Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2)

FOOD FOR THE GALLOWS

by

Suzanne Downes

The rights of Suzanne Downes as author of this work have been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Design and Patents Act 1993. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance of any of the characters to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental

Also by Suzanne Downes

The Underwood Mysteries

A Noble Pair of Brothers

Food for the Gallows

Behind the Horseman

An Aria Writ in blood

Yield Not to Misfortune

A Place for Repentance

DI Matt Piper

The Devil Drives a Jaguar

Blood and Stone

An Empty Handed Traveller

A Troublesome Woman

Children’s Books

Cassie’s Quest

CHAPTER ONE

(“Quieta non movere” – Do not move settled things)

“Cadmus ...”

Mr Underwood folded down the edge of his newspaper and raised an enquiring eyebrow at his wife.

“Yes?” he responded promptly.

Having so easily claimed his attention, Verity now seemed at a loss how to continue. Her gaze transferred itself from his face to her nervously twisting fingers. He noted her diffidence, but kindly made no comment upon it, merely laying his paper down on the breakfast table and waiting patiently for her to proceed.

“I had a letter from Gil yesterday,” she said at last, the words tumbling out in her hurry to get them over with, her voice slightly breathy and high pitched.

“Did you indeed? How is he?” If he was in any way surprised that his brother, the clergyman, should have written personally to his wife of only a few months, and not to himself or their mother, he declined to remark upon it.

“He is well – and happily settled in his new parish. He says it is a charming place. He wrote to me about it because he recalled that Hanbury lies only a few miles from the Pennine village where my dear Papa had his living and I grew up.”

“Really?” It did not occur to Underwood to find it odd that his brother should be in possession of this knowledge, whilst he was largely unaware of her childhood. He had no doubt he and his wife had often discussed these things, though he could not, at that precise moment, remember any of it. Verity was too relieved by his appearance of genuine interest to feel offended by his evident ignorance of her past life.

“Gil described it so well, I was quite overcome with homesickness,” she continued eagerly, then lapsed into blushing silence as she became cognisant of the fact that her words could be construed as criticism of their present circumstances, living, as they were, with his mother and step-father. Even now she had waited until the Milners had left the table before she could have a private word with her husband. However Underwood merely smiled and patted her hand in his affectionately absent-minded way, “I don’t wonder at it. The area has a way of gripping the imagination. I find myself thinking of it quite frequently.”

It was, perhaps, fortunate he was not paying particular attention to her expression, for he would have been astounded by the look a sick distress which passed over her face, as though he had reminded her of something exquisitely painful. He had put from his mind, as she had not, the memory of their last sojourn in the Pennines and it would appear she was inclined to read rather more into his words than he ever intended to convey.

He remained oblivious, however, and went on, “Did Gil have anything else to say?” Whatever else escaped him, it had not gone unnoticed that she did not offer him the letter that he might read it for himself, but far from being annoyed, he was inclined to find this air of secrecy rather amusing. Knowing his brother as he did, he imagined Gil had set Verity a task of persuading him to do something which he feared would provoke a refusal from himself. Mr. Underwood was prepared to feign ignorance of their plotting – but only for the moment.

“Oh, just the usual messages of goodwill and affection to your mother, and his regards to your step-father,” she made an attempt at airy unconcern, which was almost his undoing.

“Naturally,” he said, nodding his head seriously, as though to emphasize his acceptance of these filial and fraternal greetings, but he eyed his wife with good-natured wariness from beneath his heavy lids, alert for any signs which would prove his suspicions correct, “I should have expected nothing less from so dutiful a brother and son, but I must own, I am surprised he found so little to say, postal charges being what they are.”

Verity looked suitably guilt-ridden, “Well, that was not quite all,” she ventured hesitantly.

