Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2)

by Suzanne Downes

  “You think one of them could be the murderer?”

  “Undoubtedly possible – it may even be all of them.”

  “I suppose so,” Verity looked thoughtful, “Another notion has occurred to me, Cadmus. I cannot help but feel we have been altogether too trusting of Oliver Dunstable.”

  By that she meant he had, but neither of them laboured the point, “In what way?”

  “We have never demanded to know the name of his mistress. We should see her. Just because Dunstable was quite happy to maintain the status quo, and let’s face it, which man isn’t? It does not follow that she feels the same way.”

  “I had not thought of that. I was assuming he spoke for them both, but you are quite correct. I shall right that wrong now.”

  “I think the day had better be spent doing a round of visits, and asking some very pertinent questions.”

  *

  CHAPTER TEN

  (“Abyssus Aybssum Invocat” – One false step leads to another)

  Grace Arbuthnot was a tall woman; almost as tall as Underwood himself, grey-haired and with a face lined beyond her years. She could not have been much more than forty, but she looked fifty, and even that estimate rose alarmingly when Underwood told her the purpose of his visit; she looked so shocked Verity could not help but wish her husband had couched their errand in subtler terms than those he employed.

  Whether it was shock at being found out, or that she was a naturally honest person anyway, Verity never knew, but once she had invited them in and offered seats and refreshments, Mrs. Arbuthnot appeared to keep nothing from them.

  “Josie Dunstable did take my boy in for me, many years ago now, but I have never felt anything but gratitude towards her. I was not married and my life would have been ruined had any word of my trouble leaked out. I made a childish mistake and Josie helped me recover from it.”

  “How came you to meet up with her again?”

  “I didn’t ‘meet her again’, as you phrase it. I never lost touch with her. I saw my son once a month all through my marriage. He is married himself now and thinks of … thought of … Josie as his mother. I act the part of godmother and we are all happy with that. I never had any children by my husband, so Geoffrey is all I have in the world. Not for anything would I risk our relationship. He will be here for Josie’s funeral, but I must ask you not to make any movement towards him which will alert his wife to our true status. I know I did him a great disservice by bringing him into the world so encumbered, pray do not compound my error by spoiling his life now.”

  “Naturally we shall do no such thing. Thank you for being so frank, Mrs. Arbuthnot.”

  “I have nothing to hide, but my youthful folly, so I think I have no need to ask that it remain confidential?”

  “You have my word, dear lady, that once this case is over, I shall personally see to it Mrs. Dunstable’s notebook is burned.”

  “Thank you.”

  They waited until they had reached the end of the street before Verity asked Underwood, “Do you believe her?”

  “Until I have further information, there is no reason not to. The story sounds credible enough – and quite honestly, it would be a relief to hear of at least one child who was treated well by Mrs. Dunstable.”

  “Do we see Mrs. Wolstencroft next?” she enquired, and he nodded in reply.

  The two women who were the Underwoods’ next subjects were a vastly different proposition. The stoic stance told Underwood that his visit had not been entirely unexpected, and was certainly not welcome.

  It took all his charm to get across the threshold, for both women came to the door together when his card was presented and did their utmost to send him about his business. In the end he had to be brutal and point out just how imperative it was he hear their story in the privacy of their own home, rather than in open court, which was where it would surely end. They reluctantly let him in, but Verity was frozen out. They requested that she leave and she had no choice but to comply, informing her husband she would wait his arrival at the Pump-rooms.

  Mrs. Wolstencroft wasted no time on pleasantries, “Let me tell you, sir, that I greatly resent this intrusion upon my privacy.”

  “I’m sure you do, madam, but that is no concern of mine. I have been asked to investigate the untimely death of Mrs. Dunstable, and I fully intend to do so.” It was most uncommon for Underwood to be so blunt, but something in the woman’s attitude made his hackles rise, besides which, he was getting tired and discouraged, not only with the murder, but with his private life too. Just as he had found some common ground with Verity, something like this would occur to drive a wedge between them, and he was finding the situation wearing.

