“How old are you, Carter?”
“Seventeen sir, Eighteen next May.”
“You won’t see eighteen, my boy,” murmured Gratten, visibly moved. He too was shocked by the youth of the captive. He had, unlike Underwood, expected a hardened criminal type, a rough customer with few morals and no hint of humanity behind cold, killer’s eyes. This was no more than a boy – and a terrified one, at that. Gratten had to remind himself that murder had been done, though he could not shake off the conviction that this young man’s hanging would not be worth the life of the wastrel he had killed.
Underwood noticed Carter’s prominent Adam’s apple bob in his thin neck as he swallowed deeply before replying, “I know that, sir, and I know there’s no excuse for what I did – but I was scared witless! I fired in a blind panic. He jus’ kep’ staring at me, grinning. I asked him agen an’ agen for his money, but he just stared at me. Before I knew it, the gun was going off in my hand.”
“How came you to be there in the first place?”
“I’d heard talk in the village that there was to be a party. That fellow – the one I shot – he was an the inn where I was drinking, braggin’ to his cronies, telling them how he was goin’ to have the biggest ‘crush’ these parts had ever seen. He said he wanted to take over from his father with a bang. His idea of a joke, I suppose, seein’ as how it was a fireworks party.”
“Go on,” urged Underwood, as the boy swallowed again and seemed inclined to hesitate.
“Well, I was down to my last penny. I’m a foundling, raised in the workhouse, and when they judged me old enough, they set me on as an apprentice to a wheelwright. The old man died sudden-like and I was out on my ear, my apprenticeship not finished, and no trade to my name. I took to the roads, doing what work I could get, but there is little enough about with all the soldiers back from the wars and wanting jobs, and I’ve gone hungry and without a roof more often than not in the past six months. When I heard this fellow goin’ on about the rich guests who would be at his house, and me nursing a mug of ale, bought with my last farthing, I jus’ got mad as hell. I thought to myself that I would hang about outside the place, and rob anyone foolhardy enough to leave the house alone. From what he said, they could all afford to throw a few sovereigns my way. If that failed, I would wait for the party to be over, and while the household slept off the fine wines they had drunk, I would break in and see what I could find.”
“How did you know where he lived?”
“He was a loose-tongued chap, sir. He made no secret of owning Hanbury Manor, and then it was easy enough for me to get there.”
“What about the gun? Why did you have a gun in your possession?”
“It had belonged to the wheelwright. He had been robbed about a year before he died, and bought the gun as protection. When I realized I was to be turned off without a penny or a reference, I went into his workshop and helped myself to the gun, powder and shot. No one missed it. He never told his wife he had it, she didn’t like firearms.”
“You would have been wiser to have pawned the gun than use it, my boy,” said Gratten gruffly, trying not to show any sympathy, but feeling it just the same.
“I know that, but I tell you I didn’t mean to use it. I was just going to wave it about, threaten to shoot, but I never thought anyone would defy me. What kind of a fool just grins at you when you tell him you’ll blow his brains out?”
“Hard though it is to believe, Carter, Rogers was also down to his last penny. The only real difference between him and you was he had it and threw it all away. I can only imagine that was why he refused to hand over the little he had. The true gambler always needs his next wager more than his next meal.”
“And it cost him his life.” Carter buried his face in his hands, “Oh God help me! Why in the devil’s name did he not just give me the money?”
“What time did all this occur?” asked Underwood, gently steering him back to his story.
“I don’t rightly know. Between eleven thirty and midnight, I suppose. I know I stole his watch, but I never looked at it. My first thought after I shot him was just to run, but then I stopped myself and went through his pockets. It sort of seemed the right thing to do. I don’t know if you can understand this, but it was the least he deserved. It would have been a waste to kill him then not to rob him. It seemed to me that it was bad enough that he had died to save his belongings, so to kill him for nothing …”
“Oddly enough, I do understand your logic. If I may say so, I also think you wanted to be caught. Your behaviour from beginning to end has not been particularly intelligent, has it? And yet you seem bright enough to tell your story well.”
“No, sir. I’ve been a fool! I wish I could change things, but I can’t. And I’ll tell you something, he’ll haunt me ‘til the day they hang me. That insane grin scared me something chronic. As if he knew something no one else did – as if he got the whole of life and death worked out and was laughing at the folly of the rest of us.”
“Rogers may well have had some jest of his own, my boy, but the man I knew did not have a philosophical bone in his body – and, I venture to add, not a thought in his head which did not concern is own pleasure and welfare. You may have killed the man, and you may yet have to hang for him, but don’t, for pity’s sake, let his face haunt you a moment longer. I feel more sorry for you than you will ever know, for you were a mere instrument of fate. If you had not killed Rogers, believe me when I state that someone else would have done so before he grew very much older.”
“Are you telling me he was a bad ‘un?” asked the young man quietly.
“As bad as they come, Carter. I wish, for your sake, you had managed to restrain yourself. Godfrey Rogers was not worth dying for, and you may be sure that when you go to trial, I will speak strongly in your defence.”
