Her shoulders shook, “I cannot stay here now. Let me compose myself. I can’t bear for you to see me cry.”
Impetuously he stood and grasped her shoulders, twisting her so that she was forced to face him, “I have merited the pain of witnessing your tears, my dear, since I am the cause of them. Can you forgive me?”
She began to sob in the heart-broken, unstoppable way children have and he pulled her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder, until he felt the warmth of her body seeping though his coat and he knew he was lost forever.
Little use now to tell himself a love affair with her was impossible; pointless indeed to hope that the first feelings he had for her would shrivel and die without nourishment. Gil had found the one woman in the world he could love and nothing was ever going to sway him. The brotherly fondness he had for Verity was nothing when compared to the passion which swept through his veins now. Holding his sister-in-law in his arms had filled him with nothing but sympathy for her plight; this holding of Catherine told him what he had been missing all his life.
He waited, his heart and his arms full for the first time in his existence, for her weeping to subside, then he released her and drew her back down onto the seat, retaining his hold on one small hand, “Now it is my turn to risk making a fool of myself,” he told her gently, “You are quite correct in assuming I have been avoiding you. I have. The reason is simple; you are a Catholic.”
“Oh!” She looked into his eyes, a spark of anger in her own, “I had not thought to hear such bigotry from you, sir! Does my religion really bar a friendship between us?”
“Not friendship, no. But I had not known you above five minutes when I realized I could never feel mere friendship for you. Catherine, you are the woman I want to marry – but I cannot!”
She gasped in shock, her eyes searching his face as though for confirmation that he really had spoken these words, “I had not thought anything of the kind – I cannot believe it – you scarcely know me.”
He smiled wryly, aware that he had spoken too soon and too candidly, but not really caring very much, “I know you must think me odd, if not worse! But I have nothing to lose by not being perfectly honest. Those being my feelings, you can hardly blame me for attempting to cut the connection between us. I hoped to spare myself further misery, and scarcely dared hope that you too might suffer some unhappiness at our parting. In short, I thought if I did not see you, I would swiftly forget you, but it was a vain hope.”
“I don’t know what to say to you,” she whispered hoarsely.
“There is nothing to say. Even supposing you came to feel as I do, there can be no future for us together. A vicar of the Church of England can no more have a Catholic wife than can the King.”
She looked down at her hands, lying so small and serene in his. How strange that they should be so still, when inside she was a swirling mass of confused thoughts and emotions. She tried to crystallize at least one of those thoughts into a question,
“Do you want Alistair and I to leave Hanbury?”
“Certainly not! Why should you be inconvenienced merely because the vicar of Hanbury is a romantic fool?”
“Then what? I have no desire to make things difficult for you.”
“You will not. I will forget this conversation ever took place and you must do the same. Let me be of assistance to you and your son for as long as your visit lasts, then let us part as friends. Any consequences must be borne by me.”
Tears welled into her eyes again; “I can’t let you do that…”
“You can and you must. I had no right to burden you with this unasked for confession and the only way I can atone is to help you with Alistair.”
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully, “May I think about it?”
“Of course. Now, will you take tea with me?”
“No… I… Not today. I want to go home.”
He kissed her hand then watched her as she walked away between the gravestones, her footsteps light and swift, barely restraining herself from breaking into a run. It was painful to Gil to imagine she could not wait to be out of his society, and he rose wearily and stepped out into the sunlight, blinking a little after the dark shadowiness of the porch. Only God knew what was going to happen next, but he, at least, had ceased to struggle against his fate.
*
Verity and Underwood were fortunate enough to find Mrs. Gedney at home, and without the company of her husband. That she was not pleased to see them was painfully evident, though she had no choice but to entertain them since the housemaid showed them straight in to her instead of first enquiring if she were at home to visitors.
Her answers to Underwood’s questions gave every appearance of having been meticulously rehearsed, but he persevered hoping to betray her into an indiscretion.
“I understand your husband and your mother were not exactly boon companions?”
“Not many men do have close relationships with their mother-in-law. It is not a connection which engenders affection, is it? And I must say I deeply resent your intrusion into my affairs. My family is no concern of yours,” was the tart reply.
“That would usually be the case – and under normal circumstances nothing would prevail upon me to plumb the murky depths of your relationships…”
“Murky depths? How dare you! Leave my house at once. I will not sit here and be insulted.”
Verity intercepted hastily, throwing a warning glance in her spouse’s direction, for he was showing his animosity a little too plainly, “We beg your pardon, Mrs. Gedney. My husband spoke thoughtlessly. You must take his eagerness to solve your mother’s murder as his excuse.”
“Your husband’s rudeness is only part of my complaint, Mrs. Underwood. Why are you wasting everyone’s time, asking pointless questions, annoying and badgering people, when it is obvious to everyone else in Hanbury that my mother’s worthless husband is the culprit?”
