eye contact with Miss Chapell, “I should be very glad to see the mystery solved Mr. Underwood, but do you think this is the sort of conversation which ought to take place in the presence of a young lady?”

  Mr. Underwood glanced briefly at his companion, then returned his gaze to the man before him, “Miss Chapell has committed herself to helping me in this endeavour. She is quite prepared for anything shocking you may have to say.”

  The doctor looked enquiringly in the young lady’s direction, “Are you quite sure about that, Miss Chapell?”

  Looking a little pale – this was an entirely unexpected situation in which she found herself, but she was determined now to see it through to the end – she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, “Quite sure!”

  “Very well. Shall we go into my study? I have the notes I made there.”

  Silently the two followed him, but as they reached the door Mr. Underwood held her back and said in an undertone, “That was unforgivable. I had no right to thrust this upon you. I can only blame my temper and tell you that if you wish to leave, I would entirely understand.”

  She looked up at him, searching his face; “Do you really want my help?”

  “Not unless you wish to offer it.”

  “I do.”

  With that the entered the study together and Mr. Underwood closed the door behind them.

  The thirty minutes which followed were amongst the most difficult Miss Chapell had ever known. She learned details of a death which were rarely discussed before a woman of her class and generation. Protected all her life from such sordid and unpleasant events, she was profoundly shocked, and almost uncontrollably nauseated, but she survived with her dignity intact and her admiration for her two companions increased considerably. The professional coolness with which they debated their subject amazed her.

  Mr. Underwood, armed with his own travelling ink-well, pen and leather-bound note book, took copious notes, and even the doctor sharpened himself a quill and adjusted his own script accordingly, when Underwood made an interesting observation. For the most part, though, he simply read aloud, pausing to answer Mr. Underwood’s questions, mostly from memory. In a very short time they had begun to overlook Miss Chapell’s presence and became necessarily graphic.

  “The body was discovered at around 5.30 on the morning of April 25th 1819, by Toby Hallam, gamekeeper to Sir. Henry Wynter. He, very sensibly, touched nothing, but ran immediately to the house – Wynter Court, I mean, not his own cottage. He roused the household and the order came from Sir Henry to fetch me. I arrived at 7.15.”

  “Almost two hours had elapsed? Isn’t that rather a long delay? Surely a fast horse could have covered the distance in a matter of minutes?”

  I must admit a similar thought occurred to me at the time, but I suppose one must make allowances for the early hour, the shock, the panic, misunderstood instructions. Also it was obvious from the onset that the girl was beyond help, so I imagine no one thought hurrying was necessary.”

  “That is true enough. Pray continue.”

  “The corpse, as I assume you already know, was headless, but judging from other indications, such as the length of her thigh bone, I would estimate her height to have been around five feet, and her age could have been anything between thirteen and twenty years.”

  “You can be no more specific than that?”

  “Unfortunately not. She was well-developed, but not particularly well-nourished, and young girls have a tendency to reach maturity at vastly differing ages – as indeed do boys.”

  “Quite,” agreed Underwood. He had known fifteen year old boys tower over him, and seventeen year olds still in the college choir with unbroken voices.

  “Without her teeth to act as a guideline, I can say nothing more than that, but I would wager she was no older.”

  Underwood made his note and the doctor waited for the scratching of his nib to cease before continuing, “Judging from the amount of blood – or rather the lack of it, I should say she was already dead when the decapitation was carried out, and that it was clumsily done, with a non-too sharp implement. The victim was probably face down when the mutilation was inflicted, and it took several blows to attain complete severance. There were several deep gashes in the region of the shoulders, presumably caused by misaimed blows. I would say that the assailant was either not particularly strong, or entirely panic-stricken.”

  “Probably the latter, given the circumstances,” remarked Underwood.

  The doctor neither agreed nor disagreed, but went on with his narrative, “In my opinion – and it is only an opinion, based on my own observations – death occurred elsewhere, but the mutilation was carried out on a spot near where the body was found. A few feet away there is a flat stone, which bore traces of blood, bone, flesh, cloth, and which was chipped as though it had been struck with some sort of hatc
het or hand axe - the sort, I suppose, which one would use to split kindling. Every household in the country probably has one, and it would be easy enough to carry away without too much difficulty. There would be other instruments which would have made the task easier, but if the murderer was seen carrying something large and gory, he might not have found it so easy to explain away. If that were the case, it would account for the haste and carelessness of the deed. The murderer would be terrified of being caught in the act. He would not be particularly bloodstained himself, because, as I’ve already said, the girl was dead, so blood-loss would be minimal. Rigor mortis had already set in when I reached her, and the heart had long-since ceased to beat. There was no body heat left at all, but she was outside, and it was not a particularly warm night, though there had been no frost.”

  “Have you any idea how she was actually killed, since the decapitation was evidently not the cause of death.”

  “There were no marks upon the body, other than those I’ve already described, so my own guess would be trauma to the head, either by a blow or a gun-shot, or strangulation. I suggest a blow to the head. There was no trace of burnt powder, as would be the case had a gun been used, and what little was left of the neck showed no throttling evidence such as finger or rope marked bruising.”

  “Could you tell me anything about her social status?” asked Mr. Underwood, much to Miss Chapell’s relief. She felt she had heard quite enough of the bloodier aspects of the case.

  “Well, the next part of my task was to have the body brought here, where I performed a much more thorough examination. She was, as I mentioned, not particularly well nourished, but that in itself means very little. Most people eat if they can, but in my experience I have found that one section of society does not fall into that category – and that is young girls. Lady Hamilton did us all a favour by making plumpness a fashion, but alas she is gone and we are back to feeling that a woman must be tall and willowy to be thought attractive. It is not uncommon for young ladies of all classes to deny themselves proper sustenance!”