“I’m grateful for that, sir, but it don’t make me feel any better about killing a man.”
“I should hope not. It was never intended to do so. Tell me what you did between leaving the inn and going to the lane. Did you loiter there all evening, or go elsewhere?”
“I went into the barn at the farm. I fell asleep in the hayloft and had only been out and about for a few minutes when I saw the fellow sitting by the side of the road.”
“You never saw anyone else besides Rogers?”
“Not a soul. I could hear the fireworks going off at the house – that was how I managed to get in and out of the farm without being seen. They had shut the dogs up because of the party. I think it was the fireworks that woke me, because I’d been dead to the world just before. Beer on an empty stomach does that to me.”
“So, you have no idea why Rogers was away from the house and on the lane. He did not meet anyone?”
“Not that I saw.”
“I find that very strange. Why the devil was Rogers absent from his own party and on a seemingly deserted lane in the middle of the night?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t tell you that. I only know that he was there – would to God he had not been.”
“Take heart, my boy. I promise I will speak up for you when the time comes.”
As they walked back out into the daylight, Gratten turned to Underwood, “Did you mean what you said, my friend?”
“I did indeed. I could never condone the taking of a life, and that boy deserves to be punished severely for what he did, but transportation surely fits the crime more than death. He is young and foolish, but not, I think, entirely evil.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, but that must be left to the courts to decide. Did you believe his story?”
“I see no reason not to. His version of events is curious, I know, but he does not deny the murder, nor lessen his own responsibility for the crime, so what purpose would invention serve?”
“None whatsoever – but you are right about Rogers. His reaction was strange. Why simply sit there and stare at the boy? He must have been very drunk indeed.”
“But if he were that drunk
, why was he not in a stupor? Surely he would have slumped forwards, or fallen backwards?”
“He was propped against the base of the hedge.”
“And it is certain his eyes were open?”
“Oh yes. Carter said he saw them glinting in the moonlight – and it was a full moon that night. Rogers had chosen a night of a full moon so that his guests would not hurt themselves wandering about the grounds when the fireworks went off, and so that they would have light by which to travel home when the time came.”
Underwood frowned over the puzzle for a few moments longer then shrugged his shoulders, as though to physically shed the problem, “Ah well, I don’t suppose we shall ever know, now. You will keep me informed of any further developments, Mr. Gratten?”
“Naturally. Good day to you, Underwood, and pray send my warmest regards to your wife. I presume there is not now long to wait ..?”
“I believe not. In fact, I have been most remiss in staying away from her for so long. I must hasten home. Good day to you, sir.”
*
Verity spent an extremely tedious morning, confined to her room and her bed as she was. She had never been a woman who took kindly to inertia. Raised in a vicarage by a widowed father, she found life too full of duty to allow her ever to welcome idleness. She tried to read, but there was something about the warmth of the room, contrasting with the clear blue sky viewed through the window, which urged her to restlessness. She longed for Underwood to return so that she might at least discuss things with him, but the hours ticked by unbearably slowly and of her husband there was no sign.
Mid-morning brought a visit from Dr. Russell and she was glad of his company, but there was a curious ache in her heart which none but Underwood could salve. There was an indefinable worry hanging over her, an ominous feeling that something, somewhere, was very wrong – not with her baby, herself or even Underwood, but something.
Dr. Russell was immensely kind and she had grown very fond of him, partly because Underwood admired him, but there was a slight hesitation in her to trust him completely. She was exceptionally fond of Gil, and had never known him to be wrong about anyone. It was so very unlike Gil to have an aversion to another person, much less for him to display that aversion so plainly. She wished she could talk to her brother-in-law candidly, as she always had in the past, but his preoccupation with Catherine had precluded close contact between them for quite some time – all the more so since Catherine’s illness and their recent marriage.
It was with great relief that she heard her husband’s voice downstairs. The room in which she lay had become her world, and what happened beyond its confines might just as well be another country for all she knew of it. She was forced to lie, hour after hour, straining her ears to hear what was going on in the rest of the house. She found herself almost praying that Underwood would come upstairs to see her before he did anything else. She knew he must be hungry, and that everyone in the house would want his attention, gathering about him, clamouring, demanding his news, and it would be all too easy for him to satisfy the frustrations of those who were visible, rather than her own silent, patient self, hidden from his view.
She almost burst into tears when she heard his steady tread upon the stairs, and his beloved voice, infinitely kind, but firm, “You shall hear all the gossip from town presently, but first I must see my wife.”
When he walked through the door and was greeted with a smile which hailed him as a hero and a god combined, he knew why he had married her. No man could resist knowing that in the eyes of at least one woman, he was Nelson, Romeo and Zeus combined!
“How goes it?” he asked, taking her outstretched hand.
“Well enough, but mayn’t I please get out of bed? I’m so tired of lying here!”
“Not until you have presented me with a healthy child,” he told her teasingly, “I’m informed your wifely duties demand nothing less.”
