Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) (14 page)

*

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

(“Ad Utrumque Partatus” – Ready for either eventuality – good or bad)

Underwood had no presentiment of disaster when he noticed a letter addressed to himself propped against the mantle clock. It was in Oliver Dunstable’s rather untidy script, and if it looked to be even more of a scrawl than usual, Underwood merely put that down to being written in haste.

Written in haste indeed it was. As he scanned the few lines it contained, Underwood’s face grew pale and Verity, always alert to her husband’s moods asked, in sudden panic, “What has happened?”

Underwood sank into the nearest chair, crumpling the missive between his hands and dropping his head, as though physically crushed by the news it imparted,

“The witless idiot! The mindless, stupid, heedless young fool!”

“What is it?” demanded Verity, in a voice so compelling that he raised his head and looked at her, as though suddenly remembering her presence, “I’m sorry, my dear, but if you only knew … Tell me, what could the boy do that would be more fatal than anything else?”

“He’s run away?” suggested his wife tentatively.

“Worse! He’s run away with Miss Marsh – and he fully intends to marry her.”

“Good God!”

“
’Good’
! There is no goodness in the god that overlooks me. How am I to explain this to the Constable and the Magistrate? I persuaded them both to release Dunstable into my custody, assuring them of his continued presence in Hanbury. I’ll be fortunate if I don’t find myself behind bars, charged with aiding and abetting a murderer.”

“It will not come to that, I’m sure. They know you acted with the best of intentions.”

“You know what they say about the road to Hell and good intentions, Verity. Damn the boy! I could strangle him myself for this folly. What chance does he imagine he has now of avoiding the hangman’s noose?”

“Perhaps he will leave the country.”

“I suppose he may, but he must know he can never return if he does. His actions have confirmed him as his wife’s murderer – and the real culprit will have evaded justice.”

“If that is so, then there is nothing we can do about it, but I feel we ought to contact Mr. Gratten immediately. The longer we delay, the worse it looks for us.”

“Very true. I had better take myself off right away.”

“Can you not send a message? You are so tired. It has been a long day…”

“It is going to be an even longer night. Don’t wait up for me. I fear I may be late.”

Verity looked into his eyes and she knew he feared he might not be coming home at all. He had spoken nothing less than the truth when he voiced a dread of gaol, though he had tried to make light of it not to frighten her. The constable was likely to take a very dim view of Underwood’s loss of the major suspect in a murder investigation – especially when he had been so adamant in championing the one man every one else thought guilty. Immediately she picked up her cape from where she had laid it on the sofa when they entered the house, and draped it about her shoulders,

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Please Cadmus. I will speak to Mr. Gratten and explain how this was no fault of yours. He may be more inclined to listen to reason from a woman…”

“I said no, and I meant it. This is my error and I will take the consequences alone.”

“But…”

              He held up his hand for silence, “My dear, never since our wedding day have I asked you to honour the vow of obedience you made – I am asking you now.”

“When we faced Gil at the altar, Cadmus, we also spoke of ‘better and worse’,” she reminded him gently. He smiled, the smile which reminded her why she loved him so desperately, because when it reached his grey eyes, it turned them smoky with desire, like embers which look dead, but which one knows one only has to stir to bring them back to a leaping flame.

“You must have known even then there was going to be far more ‘worse’ than ‘better’.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said throatily.

He reached out for her hand and kissed it, “Bless your heart for that, my dear, but still you stay here.”

With a sigh she acceded to his order.

*

Mr. Gratten greeted Underwood congenially, though he was evidently surprised at the tardiness of the visit, “’Evening Underwood, rather late for a social call, so I assume you have some news for me. Had a breakthrough, have you?”

“Not exactly. Shall we have a seat?”

Gratten obligingly led him into the drawing room and once they were both comfortably settled, Underwood wasted no time in breaking the bad news, “I’m sorry to have to tell you we have a problem, Mr. Gratten – rather a serious one.”

Poor Gratten, with no idea of the tidal wave that was about to engulf him, smiled cheerfully, “Whatever it is, I’m sure I can rely on you to solve it, dear fellow.”

“Not this time, sir. Dunstable has taken it into his head to go travelling.”

Underwood, rather callously, watched in complete fascination as the colour slowly drained from his companion’s normally ruddy countenance; it was as though someone had turned off a tap and the blood had simply poured away. It was several tense seconds before the Constable was able to speak, then his voice was a croak of disbelief, “Travelling?” he repeated faintly, sounding winded, “Are you trying to tell me he has left Hanbury – after all the warnings he was given of the serious consequences of such an action?”

“He has.”

“But of course you know his destination?” His tone was more hopeful than the question implied.

“No.”

“And he intends to return when?”

“The letter he left for me indicates that he does indeed intend to return when … when he has settled the business which calls him away, but whether he will actually do so is a matter for conjecture, as is the duration of his absence.”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Gratten, suddenly recovering full use of his voice, “This is dreadful. Do you realize what this means?”

Underwood felt that the elderly gentleman did not really require any input from him at this juncture, so wisely held his tongue. Gratten continued without drawing breath, “It means he did it. He has duped us all, with that heartfelt weeping, and youthful air of innocence. We have let a murderer escape. By Jupiter, Sir Alfred Dorrington is going to love this snippet.”

Mr. Underwood felt it behoved him to intervene, “I beg you will be calm, sir. It means nothing of the sort. Dunstable is the kind of hot-headed young fool who bows to the prevailing wind, but he is not a killer. The truth of the matter is he has a young lady friend who is expecting his child – he wants – not unnaturally – to marry her before the child is born.”

