Gil smiled, “My dear Chuffy, your secret is safe with me. And surely this child could not possibly follow in his father’s footsteps.”
“One would like to hope not.”
“Of course the baby may be a girl.”
Underwood gave a short, rather cynical laugh, “I trust it may. By Jupiter, Gil, we are twice the age attained by Rogers, but we are mere babes in arms when one compares his experiences of life to ours.”
“And happy to remain so, Chuffy, or so I should hope.”
“Speaking for myself, most certainly. Quite apart from any moral stance, my nerves would never stand the strain of wagering all I possessed on the turn of a card, or the ability of one man to knock another senseless with his bare hands.”
“Quite,” agreed Gil succinctly, “Now, you really should be getting home…”
Underwood’s brow bore his characteristic little frown, “Yes, yes…” he hesitated, then added, “Gil, there was something more.”
“Yes?”
“I want to discuss Dr. Russell with you.”
Gil’s face hardened, “I would much rather not, if you don’t mind, Chuffy.”
Underwood threw up his hands in mock despair; “There it is again. The very reason I need to discuss the man with you is because you will not.”
Gil smiled reluctantly, “Very well, but I must warn you that you will not care for what I have to say. If you are going to dislike my opinion, I suggest you leave now.”
“I promise I will not reproach you, dear brother, no matter what you might say.”
“Then I will speak freely. What is it you want to know?”
“When he wrote and asked if he might visit, you suggested he had another motive. Why was that?”
“Because he had shown no interest in being in your company since you grew out of the angelic choirboy phase.”
Underwood looked rather shocked, not at all sure he understood what his brother was trying to intimate, “I beg your pardon?”
Gil’s expression was a mixture of real anger, coupled with overwhelming pity,
“I have never wanted to destroy your innocence where Russell is concerned, Chuffy. I have always seen your rather touching faith in him as a tribute to your acceptance of all people as essentially good until they prove otherwise. However, the time has come for you to know exactly what has been going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dear fellow, Dr. Russell’s interest in you has never been academic. He was in love with your golden curls, your air of purity and innocence.”
A blush stained Underwood’s cheeks, “Nonsense! Your jealousy has taken you too far this time, Gil.”
The vicar did not even raise his voice in anger at such a suggestion, he merely shook his head sadly, “I knew it would be hard for you to accept, but you must see that I am telling you the truth.”
“But he never … at any time…”
Gil’s response was brisk; “Of course he did nothing! He is a teacher, and a very good one. I am not about to suggest he would do anything untoward, but he could not help his feelings – and had you given him the slightest indication you felt the same way … Well, I believe it might have been a very different story.”
“Do you know this for certain, Gil, or are you merely guessing?”
“I know it – as I know he was also in love with Godfrey Rogers, and that he came here with the express purpose of seeing the boy.”
Now Underwood was thoroughly confused, “But Rogers was a notorious womaniser. If what you are saying is true, Theodore must have known Rogers did not reciprocate.”
“You are forgetting how cruel Rogers was, Chuffy. He led Dr. Russell on, promising more than he ever intended to deliver. He knew how the old man felt, and he took full advantage, borrowing money he never meant to repay, knowing that should Russell ever turn nasty, he had the perfect weapon with which to blackmail him.”
Many things suddenly became clear to Underwood, and he knew without doubt that Gil was speaking the truth.
“Why have you seen these things, Gil, when I have been so blind?”
Gil reached out and briefly touched his brother’s hand, “If you are going to start lashing yourself for being obtuse, pray do not. I have the distinct advantage of being the one man in whom people will confide all their troubles.”
“Are you telling me Rogers confessed all this?”
“He did not. Dr. Russell did – at least, he told me about himself and Rogers. I have known for years about his feelings for you. That, I admit, was pure instinct. As a boy, I often wondered why he seemed to prefer you to me, though I worked far harder. Then one day, when he thought himself unobserved, I saw him looking at you as you worked. The sunshine through the window was glinting upon your blond head – and he could not have displayed more adoration had the glow been a halo.”