“That may very well be the truth,” said Verity, with sweet reason, and completely ignoring Underwood’s sharp intake of breath – the only indication he gave that he was extremely unhappy with the way the conversation was progressing, “But surely you owe it to your mother to be sure. The last thing you must desire is for Dunstable to be taken to court, then released on the strength of a vital piece of evidence which had been carelessly overlooked. Don’t forget, there is only one chance to convict him. If he is found not guilty, he cannot be tried twice for the same crime. You and Mr. Gedney seem to be of the opinion that we are trying to prove your stepfather innocent – nothing could be further from the truth. We are trying to make sure that when he is arrested for your mother’s murder, there will be no possibility of any error being made.”
Underwood wisely kept his thoughts to himself.
Mrs. Gedney visibly relaxed, she even forced a small smile to her lips, “My dear Mrs. Underwood, I wish you had been more clear in your intentions from the beginning. None of this ill-feeling need ever have occurred. Naturally, under those circumstances, my husband and I will endeavour to give you every assistance.”
Having smoothed the path for him, Verity now stepped aside and allowed Underwood to resume his questioning, which he did with rather less vitriol than he had previously displayed, “Could you tell me, Mrs. Gedney, how you knew it was tansy which had killed your mother?”
“I smelled it in the glass she had been drinking from.”
“You are familiar enough with the odour to recognize it?”
Her sallow skin reddened slightly, “Is it a crime to be familiar with such things? Surely we no longer live in an age when a knowledge of herbs proclaims witchcraft?” He wondered why she was being so defensive. The question was innocuous enough.
“Not at all,” he said soothingly, “I merely wondered. Do you possess such knowledge?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair; “I possess some slight expertise. In the first months of my daughter’s life, when her problems became evident, I passed through the ridiculous stag
e of trying various remedies and treatments, hoping to cure her of her afflictions. I have now only to feel ashamed that I was so foolish. I should have listened to my husband and not wasted time, effort and money on those charlatans and tricksters!”
“Nothing which gives us hope is ever foolish or a waste of time, Mrs. Gedney,” intercepted Verity quietly, knowing that should her baby be born in any way afflicted, she would do exactly the same thing.
“Perhaps not, but as my husband often said, there were better things upon which we could have spent the money.”
Gambling and womanising, presumably, thought Underwood cynically – and a trifle unfairly, for though he had heard many bad reports of Gedney, philandering had not actually been one of them.
As though the thought of him had conjured him from the depths of hell, Gedney chose that precise moment to walk into the room. He had evidently been told of their presence for he spoke with a false heartiness which did nothing to hide his fury, “Well, my dear, I see we have visitors. What nonsense have you been talking?”
She appeared very nervous, twisting her hands and glancing apprehensively towards him, “Mr. and Mrs. Underwood were just explaining about Oliver, Adolphus. It seems we have been misjudging them.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he suspected a plot, even if his wife did not, “How interesting. Perhaps you can explain more fully to me when they have gone.”
There could not be a clearer dismissal, but Underwood was a past master at being obtuse when it suited him and ignored the hint, though he noticed Verity half rose in her seat, only to sink back when she saw he was not intending to move.
“Well met, Gedney!” He spoke with equal heartiness, which rang quite as false as his host’s, “The very man to whom I wished to speak.”
“I can’t imagine why. There is nothing I can tell you.”
“On the contrary, you hold much information, and your wife has assured us of your co-operation.”
“Has she indeed?” his tone boded ill for his wife and she knew it, for she visibly quailed, “How very presumptuous of her!”
“Could you tell me exactly when you arrived in Hanbury, Gedney?” asked Underwood, disregarding this comment. Gedney, seeing no particular threat in this question, answered without hesitation that they had arrived only two days before the death of Mrs. Dunstable.
“You had not previously been here?”
“Not since last year, no. We always spend a week here in June so that my wife can join her mother, and various friends, in taking the waters.”
“And you did not enter your mother-in-law’s house until that last evening before her death, when you joined her for dinner?”
“No!”
“From whom did the box of bon-bons come?”
“No one knows. They were delivered to the house that afternoon, I believe, with no card or letter attached. We assumed the card had simply been lost. All her friends knew of her weakness for sweets, and she was often sent little gifts like that.”
“So, they could have come from anyone – and they could have contained poison?”
“Anyone who knew her well would have felt quite safe in risking poisoned sweets, knowing that she usually ate them all herself – but even if she had offered them around, one or two bon-bons would not have harmed the recipient. From what my wife has told me, tansy is only poisonous if taken in excess.”
“So I understand. Thank you, Gedney. You have been most helpful. Could I presume to ask one more thing? From where did you acquire your herbal remedies, Mrs. Gedney?”
“Most I have from Mr. Sanderson of Welbourne Street, others I find in the wild, or even grow myself in my garden at home. I may not have been able to help Melissa, but I have helped many others with my receipts.”
“Thank you. Good day to you both.”