He was, by now, having the greatest difficulty in hiding his amusement. Verity was the most transparent of women and he doubted her ability ever to lie to him successfully. She was evidently struggling to hide her purpose from him and he wondered vaguely if it would not be kinder to admit that he knew Gil had set her an unsavoury task and simply request that she tell him outright what it might be. On reflection, however, he decided he was enjoying the situation far too much to end it prematurely.

“Perhaps you might like to let me read the letter for myself?” he suggested tentatively.

“Oh no,” she answered swiftly before realizing how this emphatic denial might look to her husband. She amended hastily, “I do believe I have misplaced it.”

“Oh? How very unlike you to be so careless, my dear. You make me more and more eager to know what was contained in this mysterious missive.”

“No, no! Oh, pray don’t tease me any more. I wish Gil had never written to me. I am no good at subterfuge.”

Underwood laughed outright, “No, you are not. Heaven help you if you ever have anything of real importance to keep from me. Now, tell me what Gil has asked of me.”

Verity sighed heavily, half in relief and half in exasperation at her own pathetic performance, “He wanted to know if you have yet made any decisions about the future.”

“What sort of decisions?” She knew he was being deliberately obtuse, hiding, as usual, behind his famed absent-mindedness, but after his tormenting of the past few minutes, she was determined not to rise to the bait, “Where we are to live, to begin with, and what form of employment you intend to take, now that you have left the University.”

The events of the previous year in Bracken Tor had not only caused Underwood some unhappiness, they had also deprived him of his job. Tutors at Cambridge University were normally expected to be a member of the clergy and whilst Underwood had managed to avoid that, he could not ignore the stricture that they must certainly remain unmarried.

Unfortunately for those around him, he was a man who could quite easily bury himself in books and rarely raise his head to notice what was going on around him, unless it be something which would challenge his intellect. Being cosseted by his mother and an adoring and accommodating wife, he had found life very pleasant and had failed to notice the quietly simmering frustration in his dear Verity.

Gil, however, had picked up every nuance from her frequent letters and now they would be responding to his invitation to pay a prolonged visit to his new parish. No mention was made of the fact that Underwood’s interest in the murder in Bracken Tor had not only lost Underwood his position but had also cost the Reverend Gil Underwood his living too. One could hardly remain as vicar when one’s brother had proved the Lord of the Manor was a murderer, a cheat who had substituted an illegitimate child for an unwanted daughter and had finally committed suicide.

“From all that, I deduce my brother has something in mind for me?”

“Yes, he does,” she replied frankly.

“Then why did he not write to me?”

“Because he says you always do the exact opposite of anything he suggests,” she retorted, then, too late, reflected upon his possible reaction to this candid criticism. She glanced covertly at her husband, but he did not seem to be unduly annoyed by his sibling’s assessment of his character.

“Nonsense,” he said decidedly, then noticed a distinctly quizzical expression on his wife’s face, “You would appear to agree with him,” he added, severely.

“I’m afraid I do. I have never known you take his advice in anything.”

“I married you, didn’t I?” Underwood smiled as he made this remark, intending that she should see it for the jest it was meant to be, but the stricken look in her eyes ought to have warned him that she had not heard anything to amuse her, “You married me because Gil told you to?” she asked, her voice so low he could scarcely hear her.

Underwood was a kindly man, but there were times when he lacked a certain sensitivity to the feelings of others. This was one such occasion. Without thought he merely laughed and answered, “But of course.”

“Oh,” he should have heard the anguish in the softly spoken monosyllable, but he was wavering between mild irritation that his brother should be meddling in his affairs, and curiosity to know precisely what Gil had suggested for him.

“You may as well tell me the whole,” he prompted her, aware only that she had fallen silent, but heedless of his own role in her distress, “What exactly has he in mind?”

She shook her head slightly, as though to dislodge unwelcome thoughts,

“There is a house – a large house, in need of some repair. He thought it would be the ideal place to start our school.”

“School?” He looked startled, “Good God, who ever mentioned a school?”

“Gil says you did. When you spoke of leaving Cambridge, you said teaching was all you could do.”