“Dear God, tell me no more!”
“I’m so sorry. Have I made you hate him? That was never my intention, I swear,” said the vicar, with real sympathy in his voice.
“Not at all. As you so rightly say, the man cannot help his feelings. But I confess it is an unwelcome addition to any friendship to know that one person feels rather more, and differently, than oneself. It suddenly adds a dimension which cannot be easily dealt with – at least not by me.”
Gil was not unhappy with this reply. It had never been his intention to destroy the affection which existed between his brother and their old tutor, but he had a strong feeling that Russell himself should have confided in Underwood, when he was old enough, and not allowed him to have an alliance which was based on falsehoods and hidden emotions.
Underwood, however, was now a vaguely worried man. His affection for Dr. Russell never wavered, but the information imparted by Gil cast a whole new light upon the murder of Rogers.
In the blink of an eye, Dr. Russell had changed from a loveable old duffer, who just happened to be in town at the time of a murder, to a prime suspect with not one, but two reasons to kill the victim – passion and blackmail. Two of the most compelling motives for murder.
“When exactly did Dr. Russell confide all this?”
“After Rogers died. He came to see me because he was distraught, but of course, he could not show it. Anything more than a polite interest in the boy’s death would have been fatal to his reputation. I must admit, that for the first time in my life, I felt the utmost compassion for him. It must have been incredibly painful for him.”
“Good God, Gil! Why the devil did you not tell me all this? Do you realize that Theodore had every reason to want Rogers dead?”
“I saw no reason to tell you. Quite apart from the obvious – that I had been told everything in confidence. Dr. Russell told me he had spent the entire evening in the company of Mrs. Rogers. So he cannot have been the killer, can he? Besides, his true affection for the boy discounts him completely. I may not find much to admire in Dr. Russell’s character, but I would stake my life he could not kill a fly. Even if one discounts his innate inability to inflict violence upon anyone; he is fifty years older, and at least a foot and a half shorter than his supposed victim. Even you must admit that the odds were not in his favour should he have come to blows with Rogers – who could not be expected to show a gentleman’s restraint in refusing to lay blows upon an older man.”
The sense of this pronouncement immediately calmed Underwood. It was indeed madness to even think that his old friend Theodore Russell might be capable of committing murder.
But then, five minutes ago, he would have said that the idea of an age-old infatuation of himself by the same Dr. Russell was also ridiculous.
Perhaps he could not afford to be quite so dismissive of any theory, no matter how far-fetched.
He left his brother and wended his way home, but his thoughts were far from happy, and even his loving Verity could not help noticing his preoccupation. When questioned, he pleaded the beginnings of a cold, for in truth he was starting to feel the familiar ache in his bones, and a dry
ness in his throat which no amount of tea could relieve. It had been cold – and curiously depressing – in Gil’s churchyard that morning and he had lived through a stressful day.
He decided that should the illness materialise, he would take himself off to the unused attic room and stay there. Life was becoming unutterably complex and he was tired of it all.
*
CHAPTER NINETEEN
(“Hoc Volo, Sic Tubeo, And Sit Pro Ratione Voluntas” This I will, thus I command; let my will serve as reason)
Underwood woke with an aching head, a sore throat, and the all too well remembered feeling that someone had used the hours of darkness for the express purpose of stuffing his nasal passages with a day’s production of cotton waste from one of Stockport’s larger mills.
He dragged himself reluctantly from the warmth of the bed beside his still sleeping and thankfully uninfected wife, knowing that his selfish plans of the previous evening had no chance of coming to fruition. The events of the day to come were of far too great an importance for him to give in to the aches and miseries of a cold. Tomorrow he could lie abed and feel sorry for himself – today he must rise above his affliction and be brave for his brother, and his little nephew-by-marriage.
Unfortunately Catherine’s funeral was not the only unpleasant task he was going to have to endure. Before that – and as soon as possible – he felt morally obliged to see Mrs. Rogers and warn her of the approach of the despicable Conrad.
