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

by Suzanne Downes

  Underwood was forced to concede, but when he returned to his chair, it was evident from his glowering expression that he had not completely set aside the possibility of confronting Edwin.

  “Do you have anywhere to go, Miss Chapell?”

  She shook her head, “I suppose I should have been more sensible and considered what my next move should be, but it has all happened so suddenly. I knew Ellen Herbert would welcome me, but with a baby on the way, I do not like to ask her.”

  The news of a Herbert baby was a surprise to both brothers, but this did not seem an appropriate moment to comment upon it.

  “Do you have any particular desire to stay for Sir Henry’s funeral?”

  She shuddered and shook her head emphatically.

  “Then you will take the stage tomorrow to my mother’s house. You can stay with her until you find new employment.”

  “Oh, but I could not impose…”

  “Nonsense. She would be delighted to have your companionship. I’m sure she will enjoy shopping for her wedding much more with you to help her.”

  Verity did not have much choice but to accept this kind offer, and if the truth were told, she did not have any desire to reject it. She had grown fond of Mrs. Underwood, and she wanted nothing more than to shake the dust of Bracken Tor forever from her shoes.

  Gil smiled, “Then that is settled. I shall go and tell Mrs. Selby to prepare a room for you. I’m sure we can all withstand the scandal of your staying under a roof with two unattached gentlemen just this once. Mrs. Selby will no doubt serve admirably as chaperone.”

  As soon as he was gone, Verity wasted no time and turned her attention immediately to Mr. Underwood, “I have assumed the events of the past days have had something to do with Mary Smith, Mr. Underwood. Am I correct?”

  He nodded and told her the whole story, though fully aware that his brother would not approve of such candour. When he came to the end, tears had formed themselves in her eyes once more, “Oh, God! You wanted to stop and I would not let you. What have I done?”

  Underwood had been lying in his sick bed and tormenting himself with the same question for a week, but he could not let her suffer as he had done, “Verity, forget any idea you might have had about taking responsibility for any of this. I knew what I was doing. I was aware that in the end there was going to be a culprit, and though I imagined he or she was going to die on the gallows, even so, it was going to be my fault.”

  “But Maria, Sir Henry, poor Harry! And you have lost Charlotte. I can’t bear it.”

  “Do you think I don’t feel for them all? For Blake and the Hazelhursts too. But a young life was taken in violence and she did not deserve that. Nor to have her birthright stolen from her. I wish as heartily as you that none who were innocent should suffer, but that is always a consequence of wrongdoing – Gil would call it the wages of sin. The guiltless are always dragged in, and they are always left to make the reparations.”

  “What will happen to Harry now, and the Hazelhursts?”

  “I suspect Harriet has always wanted her son back and with a little luck they can rebuild their relationship. Harry is young and resilient enough to cope. As for Hazelhurst, he has only his conscience with which to contend. He was tried for his wife’s murder and found not guilty – and no man can be tried twice for the same crime.”

  She looked at him, her heart never more clearly on her sleeve than at that moment, “And you? What will you do? Surely you will go to Charlotte? You cannot lose her over this.”

  “I have lost her, and there is nothing to be done about it,” he smiled softly, “Pray don’t look so tragic, I recovered before and I will recover again. I have my work.”

  “I don’t think I have ever felt such pain as this, Cadmus,” her voice was so low that it was barely discernible and he could not be sure he had heard her correctly, “What did you call me?”

  “I’m sorry. It was impertinent of me.”

  “Did my mother or Gil tell you?”

  Verity looked shocked that he could have suggested any such thing, “Certainly not. They gave you their word that they would not.”

  “Then how?”

  “Charlotte wanted me to help her with the clues you had given her. She hadn’t the first notion where to begin looking.”

  “And you helped her?” he asked coldly. She did not raise her eyes to his face, indeed she had scarcely looked at him since entering the room, feeling that a glimpse of the hell reflected in his eyes would cause her tears to flow once more.

  “No,” she whispered, “I did not need to look it up. I knew it at once, but I did not tell her – I wanted it to be mine alone.”

  He stared at her, his brow creased, as though trying to see into her mind, “I don’t understand,” he said at last.

  “No, you would not. It doesn’t matter. Can we discuss something else? You need have no fear, your secret is safe with me. I shall not use your name again.”

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh, “Ironically, after all these years of hating it with a passion, I found it sounded quite natural and pleasant on your lips – but please only use it when we are alone.”

  She experienced the strangest sensation, as though a weight had been lifted from her heart and the sun had suddenly burst through storm-blackened clouds, flooding her with light and warmth. She gave him a tremulous smile, “Thank you, but after today, I fear we will never be alone again.”

  “I had not quite realized that,” he said thoughtfully, “But I suppose you are right.”

  She drew in a deep breath and, determined not to ruin the tenuous friendship she had managed to re-forge with him, she changed the topic of conversation, “Do you mind telling me how you reached your conclusion about Mary Smith’s killing? You had seemed so sure Mr. Renshaw was the culprit, then suddenly you knew the fault lay with the Wynters. What changed your mind?”