If Underwood hoped this news would soften the blow for Gratten, he was destined to be sadly disappointed, for that gentleman grew almost apoplectic,

“Marriage… pregnancy… Oh God! Oh God!”

Underwood glanced swiftly about the room and spotted a decanter on a side table and quickly crossed the room to fill a glass for his afflicted companion. Gratten tossed off the liquid in one mouthful, then choked alarmingly and managed to gasp,

“Ratafia for the ladies! Are you trying to kill me?”

“I do beg your pardon.”

Gratten managed to bring himself under control and finally turned his anger upon the one who had been momentarily expecting it, “This is your doing, Underwood. Why in hell did I ever listen to you? I should have followed my first instinct and thrown the young puppy straight into gaol.”

“Mr. Gratten, believe me I entirely understand your anger, but even in spite of this occurrence, I still maintain Dunstable is innocent of murdering his wife. Admittedly he is guilty of almost every other folly and vice you care to name, but that doesn’t make him an assassin.”

The constable, however, was in no mood for rational thought, “Give me one good reason why I should believe anything you say, and why I should not now throw you in prison for aiding the escape of a suspected felon.”

“I don’t have one,” said Underwood candidly. Gratten looked on the point of a heart attack, but he managed to hiss viciously, “Get out of my sight, Underwood. And pray, pray hard, that Mr. Dunstable decides to return to Hanbury in the next few days.”

*

Verity was in bed, though not asleep, when Underwood crept up the stairs, so as not to disturb the slumbering household, all of whom had fallen into bed before he and Verity had even read Dunstable’s fateful missive, and so knew nothing of the latest developments. She laid aside her book as he entered the bedroom, and one look at his face told her not to try and say anything cheering. He began to dispiritedly divest himself of his garments and she watched him silently as he threw aside his coat and began to loosen his cravat. The relief she felt at his safe return was reflected in her loving glance, but Underwood did not look at her.

When he sank wearily into a chair and attempted to pull off his boots, she cast aside the covers and sped to aid him. He made no protest, as he would normally be inclined to do, but lay back and let her tug at the offending articles.

“You should have changed into your shoes before going out again this evening,” she said, rather breathlessly, “I think your feet are swollen from all the walking in the hills.”

He sat upright; “I know it. I’ve been longing to remove these damn boots for the last two hours at least.”

“I’ll get you some water from the kitchen, you can soak your feet.”

He began to laugh, “How very domesticated we sound. Tell me something, my dear. Do you want your own house very much?”

“Not if you do not,” she answered, too swiftly for it to be true. He reached out a hand and grasping her wrist, pulled her down onto his lap, “Don’t do that, dear one.”

“What?”

“Subject yourself to my will. God knows I’m a selfish creature – Gil was right about that. If you continue to please me at your own expense, I shall soon be intolerable.”

She smiled knowingly, “Oh dear, was Mr. Gratten very angry? He must have carpeted you very thoroughly indeed to have roused this mood of penitence.”

“Horrid child!” he murmured, and kissed her.

She lay quietly in his arms for a few moments, her head nestled against his shoulder, “I do want my own house, Cadmus,” she ventured presently.

He had almost fallen asleep, so cosy had been their position, but this brought him to full wakefulness, “I’ve been a knave, haven’t I?”

“A little thoughtless, perhaps, but you are right, it is my fault. I should have told you, not expected you to read my mind – I ought to know by now that you are not in the least perceptive and the most insensitive…”

He stopped her mid sentence, “Yes, yes, I see. There is no need to labour the point.”

She giggled softly against his neck, “Poor Cadmus, is the whole world against you?”

“It certainly seems so,” he agreed feelingly, “Now, since we finally have the truth from you, perhaps you would care to confide the rest of your plans – for I have no doubt you have them aplenty.”

She sat up, suddenly full of energy, “Well, there is a lovely house, right here in Hanbury…”

“I thought there might be,” he said, with an air of resignation, “At least that will be convenient for visiting me in the local gaol…”

All thought of domesticity fled from her mind and she looked at him with great concern, “Is it really that serious, or are you merely teasing?”

“A little of both, I’m afraid. Gratten is not pleased – in fact this incident has sent him into something of a panic, but I don’t imagine I stand in immediate danger of being hauled off by the militia. Things may grow more desperate, however, if Dunstable decides to flee the country. Gratten may feel the need to present the local magistrate with a scapegoat, and if it is not to be Dunstable, it may well be me.”

Verity threw her arms protectively about him, as though by doing so she could fend off the threat to his person, “Don’t! Oh, pray don’t! I can’t bear the idea.”

He patted her shoulder gently, rather surprised by the passionate display, for relations between them had been somewhat distant of late and he had been beginning to fear the adoration she had appeared to bestow on him in the first months of their marriage was fading, “Come now, there’s no need for this. I’m not breaking rocks or picking oakum yet”

His only answer was a muffled sob and he cursed himself for having so distressed her, “Good Heavens, Verity, this isn’t like you.”

              She knew it, but still she could not stem the tears, it was as though she had no control over her emotions. Imagining how it would feel to have him taken from her, bearing her baby alone, surviving every day without him, she lived every agonising moment of it in the space of those few seconds and it sent her into a sort of frenzy. Soon her weeping had grown so intense that sobs shook her whole body and Underwood was panicked into speaking harshly to her. Suddenly she had to get off his knee and rush to the washstand, where she began to retch painfully and very profitably, much to his concern and astonishment.