Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

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 with, 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.

None had been prepared for the size and magnificence of the sight which met their eyes. Great pillars of glistening limestone seemed to support the dripping roof of the cave, though they were informed that this was not really the case, the columns were the result of stalactites and stalagmites respectively falling and rising to meet each other over thousands of years.

It was bitterly cold, but no one noticed the chill, so great was the awe they felt at the unexpected beauty of the sparkling stone. As they gazed about them, fantastic shapes leapt and receded in the flickering candlelight and it was several minutes before anyone was inclined to break the silence.

On and on into the blackness reached the caves, too vast to be imagined and naturally too dangerous to fully explore, though they were led a little further on to see the cold darkness of a subterranean lake.

Catherine smiled at Alistair’s wide-eyed astonishment, and allowed him to reach forward and dip his fingers into the water, to feel for himself how icy it was.

It was with regret that they left the wonders of the caves behind them, but with profound relief that they emerged, squinting and half-blinded by the sunshine.

Their chosen picnic spot was charming, with a breath-taking view across the hills, a soft, bouncy sheep-cropped turf beneath them, convenient flat rocks off which they might dine, and a wind-breaking rocky outcrop to keep off the worst of the gusts. A small watercourse gurgled at their feet, wild flowers grew in profusion and the only nuisance was an occasional fly, which buzzed annoyingly about their heads as they ate.

With great good humour they invited their guides and drivers to join the feast and it was soon a very merry gathering, with Charlotte being gallantly, though respectfully, pursued by the guides, both personable young men, and Toby swapping pugilistic anecdotes with the two drivers.

The food was good and plentiful, Mrs. Trent had surpassed herself, and the only untoward incident occurred when Underwood found a chicken leg he was about to bite into wrenched from his grasp by Melissa, who, due to her muteness was unable to request anything. This being the case, she had grown accustomed to helping herself whenever she wanted something. Underwood’s surprise was comic to behold and everyone roared with laughter, even Melissa, though it was doubtful if she knew the real reason for their amusement.

When the food was finished, the adults relaxed and chatted. Francis and Ellen could only regret their son was too young to have enjoyed the treat, Catherine and Gil talked quietly, discovering each other, with perfect amity, whilst Melissa and Alistair played an hilarious game of catch, the boy proving himself quite capable of joining in, so long as the ball did not fall too far beyond the reach of his chair.

Verity took the opportunity to sketch not only the view, but her companions also, whilst they were unaware of being observed. Underwood watched her with undisguised admiration, for her talent was considerable. She seemed to be able to catch a perfect likeness with only a few deft strokes of her pencil, and he noticed, with amusement, that each picture was carefully dated and the place of execution noted.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, after watching her for some time.

“Draw?” she asked, puzzled, for he might just as well ask her why she breathed, and she thought he knew it.

“No; date, subject, place. It seems very organized behaviour for an artist. One always imagines talented people to be above such meticulous cataloguing.”

She laughed, “Well, you are talented too, but you do not think yourself above order and structure in you work.”

“True,” he granted, oblivious of any lack of modesty of which he could be accused, “But I have not that extra creativity which sets the artist, the poet, the writer, apart from the common herd.”

She laughed again, more heartily this time, “Now I know you are teasing me. You are a writer yourself – and in print.”

“Ah, but only in Academia, that is quite different, and you haven’t answered my question.”

She blushed rosily; “You will think me terribly conceited if I tell you.”

“Never! You are the least conceited woman I ever met – sometimes to your own detriment.”

She could not meet his eyes as he said this, and refused to respond to the accusation, merely murmuring, “Of course it gives me pleasure to sketch, and serves as a reminder of my days, but I hope one day that my drawings will tell future generations how we lived, they are a sort of illustrated diary.”

“I think that is a charming idea, and not in the least vain.”

“Thank you.”

