“My love, I should not read too much into that, if I were you.”
“Why ever not? Verity must have some reason for this sudden interest in Latin.”
“Well, what ever it may be, it is not to facilitate the carrying on of an intrigue with Underwood. I assure you his interest lies in an entirely different direction, and Miss Chapell is well aware of the fact.”
His wife was at once agog for more information, “Oh Francis, who is it? Do tell, pray!”
“It is no secret, so I see no harm in voicing popular opinion. It would appear that he and Charlotte Wynter have engaged each other’s affection – though for some strange reason they are both being extremely coy about it.”
“Charlotte! I don’t believe it.”
“Why should you be so astonished? Charlotte is a remarkably attractive girl.”
Ellen was irritated that he should think so, and even more annoyed that Underwood should prefer the superficiality of a pretty face above the myriad virtues she knew her friend possessed.
“I would not go so far as to say ‘remarkably’ attractive,” she argued, with a haughty lift to her chin, “And though I can perhaps understand Mr. Underwood being attracted to her physically, I question whether she has the mental equipment to inspire him in the years to come. What on earth does she see in him, I wonder? Oh, I admit he is a charming creature,” she added, as though the doctor had made some protest, which he had not, “That smile of his quite melts one bones, but I should have expected Charlotte to admire the knight-in-shining-armour type of a man, all brawn and very little brain! One has to face facts, Francis, and the truth of the matter is that Mr. Underwood has a great deal more to offer intellectually than physically, and Charlotte is quite the opposite.”
Dr. Herbert did not feel there was any onus upon him at all to face these facts, or indeed any others – and certainly not at breakfast! But he was a kindly man and indulged his wife by answering her cogitations, “Perhaps, my dear, that is precisely what they are both searching for?” he suggested with a knowing smile.
“Nonsense!” Ellen gave a short and, for her, a rather unkind laugh, “Charlotte has not the faintest notion of the erudite. I don’t suppose she has opened a book since the day she was released from the schoolroom. If they were to marry it would be an unmitigated disaster. Within months they would find they had not the least thing in common.”
“As I recall, dearest girl, that is exactly what was said about you and I,” Dr. Herbert reached across the table and laid his hand affectionately upon hers. Her face, which had been marred by a bad-tempered frown, softened into a loving smile, “Yes, I believe my Mama did think you were far too clever for me.”
“Neither she nor I ever suspected that you would turn out to be far too clever for me!” he said candidly.
Ellen giggled appreciatively.
“Anyway, I expect he melted her bones with his smile,” he added teasingly, returning his attention to his newspaper. Ellen tapped him playfully, “Oh, you!” she exclaimed.
*
Perfect peace reigned in the study of Bracken Tor vicarage, kindly lent by the long-suffering Gil to expedite the learning of Latin by Miss Verity Chapell. Mr. Pollock had been dispatched to Beconfield in a hired hack to execute various errands for the inmates of the parsonage and was not expected to return for several hours.
A selection of Latin textbooks lay spread upon the desk and Miss Chapell’s head was bent industriously over a sheet of writing paper, but regretfully she was not engaged in conjugating verbs, but in studying Mr. Underwood’s resume of the last known movements of ‘Mary Smith’ – or at least as much as he had been able to piece together. It was unfortunately very short.
The problem which faced them was to discover where she had gone when she left the coach at Beconfield. Until someone came forward and admitted to having seen her, they could not know even the general direction she had taken. How, and with whom, had she spent the day and evening prior to her brutal death? As far as Verity and Underwood were concerned she had stepped off the stage and into a cloud of mystery, only to emerge as a headless corpse in a wood.
Mr. Underwood was continually frustrated by this enigma. Whilst the whole affair was shrouded by the silence inflicted upon him by his brother, the task of tracing her movements was an impossible one. Miss Chapell looked anxiously at him, for his mood seemed very low indeed, “You are not going to withdraw now, are you, Mr. Underwood?”