He waited until there were several hundred yards between them and the Gedney’s door before he confided his thoughts to Verity, “I felt Gedney was a little too helpful, my dear. It was almost as though he were challenging us to prove Dunstable’s innocence in the face of his obvious honesty. But I think we have our murderer, our method and our accomplice.”
“Mr. Gedney, in the bon-bons and Mrs. Gedney?” guessed Verity.
“I would stake my life on it – though proving it is going to be the very devil. Gedney even told us why they had hit on tansy as their chosen poison.”
“He did?”
“Yes, when he was a pains to point out that one or two bon-bons would not hurt if they should happen to fall into the wrong hands – you can be sure Mrs. Gedney was not going to risk an accident to her child. They had to choose something which would only kill if overdosed upon, and they placed it in a food they knew Mrs. Dunstable was greedy for, and could be expected to gorge herself upon.”
“Of course. But how can we prove it?”
“Logic is altogether failing me on that point just now – but I trust something will trigger a solution.”
Underwood was frustrated, but not at all surprised, to discover that Mr. Gratten, though undeniably interested, was entirely unconvinced by any of these theories.
“Give me proof, Underwood, that’s all I ask of you.”
“You must give me more time for that, sir.”
“Time is something we simply do not have. My superiors are beginning to put pressure on me to bring this case to a swift conclusion. To them it seems very straightforward. Dunstable killed his wife.”
“But Gedney stands to gain far more from the old lady’s death than Dunstable.”
“The child Melissa does – and of what use is that to Gedney, if, as you claim, he is only interested in the money?”
“Sick children die young, Mr. Gratten.”
Gratten, a fond father and a doting grandfather, was suitably horrified by this remark, “Dear God, no! The man could not sink so low.”
“I fear he could, sir. I very much fear he could!”
*
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(“Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam” – Literally “I’ll either find a way or make one” – Where there’s a will there’s a way)
True to his promise, Gil arranged a visit to the caves above Hanbury for young Alistair, just as soon as the child was well enough to make the journey.
Rather to his surprise his friends and family rallied around and it was a large party that gathered in the early morning mist outside the Bull Inn.
Toby, in spite of his still tightly strapped broken ribs, insisted that none other than himself should have the privilege of pushing the wheeled chair over the more difficult terrain and, in the meantime, bore two stout poles which would eventually be threaded through the arms of the chair and enable them to carry it over the rougher spots. Underwood and Francis carried baskets containing their lunch, Ellen and Verity bore smaller bags holding bottles of wine. Catherine held waterproofs in case of rain and Gil found himself in charge of Melissa, who had also been invited on the expedition, though her parents had been excluded. The Gedneys had only allowed their child to attend on the condition that Oliver Dunstable was not in the group, but since he had already made arrangements to see Miss Marsh, this caused no difficulty.
Catherine was inclined to be tearful at the kindness of the vicar and his family, but he insisted upon making light of their sacrifice, pointing out that they were all eager to witness the wonder of the limestone caverns.
There was, in fact, to be only one drawback – to both Underwood and Verity, rather a large one, though neither confided this to the other. Verity had wanted Isobel Wynter to be invited, but could not do so without including her sister. They were only awaiting the arrival of the Wynter sisters and the two carriages which had been ordered to take them as near to the caves as it was possible to drive.
As it happened both Isobel and Charlotte appeared just as the vehicles came into view and with much bustle, laughter and confusion their paraphernalia was stowed and they all scrambled aboard. The road they took was a poor one to begin wit
h, but it rapidly deteriorated into little more than a track across the tussocky grass and heather, causing the travellers to be tossed from side to side and provoking much hilarity. Alistair’s face was alight with glee, for he was thoroughly enjoying watching the adults being subjected to such rough treatment, and in the face of such rare merriment from the sick child, no one considered their dignity a great loss, not even Underwood, who usually required to be perfectly groomed at all times.
When the carriages could go no further, the passengers alighted, and unstrapped Alistair’s chair from the back of the first coach. The coachmen were left to tend to their animals and await their return for the well-deserved picnic.
Gil had overlooked no detail and there were two guides waiting for the party at the base of the final hill. Alistair’s chair was lifted onto its poles by Gil, Toby, Underwood and Francis and they set forth.
It was no easy task man-handling the stricken boy over rocks and moss-covered boulders, but at last, breathless, but triumphant, they entered the caves.
A smooth, downward sloping path led to a low-roofed tunnel which forced the men to stoop, but allowed the ladies, except Charlotte who was particularly tall, to walk almost upright. Fortunately it was quite wide enough to take the wheeled chair, but poor Toby, who was by far the tallest of the party, had quite a struggle pushing it and walking in a crouched position at the same time. Their guides had given each of them a candle or a lantern so it was necessary to be wary of crowding too close to the person in front. Such was their preoccupation with this hazard and yet others caused by the uneven floor and low ceiling, that they were amazed when they at last emerged into the cathedral-proportioned cavern.
Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) Page 12