  Underwood was only too glad to turn away from the personal and discuss the machinations of the murderous mind, “It was a silly little thing, really, but the night Blake was shot I noticed several things happening which did not quite add up.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, forgetting her own misery in the fascination of learning how he had solved the mystery.

  “That night was as perfect a reflection of the morning the body was discovered as I was ever going to witness. Fortunately you had given me an invaluable insight to the events of the previous occasion and I was able to mentally compare them. For example, you told me that Brownsword had insisted on getting dressed before coming downstairs, but when I hammered on the door, he came down almost immediately, with only his coat thrown over his nightshirt. He had learnt a lesson a year ago, namely that when the door is knocked upon at an unusual time of day, it is likely to herald an emergency, therefore when it happened again, he did not wait to get dressed. However, several other members of the household behaved in the same way as they had the year before, Sir Henry being the worst offender. He pretended not to be woken by the front door, even though his room is directly above the hall, for the same reason as he had last year, because he knew what had occurred and did not want to rouse suspicion by being too quickly on the scene and thereby showing that he had never been undressed, had never been to bed, and was certainly not asleep at the vital times.”

  “Yes, I see what you are saying. The innocent parties altered their behaviour because they had been shocked by the events of last year, but the guilty did exactly the same as they had before because their actions had helped to cover their crimes.”

  “Precisely.”

  “How did you guess about Harry being Harriet’s son?”

  “There were several reasons, though I did not recognize some of them initially. The major thing was his size. I realise there are some strapping fifteen year olds – I ought to know, I teach boys of all ages and backgrounds – but the way Harry handled that monster of a horse made me wonder. He is also remarkably like Hazelhurst, though the resemblance eluded me for quite a while. The fina
l conviction came when Hazelhurst told me Harriet’s child had been a girl, but the church records disagreed. They had probably forgotten the birth had even been recorded, since Harriet left Bracken Tor soon after the birth. There could only be one reason for such an obvious lie and that was had I found people who had known Harriet in London and Manchester, they would all have told me that she had lived with a daughter and not a son.”

  “I wonder why Harriet agreed to let Sir Henry have her son?” mused Verity thoughtfully, knowing that she could never let any child of hers be taken away.

  “She loved him and she thought Sir Henry would give him a better life than she ever could – and to her credit, she never abandoned the girl, despite the drain she must have been on her resources, and even after it was obvious Sir Henry had no intention of keeping his word and paying her. She would have fared better without a child to worry about, and there are orphanages, poorhouses and baby farmers aplenty in London where she could have deserted her. The sad fact is many women with unwanted children simply leave them on the street to die of hunger and cold.”

  “Harriet is quite a remarkable woman, when you consider it in that light, isn’t she?” Verity asked diffidently. Mr. Underwood raised a faintly quizzical brow before nodding rather reluctantly, “I suppose she is, though one can scarcely condone her committing incest, then passing off her brother’s child as Sir Henry’s.”

  “No, but she had to do something, didn’t she? As you have said, there is nothing easy about the life of a girl with a baby and no husband.”

  Mr. Underwood, who tended to have a surprisingly black and white view of wrong-doing, despite his innate reluctance to stand in judgement of his fellow man, was forced to seriously consider the justice of Verity’s words.

  “Do you intend to see her again?” The quietly spoken question took him by surprise, for the truth was he had been thinking of a trip to Hill Farm before he left Bracken Tor for good. It did not occur to him that he had been rather attracted to Harriet, but instead he convinced himself he ought to see if Harry was coping with his new life. He had vaguely thought he might offer to pay for the boy to go to University. It was the only salve to his conscience he could consider worthwhile.

  When Verity asked the question, however, he knew he would not go to Hill Farm, nor would he offer Harry anything, and that Harriet must hate him quite as much as Charlotte did. It was a sobering thought, and one which did nothing to remove the mantle of melancholy which had draped itself about his shoulders and

  which was growing heavier by the day.

  “No, I won’t see her again. I think I have meddled enough, don’t you?”

  “I don’t see what you have done to be meddling. I think you did what Mary deserved and I know what it cost you to do the right think. I have nothing but admiration for you … for your actions,” she amended hastily.

  “Bless you for that, Verity, but I cannot forget that two men have died since I set myself the task of finding Mary’s murderer, and that numerous other lives have been shattered beyond repair – I have even managed to lose your place of employment for you.”

  She smiled gently at his determination to take the blame for every ill in the world, “That was no loss, believe me. But for Isobel, I should have left Sir Henry’s employ within a week of arriving to take up the position.”

  “You were fond of Isobel, weren’t you?”

  “Very. She has a sweet disposition.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never managed to reach beyond her shyness. Strange to think I would have been her brother-in-law.”

  “Perhaps you still could be. Charlotte was very much in love with you. Edwin is determined that all this should be kept quiet. Sir Henry’s death has already been ruled by the coroner to have been an unfortunate accident – they said he was cleaning his gun when it went off. Harry being disowned is to be the result of a violent quarrel which caused his father to change his will in a fit of pique, dying before he could change it back. He has even put it about that he is paying the Hazelhursts to give the boy lodgings, because he feels sorry for him. He also has no intention of admitting Maria’s illness is mental and not physical, for he intends to divorce her for desertion and he would not be allowed to do so if it were known she is insane. He has friends in Parliament who have assured him of their support.”