  The reply he received was a disgusted, “Well!” but he had no further difficulty in getting answers to his questions – whether they were truthful or accurate answers was an entirely different matter.

  “I might as well tell you, without preamble, that I am aware of the true nature of your relationship to Miss Beresford, so pray do not waste my time in denying it.”

  “Dear God! How did you discover…?”

  “Mrs. Dunstable left a notebook – but I assure you as I have assured others, the moment this is over, I shall burn the evidence.”

  Mrs. Wolstencroft had difficulty in bringing herself to thank him for this kindness, but Miss Beresford said, in heartfelt tones, “We are grateful, Mr. Underwood.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement of her comment, then began his interview, “when did you remove your daughter from Mrs. Dunstable’s care and begin to call her your niece?”

  “About three years ago. My husband and parents had passed away, so anyone who knew I had no niece was not there to betray me.”

  “Had you maintained your contact with Mrs. Dunstable through all your daughter’s childhood?”

  “I could only manage to see her once a year. My husband had a detestation of spa towns, so I was able to convince him to let me come here for one week every year for my health. Mrs. Dunstable would bring Adeline here to me for that one precious week.”

  “Did she blackmail you?”

  Mrs. Wolstencroft paled slightly, licked her lips nervously and glanced towards her daughter, “Not exactly, but I paid for the holiday for us all, and Mrs. Dunstable liked to stay in the best hotels, and would suffer nothing which was not of the highest quality. I also paid considerably more for Adeline’s keep than it would have cost me to send a boy to the finest schools in the land, but I felt Mrs. Dunstable’s discretion was worth the money.”

  The exchange of looks was not lost on Underwood, and he instantly knew there was something the ladies were not telling him. He hazarded a guess and was stunned by the reaction, “What made you lose confidence in Mrs. Dunstable?”

  Adeline leapt to her feet and began to pace the room in agitation, “Tell him the whole truth, Mother, for God’s sake!” Tears glistened in Mrs. Wolstencroft’s eyes, “Do not upset yourself, my love. It has nothing to do with the case, and there is no reason why you should parade your shame before this man.”

  The girl turned on her, aggression contorting her face, “It is not I who should be ashamed, but the men who…” her voice faded into a sob and she flung herself on to the settee in a passion of weeping.

  Underwood raised a brow at her mother. She drew in a deep breath and admitted quietly, “There was one year, when Adeline was twelve, I could not raise the money to pay Mrs. Dunstable. She forced my daughter to earn her keep by … as…” her voice sank so low Underwood could barely hear her, “a prostitute.”

  Underwood was appalled, “At the age of twelve?” he asked in a stunned under voice, “Dear God! What kind of a man wishes to use a child in that way? And what manner of woman was she to allow it?”

  She shook her head wearily. She had tortured herself for years asking the same question, and many others of a similar sort, whilst watching her child suffer mental agonies because of her horrific experiences. Her disbelief at the perversions of which
some of the male population were capable matched his own. Her compassionate gaze rested on her daughter’s prone form, the anguish at her own helplessness writ clearly upon her haggard features, “I swore then that I would move heaven and earth to get Adeline away from her, but I could not afford to offend her. She knew too much and could do us both too much damage.”

  “And yet you have been giving every indication of friendship with the woman.”

  “It was necessary. It seemed we would never be free of her. A young man of good family has proposed to Adeline. She accepted and against my will, his family sent an announcement to the newspapers. It did not take Mrs. Dunstable long to contact me and to invite us both here to see her, for ‘old times’ sake’ she said. I knew what that meant. We were going to have to pay again for her silence.”

  Underwood looked thoughtfully at her, “I feel it only fair to warn you that what you have just told me makes you a suspect in the murder of Mrs. Dunstable.”

