A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) (7 page)

At the door he released the horse and approached the side of the gig, “Get down,” he said curtly.

  “Certainly not!”

He whipped the reins from her hand then gripped her waist and jerked her unceremoniously into his arms, taking her so much by surprise that she had no chance to reject his aid.

“Put me down…” she began breathlessly, but even as she spoke he dropped her to her feet, then taking her hand once more he began to drag her towards the front door.

“Stop it, Mr. Underwood!  This foolishness has gone far enough.  What will Dr. Herbert think if he sees us?”

“I don’t give a damn!”

She was profoundly shocked, “Mr. Underwood!”

“I do beg your pardon, Miss Chapell.  I quite forgot myself.  What I meant to say was that if you do not wish Dr. Herbert to think ill of either of us then pray stop struggling, and do as I tell you.”  She knew he was being sarcastic, and that he was not in the least sorry he had sworn at her, but she found herself not minding very much.

With great dignity, she withdrew her hand from his grasp, tugged her pelisse straight, adjusted her bonnet and said quietly, “Very well.”

The elderly maid who admitted them showed no surprise at all to see a rather flustered Miss Chapell, cheeks pink, hair slightly untidy, in the company of a tall, blond gentleman, who was also looking far from calm.  Over the years, Gertrude had seen far stranger sights on the doctor’s doorstep.

“What name shall I give, sir?” she asked, when the request to see Dr. Herbert had been voiced.

“Underwood,” was the brusque reply.

“Oh, then you’ll be the Reverend’s brother?”  With that she walked away, thankfully missing the explosion of annoyance which this comment provoked, “Is there anyone in these parts who doesn’t know me as anything other than the vicar’s brother?”  Though she felt his irritation was justifiable, still Miss Chapell laughed unkindly, 

“Why should you mind?”

“I’ve no idea, but I know I do mind – very much indeed!”  This was not strictly true.  He did know exactly why it angered him so much, but he was not about to confide in his companion.  For the most part, his life was one of quiet and pleasant anonymity; the only fame he ever attained was within the precincts of his college, where he knew he was discussed with a mixture of affection and fury, depending upon the point of view of the speaker.  He did not like to have that anonymity stripped so crudely from him, and he detested the notion that here he was known only as an appendage of someone else’s life, and not a person in his own right.  Minor matters, of course, but his very trying morning had suddenly endowed minor matters with a whole new importance.

The arrival of the doctor at the door of the small side room where Gertrude had left them prevented further cogitation, and Mr. Underwood happily put his feelings of discontent aside and began to concentrate on the task in hand.

Introductions made – unnecessary in Miss Chapell’s case, since she was already known to both Dr. Herbert and his wife – Underwood lost no time in pursuing his line of enquiry, “I understand from my brother that there was an unsolved murder committed in Bracken Tor approximately a year ago, and that you performed the post mortem examination.  I have set myself the task of trying to solve the case, and I would be grateful for your co-operation.”

If the doctor was shocked by this forthright opening, it was nothing to Miss Chapell’s astonishment, but she had the supreme intelligence to remain silent.

Dr. Herbert took a moment to recover himself, and to decide exactly how he felt about this turn of events before he spoke, carefully avoiding eye contact with Miss Chapell, “I should be very glad to see the mystery solved Mr. Underwood, but do you think this is the sort of conversation which ought to take place in the presence of a young lady?”

Mr. Underwood glanced briefly at his companion, then returned his gaze to the man before him, “Miss Chapell has committed herself to helping me in this endeavour.  She is quite prepared for anything shocking you may have to say.”

The doctor looked enquiringly in the young lady’s direction, “Are you quite sure about that, Miss Chapell?”

Looking a little pale – this was an entirely unexpected situation in which she found herself, but she was determined now to see it through to the end – she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, “Quite sure!”

“Very well.  Shall we go into my study?  I have the notes I made there.”

Silently the two followed him, but as they reached the door Mr. Underwood held her back and said in an undertone, “That was unforgivable.  I had no right to thrust this upon you.  I can only blame my temper and tell you that if you wish to leave, I would entirely understand.”

She looked up at him, searching his face; “Do you really want my help?”

“Not unless you wish to offer it.”

“I do.”

With that the entered the study together and Mr. Underwood closed the door behind them.

The thirty minutes which followed were amongst the most difficult Miss Chapell had ever known.  She learned details of a death which were rarely discussed before a woman of her class and generation.  Protected all her life from such sordid and unpleasant events, she was profoundly shocked, and almost uncontrollably nauseated, but she survived with her dignity intact and her admiration for her two companions increased considerably.  The professional coolness with which they debated their subject amazed her.

Mr. Underwood, armed with his own travelling ink-well, pen and leather-bound note book, took copious notes, and even the doctor sharpened himself a quill and adjusted his own script accordingly, when Underwood made an interesting observation.  For the most part, though, he simply read aloud, pausing to answer Mr. Underwood’s questions, mostly from memory.  In a very short time they had begun to overlook Miss Chapell’s presence and became necessarily graphic.

“The body was discovered at around 5.30 on the morning of April 25
th
1819, by Toby Hallam, gamekeeper to Sir. Henry Wynter.  He, very sensibly, touched nothing, but ran immediately to the house – Wynter Court, I mean, not his own cottage.  He roused the household and the order came from Sir Henry to fetch me.  I arrived at 7.15.”

“Almost two hours had elapsed?  Isn’t that rather a long delay?  Surely a fast horse could have covered the distance in a matter of minutes?”

  I must admit a similar thought occurred to me at the time, but I suppose one must make allowances for the early hour, the shock, the panic, misunderstood instructions.  Also it was obvious from the onset that the girl was beyond help, so I imagine no one thought hurrying was necessary.”