  Mr. Underwood’s disgust at Edwin Wynter’s self-interest was clearly reflected in his expression “Has the man no soul? I find it incredible he should be able to think so clearly to protect himself and make sure he gets everything he wants, when all about him is crumbling.”

  “Don’t you think you should take a leaf out of his book? If Edwin is to get everything he wants out of this situation, why should you not have Charlotte?”

  He slowly shook his head, “I doubt she would even agree to see me. Why should she? I have ruined her life.”

  “You have done no such thing. She has lost a father who cared little for her, and a home which she would have left when she married anyway.”

  “I had not considered the matter to be quite as simple as you seem to suggest.”

  Gil made his presence known at that moment, though in fact he had been standing in the doorway for some minutes and had heard most of Verity’s impassioned pleas for Underwood to go to Charlotte. When Underwood presently decided he was tired and went to his bed, the vicar turned to his guest and without thought of the proprieties he took her hand in his, “My dear girl, forgive me, but I must speak candidly. I know quite well how much you feel for my brother, and I can only be stunned by a spirit such as yours which can encourage him to go to another, when you long to keep him for yourself.”

  There were tears in her eyes and her fingers clutched convulsively at his, “I cannot bear him to be so unhappy. If he loves Charlotte, then I have no right to keep him from her.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, “Verity, if Underwood succeeds with his Charlotte, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  Despite her best efforts to be brave, this made the tears spill onto her cheeks, but she managed to give a small smile, though her chin trembled in a manner very much reminiscent of a child, “Why wait until then, Gil? He does not even know I exist! Thank you for your very kind offer. May I have time to think about it?”

  “Of course.”

  *

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  (“Suaviter In Modo, Fortiter In Re” - Gentle in manner, firm in action)

  For the first time in weeks Underwood felt relaxed and comfortable. The Rev. Josiah Blackwell had a talent for making his guests feel at home, and despite mounting misery, Mr. Underwood was not impervious to the man’s innate charm. They had long discussions, sitting late into the night, and Underwood found himself telling Blackwell things he had never disclosed to another human being. Mainly it was his sorrow and guilt that his beloved Elinor had died purely because she was betrothed to him. Her uncle had stood to inherit her wealth had she remained unmarried after the age of twenty-five. She knew nothing of the details of her father’s will, so it was with grateful trust that she had allowed her uncle to nurse her through a minor illness. By the time Underwood realized she was being slowly and systematically poisoned it was too late to save her. Her uncle – a man Underwood had long considered a friend - had gone to the gallows cursing Underwood’s name.

  The events of the past month had brought back so many painful memories for Underwood that Rev. Blackwell had taken the unprecedented step of interfering unforgivably in his guest’s affairs. When he returned from performing the funeral of Sir Henry Wynter in Bracken Tor, he brought Charlotte and Isobel with him.

  He had found it no easy task to persuade Charlotte to accompany him, but Isobel had provided the final lever, telling her sister that since it was she who had pursued Mr. Underwood, she therefore owed him the courtesy of telling him face to face she no longer wished to marry him.

  Charlotte had grown up a great deal in the days which followed her father’s de
ath and her sister’s break down, and it was a very poised, though pale, young lady who faced Underwood across the expanse of Rev. Blackwell’s parlour. She was dressed in unrelieved black, and Underwood feared she would swoon, so white did she appear to him. The longing to cross the room and sweep her into his arms was almost overpowering, but instead he was forced to make what he considered to be the most fatuous remark of his life, “How are you, Charlotte?”

  Her green eyes looked huge in her ashen face, and at this they glittered dangerously. Without replying she moved swiftly towards him, raised he hand and dealt him a stinging slap on the cheek. He accepted the blow without flinching, though a muscle in his jaw tightened perceptibly. For a moment they looked at each other, then Charlotte cast herself against him and burst into violent sobs. She beat her hands against his chest, crying, “How could you do it? I hate you! Why did you have to meddle? Why couldn’t you leave the girl dead and unknown? We could have been happy – and no one cared about her.”

  “I cared, Charlotte – and she was your sister. It could easily have been Isobel or even yourself whom your father cheated, then killed.”

  She raised her head, the bitter tears still flowing, “Do you think I forgive my father any more than I forgive you? I hope he rots in hell’s flames forever! I did not want to attend his funeral, but Edwin forced me, saying that to stay away would cause comment. He still wants me to marry you, so concerned is he that nothing should throw suspicion upon the circumstances surrounding my father’s death.”

  “Edwin is mistaken. Marriage is now impossible for us. You will always see what I have done as a betrayal of your love. You and I both know that had I loved you enough, I would not have disclosed your father’s secret. I do not see my actions in that light, but it is something which would be forever between us.”

  Charlotte looked at him, aghast, “You have said everything I have been thinking, but was not able to put into words. I have tortured myself with my thoughts