He managed to summon a bracing smile, despite his fear that his investigation was doomed to failure, “Certainly not, Miss Chapell. ‘Dum spiro, spero’ while I breathe, I hope! I am not yet utterly defeated, but it is tedious, all these politely framed, careful questions. I cannot help wishing I had not promised Gil I would preserve secrecy. Some awkward questions to frighten the culprit into rash action would be most useful.”
“I suppose it does rather slow us down, but perhaps it will work in our favour – anyone with something to hide must surely be taken off guard by our cover.”
“I hope you prove to be correct. To quote another Latin phrase, ‘Gutta cavat lapidem’, the constant drip of water wears away stone. May our perseverance be rewarded – even if we have to spend the rest of our lives badgering the residents of the district, we will solve this crime!”
“Of course we will,” she assured him warmly, “We owe it to poor little ‘Mary’ don’t we?”
“Indeed we do.”
“So what is the next step?”
“Well, I intend to follow very closely the four rules given by the great Rene Descartes for true, scientific enquiry.”
“And they are?”
‘“One; never accept as true anything that cannot be seen as such: Two; divide difficulties into as many parts as possible: Three; seek solutions to the simplest problems first and proceed step by step to the most difficult: Four; review all conclusions to make sure there are no omissions.’”
Verity was most impressed, and showed it, “That sounds wonderful,” she enthused, “But how do we implement it all?”
“I have absolutely no idea – but I’m sure it is most excellent advice.”
She was obliged to laugh, though she was rather disappointed he had nothing more helpful to say. Presently, to give a touch of authenticity to their assignation they laid ‘Mary Smith’ aside and turned their attention to Latin.
Underwood was under no illusions as to the more unpleasant aspects of character to be found in his fellow man. Men of Edwin Wynter’s ilk would not hesitate to read evil into the situation, besmirching Miss Chapell’s name and his own – though he was, at that moment, more concerned for her than himself. It would give Edwin enormous pleasure to test Verity’s knowledge of Latin in order to prove her ignorant of the language.
They worked solidly for over an hour and Mr. Underwood was startled when he heard the long case clock in the hall strike four. He could scarcely believe the time had passed so swiftly. Of late he had begun to find teaching a chore, tedious and unrewarding, but Verity’s quick mind and superior understanding had made tutoring her a rare pleasure. He wanted to tell her so, but the memory of Charlotte’s accusation of partiality towards the governess prevented him. If Charlotte had noticed evidence of favour, then it was possible others had also, and he had quite enough to contend with in his life without adding further complications.
Instead he determinedly closed the books and allowed himself the luxury of a full stretch, “Enough now, Miss Chapell. ‘Nunc est bibendum’”
“I’m afraid I am not yet able to translate, Mr. Underwood.”
He gave his most boyish grin and folded his hands behind his head, “I merely remarked, ‘Now is the time for drinking’ and though a glass of ‘aqua vitae’ would be most welcome, I fear the shock of my asking for it would kill my brother! We shall have to settle for tea, though thanks to the care taken by Gil, it is a most superior brew.”
“Tea would be most welcome.”
Gil was already in the parlour, in the thro
es of the tea-making ritual. Verity watched him in amused fascination; “Does he always go to so much trouble?” she asked her companion in a low voice.
“He does,” asserted Mr. Underwood, as he gently guided her past the overcrowded furniture and found her a comfortable chair by the fire, “However, it is well worth the wait.”
Verity, upon tasting the beverage, was inclined to agree, and there followed a most convivial half-hour, during which much tea was drunk, many sandwiches and cakes were consumed, and the conversation was bright and amusing.
It was with much regret that the young lady rose at last to take her leave and when Mr. Underwood returned from escorting her to the vicarage gate, he spoke thoughtfully to his brother, “Do you know, Gil, she is an excessively charming girl. You could do much worse for yourself than to court her.”
Gil looked both startled and mildly annoyed, “Miss Chapell? Good heavens, Chuffy!”
