As they drew level with the landing, they saw that the door leading to Collinson’s room was partially closed, letting just one strand of golden light spill across the floor.
“Are you ready?” breathed Underwood. Gil merely nodded, his eyes firmly on the door. They both tightened their grips upon their weapons, then of one accord ran up the last few stairs and burst into the one lighted room in the house.
*
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
(“Tarde Venientibus Ossa” – For latecomers, the bones)
It would be difficult to say whose expression of surprise was the more ludicrous. Gil and Underwood slithered to a halt just inside the door, faced with the sight of Toby sitting in the light of a single candle, startled out of his wits by their unexpected entrance. They both gaped at him, then cast their eyes about the room.
Collinson lay supine, her breast gently rising and falling, as obviously alive as they were. From this their glance slid to the far side of the room, where an unconscious Gedney lay propped against the wall, bound with ropes and sporting a magnificent black eye and painfully bruised jaw.
“What the devil…” began Underwood, then lapsed into bemused silence.
“Sorry,” grinned Toby, swiftly recovering himself, “I didn’t hear you arrive or I would have met you downstairs and saved us all a fright.”
“What are you doing here, Toby?” asked Gil faintly, feeling that he would never regain possession of his addled wits.
“I never left, sir. Mrs. Underwood’s instructions. I was to make a great show of going, then let myself back in under cover of darkness and hide in the attic. Mrs. Trent has been seeing to my food and drink.”
“Mrs. Trent knew about this,” remarked Underwood grimly, “but we were not made privy to the plot?”
“Mrs. Underwood thought you would be more convincing if you knew nothing,” explained Toby rather sheepishly.
“Did she indeed? And has she been hiding in the attic too?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“And what was her little deception meant to achieve?” Underwood sounded dangerously calm, and Gil looked fearfully at him. Toby seemed unconcerned,
“She knew we needed to force Gedney into an act of rashness, so she decided to give him the opportunity to lure you two from the house, leaving Rachael apparently unguarded. She realized he needed the girl dead, if he was to be safe from betrayal, so taking Mrs. Trent and myself away meant he would be left with an irresistible temptation to rid himself of the one person who can – and hopefully will – give evidence against him. His only error throughout the entire episode was to fail to kill Collinson when he first tried. He would have succeeded even in that had Mr. Underwood not been alert to her peril and set me on guard.”
“Oh, I am to be given some credit, then?” enquired Underwood, with unbecoming sarcasm. Toby merely gave his wide, ingenuous grin and continued “Mrs. Underwood was right, of course. Gedney, once he knew the two of you were alone, wasted no time in sending a false message to get you out of the house, then he came straight up here. He did not even bother to risk sending someone to do his dirty work, no doubt having learned the danger of trusting an accomplice. He had the pillow in his hands when I jumped him. Two good punches felled him, and he’s been out ever since. I swore I’d never use my fists again, but I admit I felt a rare satisfaction in hitting that little rat!”
“I can imagine,” said the peaceable vicar, with unwonted relish.
“Where is Verity, Toby?” Underwood had entirely lost interest in Gedney, Collinson, Dunstable and the rest of the rabble; he just wanted the whole sorry mess finished with and his wife back in his arms.
“I’ve told you, Mr. Underwood, I really don’t know. She left these directions with me before she went.”
Underwood looked into his eyes, willing him to crack and tell him the truth, but Toby met his stare steadfastly, never flinching or dropping his gaze, “I promise you I don’t know. Would to God, I did. I tell you frankly, I’m worried about her. She should not be alone at a time like this.”
Underwood knew it, but he did not want to discuss the situation with a man who so evidently held him responsible for his wife’s defection. With a rapid change of subject he said, “We had better fetch Mr. Gratten and request him to remove this object from under our roof.”
“I’ll go for him,” offered Toby and promptly suiting words for action, he took up his coat and was gone.