“That is true enough.  Pray continue.”

“The corpse, as I assume you already know, was headless, but judging from other indications, such as the length of her thigh bone, I would estimate her height to have been around five feet, and her age could have been anything between thirteen and twenty years.”

“You can be no more specific than that?”

“Unfortunately not.  She was well-developed, but not particularly well-nourished, and young girls have a tendency to reach maturity at vastly differing ages – as indeed do boys.”

“Quite,” agreed Underwood.  He had known fifteen year old boys tower over him, and seventeen year olds still in the college choir with unbroken voices.

“Without her teeth to act as a guideline, I can say nothing more than that, but I would wager she was no older.”

Underwood made his note and the doctor waited for the scratching of his nib to cease before continuing, “Judging from the amount of blood – or rather the lack of it, I should say she was already dead when the decapitation was carried out, and that it was clumsily done, with a non-too sharp implement.  The victim was probably face down when the mutilation was inflicted, and it took several blows to attain complete severance.  There were several deep gashes in the region of the shoulders, presumably caused by misaimed blows.  I would say that the assailant was either not particularly strong, or entirely panic-stricken.”

“Probably the latter, given the circumstances,” remarked Underwood.

The doctor neither agreed nor disagreed, but went on with his narrative, “In my opinion – and it is only an opinion, based on my own observations – death occurred elsewhere, but the mutilation was carried out on a spot near where the body was found.  A few feet away there is a flat stone, which bore traces of blood, bone, flesh, cloth, and which was chipped as though it had been struck with some sort of hatchet or hand axe - the sort, I suppose, which one would use to split kindling.  Every household in the country probably has one, and it would be easy enough to carry away without too much difficulty.  There would be other instruments which would have made the task easier, but if the murderer was seen carrying something large and gory, he might not have found it so easy to explain away.  If that were the case, it would account for the haste and carelessness of the deed.  The murderer would be terrified of being caught in the act.  He would not be particularly bloodstained himself, because, as I’ve already said, the girl was dead, so blood-loss would be minimal.  Rigor mortis had already set in when I reached her, and the heart had long-since ceased to beat.  There was no body heat left at all, but she was outside, and it was not a particularly warm night, though there had been no frost.”

“Have you any idea how she was actually killed, since the decapitation was evidently not the cause of death.”

“There were no marks upon the body, other than those I’ve already described, so my own guess would be trauma to the head, either by a blow or a gun-shot, or strangulation.  I suggest a blow to the head.  There was no trace of burnt powder, as would be the case had a gun been used, and what little was left of the neck showed no throttling evidence such as finger or rope marked bruising.”

“Could you tell me anything about her social status?”  asked Mr. Underwood, much to Miss Chapell’s relief.  She felt she had heard quite enough of the bloodier aspects of the case.

“Well, the next part of my task was to have the body brought here, where I performed a much more thorough examination.  She was, as I mentioned, not particularly well nourished, but that in itself means very little.  Most people eat if they can, but in my experience I have found that one section of society does not fall into that category – and that is young girls.  Lady Hamilton did us all a favour by making plumpness a fashion, but alas she is gone and we are back to feeling that a woman must be tall and willowy to be thought attractive.  It is not uncommon for young ladies of all classes to deny themselves proper sustenance!”

Miss Chapell could only be grateful that neither man glanced in her direction.  A blush crept into her cheeks, for ‘tall and willowy’ would never be applied to her.  She was short – only a little over five feet two and she had a healthy appetite, even when at her most miserable and lonely.

  “However,” continued the doctor, “her clothes were more telling.  They were of a good quality, but fairly worn, and obviously second-hand.”

Underwood gave Dr. Herbert a shrewd look from beneath half-closed lids,

“What led you to that assumption?”

“The normal areas of wear did not match the girl’s own dimensions.  The elbows of the dress, for example.  There was a place were the continuous bending of the joint had caused the material to become considerably thinned, but that spot did not lie on the girl’s elbow, but further down her arm, yet the cuffs were neat and unfrayed, leading me to suppose they were newly turned.  From little things like that I deduced the garment had once belonged to someone larger, who had worn it well before discarding it to be altered for a different – and smaller – wearer.”

Mr. Underwood smiled for the first time since the interview began, “You have my unstinting admiration, Dr. Herbert.  I only wish everyone had your capacity for observation.”

“Thank you – but I rather wish everyone had
your
capacity for realising that such details can be of importance.  When I made these comments to Sir Henry, he was extremely scathing!  Demanded to know what the devil use such information was.  Who cared whether the girl was dressed in altered clothing?  It did not help to catch her killer, in his opinion.”

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but I feel the need to ask the same question,” intercepted Miss Chapell diffidently, “Why does it matter what clothes she wore?”

“It gives us some indication of her possible background.  In order to find this murderer, we really need to know who and what the girl was in life.  It could well be that this was a random killing by a madman, but I suspect it was not.”

“Also,” added the doctor, “It reinforces what we already imagined.  Which is that the girl was poor.  It is highly unlikely that a rich or well-bred young woman could disappear without provoking an outcry, but poor girls vanish every day of the week without producing even a flicker of interest.  I fear that the moral of this story must be that had this girl been well-to-do there would have been a greater determination to find her killer.”

“Do you really believe that, Dr. Herbert?”  That Miss Chapell was distressed by this assertion was obvious, but in all honesty the doctor could not now deny what he had said, “Yes, I’m afraid that is precisely what I believe, which is why I welcome Mr. Underwood’s self-inflicted task.  No person’s life should be held less precious because their birth was lowly.”