“Now, what is wrong with that suggestion? She may not be classically beautiful, but she is far from plain. And besides, no vicar wants a dashing wife – causes too many problems!”
Gil relaxed back into his chair, his lips pursed into a thin line of disapproval,
“There are times, my dear brother, when you are incredibly obtuse.”
“Dammit!” protested the sorely-abused Mr. Underwood, “What the devil have I said to deserve that?”
“Not a thing. Pray do not tax your intellect any further.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that anyone with half an eye could see that Miss Chapell’s affections are already engaged.”
“Do you really think so?” Underwood was unconvinced.
“I know it for a fact!”
“You seem very sure. Has Verity told you so herself?”
“Hardly! It is not the sort of thing young ladies confide.”
“Well, since you seem so certain, perhaps you know who the fellow is? Could you not have a chat with him and hasten the calling of the banns?”
The vicar sighed heavily and closed his eyes, as though driven beyond endurance, “Pray forget I ever mentioned the matter, Chuffy.”
“Certainly, if that is what you want – but I should not let this fellow, whoever he is, discourage you. Verity cannot be so very taken with him as you imagine, for she has never mentioned him to me.”
“Perhaps not. Thank you for the advice.”
“Think nothing of it, Gil. What are brothers for, if not to offer each other help when it is needed?”
*
By the following Monday both brothers stood in need of all the help they could get, from whatever quarter. Gil had received one of their mother’s closely written, rambling, much crossed epistles and with barely disguised panic he exclaimed, “Angels and Ministers of Grace defend us!”
Underwood was on his way out of the door, but this outburst gave him cause to hesitate, “Anything amiss, Gil?”
“That rather depends upon your point of view. Mother has written to say she is intending to come on a visit.”
“Mother? Here?”
“Yes, here! Where else? She arrives in Beconfield the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh my God! When is the next coach back to Cambridge?”
“You are not leaving now. You are going to stay here and face her with me.”
“Gil, have a little compassion!”
The vicar was completely unmoved by his brother’s plea for mercy and shook his head, “Chuffy, you stay right here,” he said firmly.
“But you know Mother is only coming here to take advantage of the fact that she has both of us under one roof, making her task of foisting marriage upon us that much easier.”
“Well, you will be able to give her some good news in that direction, won’t you?” Rev. Underwood smiled pleasantly, but there was a determination in his tone which his brother recognized and dreaded, “Gil…”
“There is nothing more to be said. If you want Mother to cease her campaign to marry us off, you will have to tell her that you have an understanding with Miss Wynter.”
Mr. Underwood was not amused, “That would be more than convenient for you, wouldn’t it? And I must say that I find that remark in distinctly poor taste. The subject of marriage has never been raised between Miss Wynter and myself and it is doubtful that it ever will be.”
“Stuff and nonsense! It is obvious to everyone that Charlotte is utterly infatuated – you need only speak the words and she would agree to marry you tomorrow.”
Underwood could not suppress his natural vanity and there was rather an inane smile on his face as he asked diffidently, “Do you really think so, Gil?”
“Yes! So why not put an end to the misery of all and ask her?”
“In the main, because I would have to face her father first,” he admitted frankly. The vicar’s usually serene expression was marred by a scornful look which momentarily passed across his face, “Sir Henry Wynter would gladly give any of his daughters to passing gypsies, so I can scarcely see him objecting to your suit,” he sneered, with a cynicism which was most uncharacteristic. Underwood reached for his snuff box whilst he considered this remark, “I would have to resign from the University,” he commented, almost to himself, which Gil was inclined to regard as a hopeful sign, since his brother had never before even entertained the vaguest possibility of leaving Cambridge for pastures new.
“Well, father did not leave any of us penniless, did he? And there are plenty of excellent schools looking for masters. You might even start your own school – persuade Sir Henry to fund a charitable institution.”