“But I feel much better.”
“No doubt – but on this I am unwavering.”
“Beast!” she said lovingly. He grinned, suddenly boyish, “By Jupiter, Verity, I think that is the first time in our marriage that I have issued an order which you have meekly agreed to obey. So this is how it feels to be master in my own house. I may grow accustomed to the notion. When you finally rise from your couch, you may find you have a martinet for a husband.”
She was about to retort that she was the most dutiful of wives, and that she apparently already had an ogre for a husband, when a loud hammering on the front door was followed swiftly by a well-known voice raucously greeting Toby, “Is this the residence of that old rogue, Underwood? Tell the man he has a guest.”
They exchanged a delighted glance, “Francis Herbert!”
Underwood was across the room and opening the door in a moment, then Verity heard him calling over the banister, “You old scoundrel, Francis! Where the devil have you been? We have been chasing you around Scotland for days.”
“Can I help it if your constable can’t keep law and order? Another murder, Underwood? Are you jinxed – or merely insatiably curious?”
“A little of both, I suspect. Come up. Verity is confined to bed, but she will want to see you immediately.”
“Don’t tell me the baby is born?”
“Not yet.”
“Then why the bed rest?” He had, by this time, reached the top of the stairs and the two men entered the bedroom together.
“It is a long and complicated tale,” said Underwood, with a dismissive gesture. He had no intention of discussing the matter before his wife, and reliving the appalling events of the past few weeks. Francis, always intuitive, immediately changed the subject, “My dearest girl, you are blossoming.”
“Is that a polite way of saying you have never seen me so plump?” asked Verity, with a delighted smile.
“Of course. Never let it be said I was not gentleman enough to lie to a woman about how enormous she has grown.”
She threw a pillow across the room at him, “You horrid man! I shall write to Ellen and tell her what an abominable creature she married.”
“She knows. And I may add, I am not in favour with her at the moment as it is. I have come straight from Edinburgh, without first going home, because this fool you married has made an urgent case of a solved crime.”
“Oh dear,” said Underwood, with mock contrition, “You’ve heard they made an arrest?”
“I heard. The whole of Hanbury can talk of nothing else.”
“Gratten and I would still like your opinion, Francis. There is something not quite right here – I feel it in my bones.”
“God grant me the strength to deal with you and your bones,” was the exasperated reply.
*
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
(“Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam” – Where there’s a will, there’s a way)
It proved to be rather a large group of people who gathered to meet the new heir to Hanbury Manor. Underwood found himself accompanied by doctors Herbert and Russell – the latter was an old friend of Mrs. Rogers, the former wished to make sure for himself that the lady had no objection to his performing an autopsy on her son.
On their arrival they were greeted by Mr. Gratten, his wife and Lady Cara Lovell, who, it transpired, had known young Rogers in London during the previous two seasons. He had actually tried to interest her in marriage, but the young woman had met enough fortune hunters to recognize the breed instantly. Without ever having had the slightest intention of taking his flamboyant attentions seriously, she had found the boy, who had always endeavoured to show her his best side, intensely amusing, and she had grown fond of his mother.
For her part, Mrs Rogers had begun to feel rather overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of professional men who were to be seated at her table, and had been only too glad to accept Lady Cara’s offer of moral support and companionship – how was she to guess that the young lady had another reason for her altruism? Cara had wanted to see Underwood again. She still had no idea he was
married and her curiosity had been piqued that he should so studiously ignore her. Nothing in her past experience had prepared her for the advent of a man who showed no interest in pursuing her. She was utterly confused and bewitched by him. Her instincts told her that he liked her; when they had met there had been a spark between them which was undeniable – but once they parted he seemed to completely forget her existence. It was for this reason that she refrained from asking questions about him. She longed to quiz Mrs. Rogers, and the other ladies she had met at the pump-rooms, the library, over teas and at dinners and the dances she regularly attended, but she was afraid news of her interest in him would filter back to him – and how that would feed his overweening ego. No, she would not suffer the utter mortification of knowing he had heard of her intense interest in him. He was evidently playing some sort of a game with her for his own amusement – well, two could play such games!
It was therefore with a friendly smile, but no hint of the true excitement and anticipation she felt at the touch of his hand and the sight of his face, that she greeted him. To all those who observed her, her behaviour was precisely as it should have been towards a married man, so it occurred to no one to warn her that she was hurtling headlong towards a broken heart.
All those hidden emotions aside, the real reason for the dinner party proved to be something of an anti-climax. Richard Wyndham-Rogers was a smallish man, thin and bespectacled, slightly balding and wholly boring. Underwood could think of no one less likely to kill a rival for a property. Any hope of saving Carter by laying the blame at the door of an ambitious cousin who coveted Hanbury Manor to the point of violence evaporated as he shook the limp hand.
“Your fame goes before you, Mr. Underwood. I have heard much of your exploits. I was in court, you know, for the trial of Gedney and his wife.”
Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) Page 12