  “I understand that, but I am sick of living with lies. If I had hidden this from you and it had been discovered later, it would have looked worse for me. I cannot win it seems. Well, I did not murder Josie Dunstable, but I am not going to pretend I am sorry she is dead. In fact I am exceedingly glad. Make of that what you will, Mr. Underwood, but I beg you, do not punish my child any more. She has been through enough.”

  Underwood took his leave, feeling even more morose than he had previously. The notion that the world was a far better place for having lost Mrs. Josephine Dunstable was beginning to take hold of his imagination, and he had to remind himself that it was not her capacity for good or evil which was at the centre of the investigation.

  He found Verity waiting for him, as arranged, but for once her eyes were not turned eagerly towards the door awaiting his arrival, but instead covertly observing Gil, who was sitting with Mrs. Pennington and her son.

  Underwood saw his brother with a woman, but he didn’t believe it, “Who is Gil’s companion?”

  “He has not confided her name to me, but when he walked in he went straight to her side, without even noticing my presence.”

  Underwood gave a snort of unkind laughter, “Well, let us hope it is not too long before we are thrusting a wife upon him.”

  “Thrusting? Is that how you feel about marriage?” she asked diffidently.

  He was tired, disheartened and discouraged by what he had learned of Mrs. Dunstable, therefore he did nothing to correct the error he had made, “For much of the time, yes,” he said coolly, “Now, shall we continue on our way, or do you wish me to go alone?”

  Her voice was equally if not more cold as she replied, “Not at all. By all means let us go. I have no wish to remain here and watch men and women make fools of themselves over each other.”

  They were obliged to hire a carriage to take them to the address provided by Oliver Dunstable, which proved to be a pretty little cottage in a small village some three or four miles outside Hanbury.

  The young lady who answered the door was pretty in a doll-like way, and quite obviously as feather-brained as she was attractive. Verity unkindly thought of her as the female counterpart of the dense Oliver, a man for whom she had no liking, less respect and little sympathy. In this she and Underwood differed for he merely needed right to prevail; personalities mattered very little. But she could not help but feel that people who had been stupid and wicked enough to fall into difficulties caused by their own moral decline, would reap all the punishment they so richly deserved. Her clerical father’s simple doctrine had been that goodness was its own reward.

  As the conversation progressed it was borne in upon Underwood and Verity that if Dunstable had chosen to murder his wife, he had picked an unfortunate accomplice. She answered all their questions with a fullness and candour which irritated Verity and embarrassed Underwood.

  She was so vague on days and dates that she was worse than useless as an alibi, but Underwood himself felt that might be no bad thing. His own hope was to keep Miss Frederica Marsh entirely out of the case, for Dunstable’s life, in the event of a court appearance, might very well depend on convincing a jury of his devotion to his dead wife and his incapability of committing so foul a crime. Underwood hoped to prove Dunstable innocent of murder without recourse to his mistress.

  The girl apparently found nothing wrong with her own morals or those of her lover, continually referring to the fact that they were ‘so much in love’ as though, thought Verity bitterly, that excused their behaviour and made everything they did together acceptable. She seemed to have no feelings of guilt or remorse towards the dead Josie, only loudly bewailing the fact that Oliver had been ‘forced’ from time to time to do his conjugal duty by his elderly spouse. Neither Verity nor Underwood had any desire to hear these details – on the contrary! – but Miss Marsh ploughed on regardless, entirely oblivious of the expressions of deep distaste on the faces of her guests.

  It was only as they were preparing to leave that she gave a piece of information which stilled them both, all thought of flight immediately banished.

  “One last question, Miss Marsh, if you please. Being aware, as you undoubtedly were, that Dunstable was already married, were there never any discussions between you relating to your own nuptials?”

  “Not at first, but of course the subject arose when I told him I am going to have a baby.”

  Underwood’s mouth actually dropped open, so dazed was he by this ingenuous remark, and Verity drew in her breath so sharply that the sound was clearly audible, “Did you say there is to be a child as a result of your association with Mr. Dunstable?” she asked quietly, not entirely sure she had heard aright.