Now the excitement was almost over, Gil felt his knees buckle under him and he sank shakily into a chair, “I can’t tell you how relieved I am the girl was unharmed, Chuffy. I really thought to find her here dead.”
“She would have been but for Verity.”
The vicar looked closely at his brother, noting the weary and depressed air that clung to him, “You know Verity has done all this for you, Chuffy. In spite of her own heartache, she has thought only of you.”
“I know it.”
“Have you any idea at all how deeply she loves you, and how much hurt you have inflicted upon her?”
“Do you think I am going to find it easy to forgive myself?”
“I hope not.”
*
It did not take very much effort to convince Mr. Gratten to take Gedney away and place him under lock and key – at the very least he was certainly guilty of entering the vicarage uninvited. Once he was presented with Underwood’s findings and Toby’s tale of the attempted murder of Collinson, he knew that at last he had the true culprit in his hands. He had brought two henchmen with him and they soon hoisted the now conscious and cursing Gedney to his feet.
“I’ll kill you, Underwood, if I ever get the chance,” he shouted furiously, as he was bodily dragged away, fighting and kicking.
Underwood paled slightly under the onslaught, for he had never been good at handling confrontation, but Gratten merely asserted triumphantly, “You won’t be given the chance, my friend.” He had quickly overcome his annoyance at being torn from his warm bed in the middle of the night and was positively expansive. He waited until the shouted protests and scuffling footsteps of the still resisting Gedney had died away then he turned to Underwood and continued, “I suggest a meeting in the morning with the magistrate, when you can explain your evidence more fully. Gedney is not going to be able to cover his tracks so easily this time, no matter how glib he is.”
“Very well. Shall we say eleven?”
“Certainly; that will give me ample time to send for Sir Alfred Dorrington.”
“Whereabouts is this meeting to take place?”
“At my house, for the present. Of course you will be required in Court, but that will not be for some time yet.”
When he was gone, the brothers and Toby went to the kitchen for a well-earned cup of tea – made by Gil, naturally.
“Tomorrow is not going to be a pleasant day for you, Chuffy,” commented the vicar, as he diligently stirred the pot. Underwood, who had chosen the best seat in the room, a cushioned rocking chair much favoured by Mrs. Trent, and was almost on the verge of sleep, unwillingly forced his eyes open, “Not pleasant at all, dear fellow, especially if Gedney is going to be his usual, charming self and disrupt the proceedings with foul invective.”
“I’ve never known him do anything else.”
“Nor I. Well, I shall just have to prepared myself to suffer his offensive – in both meanings of the word”
“Will you be all right?” Gil asked the question diffidently, knowing how his brother hated to admit real physical weakness, though he was only too willing to complain of mythical ailments.
“I may not be. I hate to ask it of you, but could you both be there with me? At least that way I can fall back on you to finish my testimony if I feel unwell.”
Toby and Gil readily agreed, but unfortunately it meant that they had to spare him another hour or so, thinking longingly of their beds, whilst he explained every nuance of the evidence he and Verity had so painstakingly garnered.
*
/> Watery sunlight was sparkling on the puddle-strewn, muddy street when the occupants of the parsonage set out for Gratten’s house. Catherine had been brought in to mind Rachael, though now there was no longer any need to fear for her life, they had no concerns about leaving her, but they had no wish find that she had woken alone in a strange place, should that eventuality occur.
Gratten had chosen his dining room for the consultation, it being large enough to seat everyone. He and Sir Alfred sat at the head of the table, Mr. and Mrs. Gedney and the Dunstables on one side, Adeline Beresford opposite them, and chairs left vacant for Underwood, Gil and Toby.
After formal introductions and greetings were exchanged, Mr. Gratten invited Mr. Underwood to begin his summing up of the evidence.