“May I look?” With a nod she handed him the book. He noticed it was firmly bound, evidently rather an expensive purchase, for the paper was of good quality, and the pages could not be removed without tearing, so there was no margin for error. He realized as he flicked through that she had been busy whilst he had been taking his ease in Hanbury. Their visit was marked by at least one drawing, sometimes several, which she had done each day, sometimes in the early morning whilst waiting for him to ready himself for their daily sortie to the Pump-rooms, sometimes in the afternoons, in the quiet period just before tea. One in particular caught his attention, and with a carefully controlled edge of excitement to his voice he asked, “Do you remember drawing this, my dear?”

She glanced down without much interest, glanced away, then dragged her incredulous gaze back again, with a shock of recognition, “Good God!” she breathed.

“Do you remember drawing it?”

“I do now that I have seen it again. I thought his face looked familiar, but I sketch so many people …”

Underwood held the book a little closer and scrutinised the figures at the bottom of the page – he needed spectacles sometimes, but was too vain to wear them,

“This date certainly doesn’t agree with the information he gave us, Verity. According to this, he was in Hanbury at least three days before he had admitted to being there.”

She lifted her eyes to his; “Does this mean we have him, Cadmus?”

“It could. We will have to question him again, and if he persists in the lie, then we certainly have something to present to Mr. Gratten.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Because they were in company with others, their conversation turned to other things, but their intense conversation had not been missed by several others in the party and not all were happy to see a lightening of the gloom, which had so recently surrounded them.

Charlotte flirted more outrageously than ever with her two country swains, but was infuriated to realize that Underwood was scarcely even aware of her presence, and far from being made jealous by her obvious popularity, was engrossed in his wife’s conversation. Isobel watched everything with severe misgivings, knowing well that her sister was likely to reinforce her determined pursuit of Underwood, now that she had been thwarted.

Only Catherine and Gil seemed a world apart. True to his word, the vicar gave no sign, by word or action, that he considered the young widow to be anything other than a charming companion. She found it hard to believe he had ever spoken words of love to her, so calm was his demeanour, and she was acutely grateful that he had made it so easy for her to be in his company, for the truth was she very much enjoyed it. She had feared a feeling of embarrassment or even diffidence, but within seconds of being with her, he had set her at her ease. With this new relaxed atmosphere between them, Gil was at his best; content to be with her, without the weight of his unspoken emotions casting a cloud over his personality, he was free to be the man only his family usually saw. Because of their differing religions, he was not required to be a minister – in fact was at some pains not to be so, and with this serious side to his nature removed, Catherine found a witty, humorous, kind and intelligent man.

As the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, and the shadows grew long, they packed the remains of their feast into the baskets, hoisted them and themselves back into the carriages and set off for home, all content with what had been on the whole a very agreeable outing.

There were more treats in store, for Lady Hartley-Wells, much impressed by their Christian actions in caring for the two invalid children, had arranged a magnificent dinner party followed by a musical soiree.

Underwood was less than pleased when he was informed that he was to be part of the entertainment, but Verity’s pleading glance could not be ignored, and he at last consented to performing a duet upon the pianoforte with his wife. He was a reticent man, but not entirely without vanity, so the enthusiastic applause was accepted with a wry smile and a kiss on his partner’s hand.

One look at her sister’s face caused Isobel even more discomfort. Charlotte was livid and made no attempt to hide it. She was sure now that Verity was deliberately showing off her talents in order to expose Charlotte’s shortcomings. It seemed now that the whole day had been a procession of events which displayed all Verity’s charms and accomplishments and Charlotte, who had at first been inclined to despise and discount the importance of her former governess, was now coming perilously close to hating her with a passion rarely experienced before.

Verity, blissfully unaware of all the malevolence, merely enjoyed the evening and was delighted to see that her husband and brother-in-law seemed to do likewise.

It was, perhaps, just as well that they had spent a pleasant day, for there was a shock awaiting them which was to seriously mar their memories of the occasion.