“Very droll!” answered Underwood dryly, but he appeared to be considering the suggestion with interest, “I suppose there would be a life for me outside the hallowed walls of the University – but what of Charlotte? Would she be content as a mere school-master’s wife?”
“There is only one way to discover the answer to that question, brother, and that is to ask the lady!”
Underwood inhaled deeply of his pinch of snuff and replaced the box in his pocket, “Would you like me to go and meet Mother?” he asked.
“We will go together, I think,” replied the vicar, well aware that this swift change of topic was Underwood’s tacit way of ending a conversation which he no longer wished to pursue.
*
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(“Casus Belli” - Justification for making war)
Mr. Underwood’s investigation now took on a somewhat feverish intensity. He was desperate to gather as much information as he could before the arrival of his mother, who, he knew, would be entirely undemanding, thereby engendering a degree of guilt in her offspring which would ensure their undivided attention throughout the length of her visit. He was determined to at least have something to think about, if not to do, whilst engaging in his filial duties.
He asked Mrs. Selby, who had lived all her life in Bracken Tor, who, in her opinion, was the greatest gossip in the village, and was surprised, though he should not have been, to be given the name of not a woman but a man – old Tom Briggs, the former blacksmith. From his bench outside the forge, which his son now utilized, he sucked on a clay pipe and watched the world go by, missing little and storing much for future reference. When the seat was empty, it could be safely surmised that he was occupying his regular spot by the inglenook of the Wynter Arms.
Mr. Underwood, unaccompanied, for once, by Pollock, who had been set several tasks by the vicar, among which was the instruction of write a sermon suitable for the ears of the Reverend gentleman’s mother, sallied forth in search of the redoubtable Mr. Briggs.
It was, as always, dim and smoky in the tap room, due, no doubt, to the foul smelling tobacco which seemed to be the universal favourite, and to the fact that summer or winter, a fire always burned in the huge grate. It was the landlord’s boast that the fire had never been allowed to go out in four hundred years, and that was probably not very far from the truth. The stone flagged floor, the thick walls and the tiny wi
ndows ensured daylight never pierced the interior, leaving it always chilly. The fire was a necessity, not a luxury.
Underwood approached the landlord, whom he recognized from his previous visit and, handing him a goodly selection of silver coins, asked to be directed to Tom Briggs, adding that he desired neither his own glass nor Tom’s be allowed to stand empty for the duration of their conversation.
Jonas Blackett made a swift calculation of the sum he held in his hand then raised his head to smile toothlessly at this obviously well to do customer, “Certainly sir. That’s old Tom, over there by the fire.” He nodded his head in the direction of the inglenook and its solitary occupant. Underwood wasted no further time but crossed the room swiftly and in the same breath introduced himself and invited himself to join the older man.
Tom raised shrewd blue eyes to his face and gave a friendly grin, “You’re the reverend’s brother.” Underwood had long since ceased to struggle against the inevitable and merely acknowledged the truth of this statement with a swift nod of his head.
“I’m told you are the foremost authority on life in Bracken Tor, Mr. Briggs. Would you care to share a flagon of beer and swap stories?”
“Nothing would please me more – but why should a gentleman like you be interested in the likes of us?”
“The countryside always fascinates town-dwellers, Mr. Briggs.”
“Well, you’d be the best judge of that – and the name is Tom.”
The landlord, seeing Underwood sit down, came from behind the counter and filled Tom’s tankard, then placed a glass in front of Underwood. The beer looked very dark and strong and Underwood had to gather all his courage to make himself take the first sip. Surprisingly he found it rather pleasant, so he took a deeper draught and settled himself to listen to Tom.
The first half-hour passed quickly enough, for Tom, given a free rein for the first time in months, was verbose. The ale was strong and Underwood found the combination of the old man’s voice, the alcohol and the heat of the fire extremely soporific. It was with great difficulty that he dragged himself back from the brink of sleep and begin to throw in comments and questions which would eventually bring the conversation round to the subjects he required.
A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) Page 18