“May I begin by saying that without Mrs. Gedney’s insistence on claiming tansy as the poison which had killed her mother; this crime might very well have gone undetected. Dr. Herbert assures me there is, as yet, no way of testing for plant-based poisons. Some, of course, have particular side effects that make their use obvious, but most do not. It was Mr. Gedney’s greed in trying to have Dunstable hanged for the murder, so that he would forfeit his share of the inheritance, which is the sole reason we are all gathered here today. The sad fact is the Gedneys could have killed a dozen people, and never have been suspected.” There was a contemptuous snort from Gedney, but no comment from anyone else, so Underwood smoothly continued, “My first indication that Gedney might be the culprit rather than the suspected Dunstable, was a rather odd circumstance. On visiting Gedney, I noticed that his hands bore a rash, and having just studied various tracts on tansy, I had learned it can cause a violent reaction in the skin of the susceptible. Gedney refused to give an adequate explanation for its presence.”
Gedney half rose to his feet, his shackled hands clenched, “I refuse to sit here and listen to this drivel. What the hell right had he to ask me anything? I’m not answerable to him.”
“Sit down, Gedney, and be quiet!” roared Gratten, completely losing his temper. He wanted to present Sir Alfred with a measured and intelligent assessment of the situation, and he was not about to allow Gedney and his foul mouth free range. Mr. Underwood waited for the furious, but silenced, Gedney, to slump back into his seat before continuing.
“The more I investigated, the more unlikely it seemed to be that Dunstable had killed his wife. Financially, he would have been a far richer man whilst she remained alive, than after her death. He did not know tansy was fatal when taken in overdose, but Mrs. Gedney knew all about its properties, even going so far as to claim she recognized the faint aroma of it in the cup on the day of the murder. She had even recommended her own herbalist to Dunstable – a piece of information with which he foolishly failed to provide me, until last week.”
He paused for breath and to shuffle through the pile of papers and books he had brought with him – he might also have been accused of building the inevitable tension.
“Unfortunately,” he went on presently, “we were never able to fully discover from where Mrs. Dunstable had the poison. She had been given bon-bons by various people, and she always drank a full bottle of wine each evening at dinner, either or both of which could have been adulterated at any time, but the bon-bons were all eaten and the wine-bottle rinsed – though that action in itself was suspicious, since I was assured by the staff that the event was unprecedented. Next we come to the drawings my wife makes at every available opportunity. She is an exceptionally talented artist, and not only do her sketches clearly show faces and buildings in fine detail, she is also organized and neat. She always uses these particular notebooks, which as you can see are firmly bound and with the same number of pages, leaving no possibility for pages to be added or removed. She dates each picture and states each location. It was through one of her pictures that she unwittingly provided me with a vital piece of evidence. Mr. Gedney lied, on several occasions, about the date he arrived in Hanbury. Without knowing who he was, for this was well before our first formal introduction, verity captured the likeness of Mr. Gedney in the main square of Hanbury three full days before he admitted his presence here.”
“That could be anyone,” growled Gedney.
Underwood opened the book at the relevant page and passed the book along the table to Mr. Gratten and Sir Alfred, who dutifully examined the sketch.
“These are damned good, Underwood,” remarked Sir Alfred, obviously much impressed, “And it certainly looks like Mr. Gedney to me – with no evidence of erasing or any other form of tampering.”
“Quite,” said Underwood – he didn’t feel the need to say anything more.
“You don’t think your wife would be interested in a sitter for a portrait, do you?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea. I shall ask her next time I see her.” Sir Alfred, who had been told of the Underwood’s marital difficulties by Mr. Gratten, had the grace to blush slightly at the gaffe.
A glance revealed that at long last Gedney was beginning to look uncomfortable, though he evidently enjoyed Underwood’s irritation at this display of tactlessness. As for Underwood, he continued as though nothing untoward had occurred, determined not to be rattled by anything.
“I realize that anything said to me by Collinson can only be classed as hearsay unless she wakes, but she admitted to sending Gedney messages via the Bluebell Inn, Northcross, telling him when the Dunstable house would be empty, and letting him into the house. The landlord identified a sketch of both Gedney and Collinson, and claimed they not only met at his Inn, but also hired an upstairs room for considerable periods of time.”