Verity was roused from sleep by the noise he made whilst trying to perform his ablutions silently. His curses when he sneezed as he shaved and nearly slit his own throat caused a snort of hastily subdued laughter from the bed. He threw a severe look over his shoulder, “Something has amused you, my dear?” he asked.
She folded her lips primly, “Not at all. My poor Cadmus, you sound quite ill.”
“I am – however, it shall never be said of C. H. Underwood that he neglected his duties – even in the face of his own extreme discomfort.”
“Naturally not. I wish I could say the same. It is wretched to be here alone, when I long to be with you and Gil. He must feel so badly neglected, I cannot bear to contemplate it.”
Underwood was immediately aware that he had, as was only too often the case, spoken thoughtlessly. Verity felt most deeply that she was a failure both as a mother, and a friend. To be confined to her bed was bad enough, but to know her weakness was causing her to be absent when her friends needed her most was mortifying. He crossed the room and gave her a swift hug, oblivious of the shaving lather her spread upon her cheek, “Come now, think no more about it. It is not your fault you are trapped here. Blame Rogers and his stupid pranks. If you had not sustained those nasty shocks, you would still be running about in your usual, inimitable fashion.”
She managed a smile; “I suppose so. Cadmus, I have a gift for Gil, but I am not sure he would welcome it. I would value your opinion.”
“Very well.”
She leaned across the bed and pulled open a small drawer on the dressing table, only just within her reach. From it she took a tiny, framed picture and handed it to her husband. He took it and gazed down at the miniature portrait, “Verity, this is lovely, but when did you find the time to do it?”
She bit her lip in mock shame; “I have a confession to make. I was going out of my mind with the tedium of my present existence, so I persuaded Toby to bring up some of my painting things whilst you were out. I have also finished the portrait of Mr. Gratten. We had the devil’s own job, Toby and I, in freeing the room of the smell of turpentine and oils before you came home. I cannot believe you never noticed.”
He laughed, “I did – and Toby asked my leave before he obeyed your instructions. But I knew how you hated this enforced rest, so I decided to make no ban. I doubt you have been allowed to work too hard. Toby missed his calling in life, he should have been a nurse maid.”
“He was strict with me,” she responded with a grin.
They were interrupted by the loud greetings hailing them from outside the door, “Come, Underwood, you slug-a-bed. The day is half over.”
“Come in, Francis,” replied Underwood, with mock irritation, “I’ll have you know I have been awake for hours.”
Dr. Herbert wasted no further time, but burst into the room, “Good morning, my dear Verity. Still not presented your husband with a child, I see.”
“Not yet. I must say, Francis, I’m surprised to see you still here. Ellen must have forgotten your face by now.”
“She will have ample opportunity to remind herself of it. She has decided to join me here today. She wants to be with you when your baby comes.”
Verity knew that his wife was also coming to Hanbury for Gil. She could not let him bury his wife unsupported by his friends. She also expected her mother-in-law to arrive in due course.
Her sudden silence and stark look told them of her own pain at not being available to her beloved Gil at this most difficult time, so Underwood spoke with enforced cheerfulness, “Francis, take yourself off downstairs and let a man finish dressing in peace. Mrs. Trent’s sister-in-law – also confusingly a Mrs. Trent – has been holding the position of cook and housekeeper since we moved here, and should now be serving my breakfast. Speak nicely to her and you should be able to wheedle coffee from her for us both. She is a little old-fashioned and would prefer to serve ale at all our meals, but I stand fast in my refusal to imbibe.”
Francis laughed, “Very well, Underwood, but do not tarry – though I for one, would find it difficult to drag myself away from the clinging arms of a lovely wife.”
Verity threw a pillow at him, which he deftly avoided, and went off laughing, downstairs in search of coffee and, if possible, a little of the ale which Underwood so despised.