  “Oh yes! Oliver was a little surprised at first too, but he assured me everything would be happily resolved and we would be married before the baby was born – and behold, we shall be. Oliver is so wonderful, is he not?”

  “Wonderful,” murmured Underwood with deep feeling and glanced at his wife. Verity’s face was blank, she gave no indication of the varied emotions which assailed her, merely offering her hand to Miss Marsh and thanking her politely for her hospitality.

  They climbed into the waiting carriage without exchanging a word, and it was not until the hamlet was fading into the distance that Underwood risked a comment,

  “It would seem, my dear, that you were right and I was wrong. There are more reasons to kill than merely money.”

  “I fear that may well be the case. Are you still confident that Oliver Dunstable did not murder his wife?”

  “If you want me to be brutally honest, no. I can scarcely believe it, but Oliver could well be cleverer than either of us ever imagined.”

  “That is hard to believe,” returned Verity sardonically. She really did not like Dunstable, but her feelings towards any man who betrayed his wife were growing daily more bitter.

  Underwood gave a short laugh, “Poor Oliver, you really do detest him, don’t you?”

  “You have no idea how much.”

  *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  (“Beneficium Accipere Libertatem Est Vendere” – To accept a favour is to sell one’s freedom)

  Dusk was coming on apace and Underwood stared moodily out of the carriage window. Verity, pale and exhausted, had fallen asleep against the worn velvet squabbs of the hired hack and Underwood envied her the ability to slumber after the shock they had just sustained.

  Where did Miss Marsh’s admission leave them now? Oliver Dunstable not only had every reason to wish his wife dead, he also seemed to have promised that very thing. He had motive, opportunity, and means all within his grasp, so could Underwood be quite so certain he had judged his man correctly – and more importantly, what hope did he have of convincing a jury in the face of such damning evidence?

  Underwood was thrown forward, suddenly and violently, as the carriage came to an unexpected halt and he heard the terrified whinnying of the startled horses, accompanied by the loud curses of the driver.

  He let down the window w
ith a clatter and thrust his head out, “What goes on?” he called quietly, so as not to wake his sleeping wife. The vehicle moved jerkily backwards and forwards slightly as the elderly whipster tried to bring his frightened steeds under control, “There’s a man lying in the road, sir,” came the reply from the box, “He looks to be in a bad way.”

  “Good God! We didn’t run over him, did we?” exclaimed Underwood in concern, struggling to undo the door, which proved at first, unyielding.

  “No, no, sir. I think he must have been set upon by footpads.”

  Underwood burst through the door as it suddenly swung open and found himself almost falling out onto the dusty highroad. He righted himself and squinted into the gathering twilight, barely able to discern the figure of the man who had staggered in front of their vehicle, before collapsing in a heap on the road, almost under the dangerously stamping hooves of the panicked horses.

  Of one accord the driver and Underwood ran to the front of the carriage, the former to grasp the nosebands of his animals, the latter to see what aid could be given to the obviously injured man.

  As he rolled the man onto his back, Underwood suffered a slight jolt, for the victim was black-skinned, something rarely seen in this remote area of England at this time. Black people were quite widespread in London and other large cities, for slavery had been rife in the previous century, and Underwood had taught several African Princes at his university, but he had not been expecting to come across anyone here of Negro descent. It caused him no more than a momentary hesitation, however, for the man was severely beaten and was covered in blood and bruises. Underwood hoisted him into a semi-recumbent position and spoke gently to him,

  “If I help you, do you think you could make it into the carriage? I’m sorry not to be able to merely lift you and save you the effort, but I doubt my ability.” He spoke nothing less than the truth, for now he was nearer, he could see the man was of huge proportions, taller than Underwood’s six feet by a good four or five inches, and immeasurably broader than his rescuer’s slim physique.