Mrs. Gedney gasped, Gedney cursed, but Underwood ignored them and went on smoothly, “This of course gave Gedney ample opportunity to enter the house at will and lay his traps, like the smearing of the glasses with tansy, as found by Dr. Herbert, which would ensure that Dunstable or even Miss Beresford could be accused of handing Mrs. Dunstable a poisoned drink. The sketches were also shown to Mr. Flynn, the herbalist, and he recognized Mr. and Mrs. Gedney, Mr. Dunstable, and the late Mrs. Dunstable. He also asserts that though Gedney did not purchase tansy oil, he did ask how it could be identified in the wild. That led me to conclude that, coupled with his tell-tale rash; Gedney could have picked the plant and placed the dried leaves in the herbal tea brought to Mrs. Dunstable by her daughter on the night before her death. The Gedney’s kindly provided us with the reasons for using the plant, rather than a faster acting, more predictable poison. It is only fatal in overdose, so no one else in the house could be killed accidentally. I imagine that subtlety was the idea of Mrs. Gedney, concerned for herself and her child. I doubt that Gedney would have cared had the entire household perished, provided his own safety and comfort could be assured.”
“Damn you, Underwood,” muttered Gedney, apparently stung by this assessment of his character, “You have no proof. This is all conjecture. You have not one shred of evidence to support these wild claims.”
Mrs. Gedney began to snivel pitifully at this juncture and continued to do so for the remainder of the meeting.
“That is not my concern, Gedney. I will merely present my findings to a jury and let them decide on your innocence or guilt.”
He sat down and allowed the debate to begin. There was much discussion. Sir Alfred seemed reluctant to vindicate Dunstable, for he was a firm believer in the age-old theory that in most cases of domestic murder, the spouse is the responsible party. Underwood quickly grew weary of the conflict. He had done his best and could do no more. To either side of him, Gilbert and Toby joined in, growing heated in their frustration at the seemingly deliberate obduracy of the magistrate.
Toby loudly protested that he had seen Collinson and Gedney meet and talk animatedly at an inn, had watched Gedney leave first, then had been called upon to save the unfortunate Collinson from a murderous assailant. Furthermore, he had, only the previous evening, saved her once again from death, this time undoubtedly at the hands of Gedney.
The magistrat
e’s reply was terse. He had no intention of denying Gedney’s guilt of the second attack, but there could be many reasons for it – not least the fact that he had apparently been having an illicit relationship with the girl. Perhaps she had threatened to expose his duplicity to his wife. Whatever the explanation, it did not show him to be guilty of the murder of Mrs. Dunstable.
Underwood did not particularly like the direction this conversation was taking and so, in an attempt to distract himself from the arguments which raged about him, he took up one of Verity’s notebooks and began to flick idly through it. She was damned good; there could be no denying it. Whether landscape, portrait or architecture, she was equally adept. One picture seemed to leap out at him. He stared at it for a moment, then with an ejaculation, which brought him silence and the full attention of everyone in the room; he rose to his feet, “By Jupiter! I know where she is.”
“Where who is, sir?” asked Sir Alfred, genuinely puzzled.
“Never mind. It has no bearing on the matter in hand. Pray excuse me, Sir Alfred. I fear I must leave. My brother and Mr. Hambleton are fully conversant with my notes and can answer any further questions you may have.”
“Very well, Mr. Underwood, thank you for your time. I trust we can call upon you, should the need arise?”
“Certainly…”
He never finished the sentence for at that moment the door flew open and Mrs. Gratten entered, breathless with excitement and pink of cheek, “My dear, forgive the intrusion, but I have just this minute received a message from Mrs. Pennington. Miss Collinson regained her senses not a half-hour ago. She seems to be fully cognisant, though suffering a headache.”
Underwood glanced towards Gedney and saw the blood drain from his face.
He waited to see no more.
Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) Page 25