When they re-met at the table some minutes later, Francis looked keenly at his host, “Do I detect a hint of hoarseness in your voice, my dear fellow?”
“You certainly do,” asserted Underwood, who had been finding the task of maintaining a jolly demeanour decidedly difficult. It was his life-long practise to give in immediately to illness. He was not one of life’s martyrs, dragging himself through one miserable day after another, trying to pretend his was well and fit for anything. Plenty of sympathy, hot drinks and a week under his covers were much more his idea of how to contend with sickness. Let others ‘feed’ their colds and ‘starve’ their fevers – Underwood fed everything, and was a much happier man for doing so.
“Well, if you develop any fever at all, I suggest you stay quite away from Verity. It would be disastrous for her to contract an illness now, so near to her confinement.”
Underwood had vaguely suspected this might be required of him, and though not at all pleased, he agreed, “I understand that, my friend, but Verity may not. I shall leave you to deliver that piece of news to her. Poor girl. She is already almost out of her mind with the tedium of bed rest. The necessity that I am to be banished from her side will upset her dreadfully.”
“Don’t worry, by the time I have delivered a homily on the safety of her baby, she will be sensible.”
Dr. Russell joined them and the conversation turned to other things. Underwood had scarcely seen him for several days, for though he was ostensibly living at Windward House, he really spent very little time there. He seemed to be concentrating his efforts upon the comforting of Mrs. Rogers, which Underwood viewed as laudable, and made the idea that he might be responsible for Godfrey’s death even more ridiculous. However, Gil’s revelations of the day before could not help but cause Underwood to look upon his old friend with new eyes.
It was astounding. Nothing had changed. Theodore was still a portly little man, gentle of manner and dry of humour. It was he felt himself observed and raised his eyes to Underwood’s that the latter felt a slight shock of discovery. Those faded blue orbs held a wealth of suffering, a depth of emotion which Underwood had never before witnessed. It occurred to him then that Dr. Russell’s life had been a long and immensely lonel
y one. If what Gil said was true, then it was hardly surprising that someone as inappropriate as Rogers had been the downfall of this kindly man. Russell must have waited, with dreadful patience, for the one who seemed to return his feelings. Underwood could imagine no more refined torture than to be in love with those who did not, and never would, return that emotion. Because of the nature of his love, Russell was even forbidden the release of ever admitting the affection existed. He must, over the years, seen young men come and go, knowing that he could not, morally, speak of his love, for fear of being accused of corrupting those in his charge. Rogers, with his cruel perception, had seen what Russell had always managed to keep hidden. It appeared that the only other person who had seen into Russell’s secret heart was Gil. The man of God, the man with an infinite capacity for compassion and understanding. He had not cared for the idea that Russell had been in love with his brother, but only because he felt their friendship had not been based upon the truth he treasured so highly.
What a bitter pill it would be for him to swallow this day, burying his young wife, when a man he considered to be full of sinful intentions was apparently enjoying the best of health, despite the burden of his years. It must seem to Gil that there was no fairness in the world.
Underwood made a sudden decision. Rev. Blackwell was to attend Catherine’s funeral, but far from attending, Underwood now determined that he should be asked to perform the rites. Gil should not have to wear the mantle of his ministry today. He had been a man, not a parson, on his wedding day, and the same should apply today. He had been through enough.
*
It appeared that those in service to Mrs. Rogers were growing quite accustomed to having crowds of men turning up on her doorstep without notice of their arrival, for Underwood, Francis and Dr. Russell were shown directly into her drawing room, where Wyndham-Rogers and Lady Cara were sitting with the older woman. When greetings and offers of refreshment were exchanged, Underwood wasted no time in coming directly to the point, “Mrs. Rogers, during Godfrey’s funeral I was approached by one Barclay Conrad. He had been informed I was acting as your agent, in respect of your son’s estate. I did not disabuse him of the notion. It seems he has papers and witnesses proving Godfrey was in his debt – and I understand the sum is considerable.”
Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) Page 17