Underwood had to admit the truth of this, “I very probably did, but that was before I was married. Where does he intend you should come in all this?”

Verity was not a fool. She knew without doubt that if her husband wanted to do something, he would give very little consideration to her opinions. He was not an unpleasantly selfish man, and certainly not a tyrannical husband, but he had lived so long alone, pleasing only himself, that he had not quite grown accustomed to consulting another person. As for herself, she knew she was far too acquiescent for his good, but she adored him so much it was hard to gainsay him. That he should mention her now merely pointed to the fact that he did not want to travel North to start a school. Verity, however, did. For the first time since their marriage she was not prepared to follow his lead without protest. She was very fond of her mother-in-law, but she did not want to spend the rest of her life under the same roof, forever in her debt. She wanted a home of her own, and a chance to grow to know the complex man she had married. She was also fully aware that Underwood was a man who needed to be kept occupied, as did she. The holiday had been a long and pleasant one, but it was time to go back to work. They did not belong to a class which could fill its days with leisure and pleasure, and before long the inactivity would drive an insurmountable wedge between them. Their marriage had had an inauspicious beginning, being, for her a love match, but for him, more a convenience and certainly his second choice. She had no intention of allowing ‘familiarity to breed contempt’. Underwood could not be permitted to spend his days in idleness with her forever at his side, growing bored simply because there was no novelty in her presence.

“Naturally I shall be helping you. Little boys need a woman sometimes, to nurse them when they are ill, and to teach them polite behaviour. Boys left to themselves are mere savages.”

Underwood was not unfamiliar with the savagery of the male sex and he laughed. “Very well, we shall travel North to investigate Gil’s school, but be warned. If this parish is as isolated as his last, I shall feel no compunction in refusing to live there. Call me a coward if you will, but the thought of a winter entirely cut off from civilized society fills my soul with dread.”

“Oh, no,” she countered, her tone filled with enthusiasm, “Hanbury is not a tiny village like Bracken Tor. It is quite a large town. It was once very small and quiet, a market town, then came the fashion for spring waters and Hanbury came into its own. It boasts a very elegant Pump Room, a Circulating Library, theatres and Assembly Rooms. I do not think you will find it at all isolated.”

“Very well, it is decided. Can I leave the travelling arrangements to you?”

“Yes, I will take care of that, if only you will tell your Mama we are leaving. She will be so distressed, thinking I am taking you away from her.”

With all the sensibility of a man who took his loved ones entirely for granted, Underwood airily replied, “Oh, mother won’t be concerned in the least. But I shall tell her if it makes you feel better.”

*

“Remind me once again, my dear, why I have subjected myself to the rigours of the road? One town, I find, is very much like another.” Underwood was gazing out of the carriage window as they entered the spa town of Hanbury, and contrary to his comments, he was observing the view with avid interest.

“I do hope you are not going to provoke Gil with this mood, Underwood,” answered Verity tiredly. It had been a long and arduous journey and much as she adored her husband, she was not much in the frame of mind to deal with his vagaries.

“I? I could not provoke anyone.” Underwood assured her, “I am the most easy-going of men, but it is hardly my fault if Gil insists on taking parishes which are situated in the wilds of Derbyshire. I warn you, if this living is as remote as the past one, I shall be on the first stage home.”

And that, thought Verity, is the crux of the matter. Underwood obviously felt quite at home living with his mother, but Verity, much as she liked and admired the older woman, most definitely did not want to continue living under her roof.

“I don’t know why you imagine all civilised life ceases outside Oxford and Cambridge. We Northerners are not complete barbarians!” she snapped, suddenly irritable.

“My dear, no Cambridge man would ever admit that Oxford might be civilised,” he answered mildly, “You seem a little under the weather,” he added, “perhaps you should take the waters whilst we are here?”

“Why should I do so? There is nothing wrong with me.” She was now thoroughly exhausted by both the journey and his teasing.