An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (14 page)

When Grantley arrived he carefully asked after Underwood first and upon being told of his slight indisposition, he suggested that he need not be disturbed by a visit from the Constable.  Francis, however, had thought long and hard about Underwood’s theory and felt that it had sense enough to make it plausible.  So, rather unwillingly, Grantley was shown into Underwood’s bedroom.

That gentleman was thoroughly enjoying his bout of illness.  He had eaten heartily and was now referring to the myriad volumes spread across his bed.

“My dear Grantley, good morning to you,” he hailed the newcomer, “Come in and tell me what I can do for you.”

                The Constable remarked that Francis had briefly outlined his theory, but that he required a fuller explanation.  Underwood was never reluctant to display his powers of deduction, so he happily took Grantley through the intricacies of the Catholic faith.

After listening carefully, Grantley commented, “That’s all very well, Underwood, but how can we be sure she takes her religion so seriously?  Evidently she was willing to commit suicide last night and she married out of her faith, which, I understand is greatly frowned upon.”

“A good point, Grantley, but, by drowning she could be said to have met an accidental death – it is not, after all, her fault that she cannot swim. And I have it from William’s own lips that she did
not
marry out of her faith.  Peter married into it.  Naturally it had been kept very quiet, but I can assure you it is so.”

“By Jupiter, that is a surprise.  A staunch member of the Church of England married into the Church of Rome.  No wonder the Earl wanted to keep it quiet.  So we can take it from that, Lady Lovell does take her religion very seriously.  I think perhaps I had better have a little chat with her.”

                Underwood raised a quizzical brow, “Take my advice, Grantley, handle her with kid gloves.  She was in deadly earnest last night – I know, I had to fight with her.”

“I think I know how to conduct myself,” said Grantley with dignity.

“If you say so, my friend.”

*

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

(“Vive Hodie” – Live today)

The maid tried her best to keep Grantley out of Luisa’s bedroom, but in his most arrogant style he merely brushed her aside and walked in, only to be confronted by the lady vomiting profitably into the basin on her washstand.  For a moment he was unspeakably shocked, thinking her ill, then he recalled her early pregnancy and the emotion changed to one of profound pity.

As she wiped her mouth on a towel, she turned and was obviously horrified that he should have witnessed her shame.  Reaching out a hand to steady herself on the bedpost, she staggered across to her bed and climbed into it, saying, in strangled tones, as she did so, “Is it your habit, sir, to burst into a lady’s room unannounced?”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Lovell.  You must blame my eagerness to see you are unharmed.  After last night, I feared…”

                She sank back on her pillows, her face utterly weary, “I can see I will never be allowed to forget the folly my grief led me to.”

“I had not intended to distress you.”

“Then what was the purpose of your visit?”  She might be unwell and exhausted, but she still had enough spirit to be tart with him.  He hid a smile, “More questions, I fear, madam.”

“You may ask them, sir, but
I
fear you will get no answers.  I have told you that I do not know what happened.  Do you think if you harry me in this way, I will change my mind and say that I was
not
unconscious?  I cannot do that!”

“My questions do not concern the night of the murder, my Lady, but something entirely different.”

“Oh,” she seemed a little surprised, then swiftly recovered her equanimity, “Very well, ask whatever you will,” she added, with a shrug of indifference.

“Is Trentham Lovell in love with you?”

This she had not been expecting, nor the hard edge to his voice when he said it.  She looked at him with fear widened eyes, “How do you expect me to answer that?  How can I know what the boy feels for me – or anyone else?”

“Very well, I will ask a question you can answer – are you in love with him?”

The only response was a sharp intake of breath.

“I repeat, madam, are you indulging in a love affair with your nephew-by-marriage?”

“You disgust me!”

                It was his turn to shrug, but it was a causal gesture designed to disguise his lack of indifference, “Sometimes I disgust myself.  But the inquest on your husband is due to be heard this afternoon, and as Constable of this town, I am obliged to present a case to the Magistrate.  At the moment I have the most pathetic assortment of disparate clues it has ever been my misfortune to see.  I have a murder with no motive, no weapon, no sense and no suspect.  Moreover it seems to have been committed by an invisible man in a locked room!  My only witness claims to have been unconscious throughout and says she was happily married to a man who could have no reason to commit suicide.  I ask you, madam, would you care to step into my shoes this afternoon?”

She looked both sulky and annoyed, “I am so sorry for you!  You must be devastated by your misfortune.  I merely have to live with the fact that my husband is dead, my unborn child will be fatherless, my in-laws hate me with a passion and if I say a word out of place, I will put my husband’s nephew on the gallows.  What have I to complain of compared to your troubles?”

He had no answer to that, and took to pacing about the room.  She watched him, biting her lip to hold back the tears that threatened.  She would not cry before this cold man again, she was determined.

At last he ceased his pacing and looked directly at her, “I will ask the Magistrate to adjourn the hearing.  It should not be difficult to arrange, when one considers the identity of the players in the drama.  But I must ask you, and hear the answer for my own satisfaction.  Are you in love with Trentham Lovell?”

“You have no right to ask me.”

“I know it, and I am begging most humbly that you give me a true reply.  I swear it will go no further than these four walls, but for God’s sake, tell me.”  She had never thought to hear such passion in his voice.  From the first he had seemed cold and unemotional, lacking in sympathy for her plight and sorrow for Peter’s death.  She hesitated, then said, in a whisper, “If Trentham were not Peter’s nephew I would never want to set eyes on him again.  He is an odious little toad, who has caused me nothing but untold misery since the first moment he decided to fall so stupidly in love with me!  He has been harder to dislodge than one of those horrid little creatures on the bottom of boats – I don’t know the English word for them.”

“Barnacles,” supplied Grantley, without thinking.

“Yes, those!”  As her anger rose, her voice grew stronger, “I have tried to be nice, to be nasty, to pretend indifference, to display anger, to threaten and cajole.  Nothing has made him leave me alone.  How could Peter believe me when I swore I was not encouraging the foolish boy, when back he came, time after time, until I was sick of the sight and sound of him?  His declarations not only horrified me, they repulsed me and I told him so, but he would not have it.  He has convinced himself I could not possibly love Peter and was only staying with him out of duty and greed for his money.  Love Trentham?  I hate Trentham!  And I would like nothing more than to see him hang.  But I cannot lie to you, I saw nothing!  I cannot believe Trentham killed his uncle, but I cannot swear he did not, because I did not see the blow struck.  Does that satisfy you?”

For the first time in a very long career, Constable Grantley was speechless.

*

When the ladies returned from Mrs. McClure’s house that afternoon, they found Luisa alone.  The gentlemen had all gone to attend the inquest into the death of Lord Peter Lovell.

Luisa seemed calm enough until she caught sight of Verity and then she burst into tears and flung herself at her new friend.  The warm-hearted Mrs. Underwood was rather shocked, but hid her alarm well, patting Luisa’s back as though she were a child and speaking softly to her.  With a swift gesture of her hand, she signalled the others to go out of the room and leave her alone with the distressed widow, and frankly they did not need much encouragement to go.  They were fond of the little Italian, but her displays of passion and grief were so intense that they found them somewhat embarrassing.  All their lives they had been trained to keep their emotions under strict control and such scenes had been subdued in the dim and distant past of their childhood years.  The Countess had a vague memory of lying on the nursery floor and drumming her heels on the floor – and being well slapped by her nanny for it.  Luisa had no such inhibitions and it was oddly disconcerting for them to witness it.

                When Luisa had composed herself enough to speak, she sat next to Verity on the settee and took her hand, “My dear Verity, I am so frightened!  What will happen now?  That horrid man, Mr. Grantley, thinks Trentham killed Peter.  How will the family ever forgive me if Trentham hangs?  They will say I have killed them both!”

“They will do no such thing.  How can this all be your fault?  You have behaved impeccably throughout.  You loved Peter and gave Trentham no encouragement.  If that foolish boy has done this terrible thing, then he has no one but himself to blame.  But I think you are worrying unnecessarily.  I don’t believe Trentham is capable of murder.  There will be some perfectly simple explanation, and my Underwood will find it, you will see.”

*

Underwood, listening grim-visaged to the evidence produced at the inquest hearing, was as puzzled as everyone else.  It was the locked room which messed up the whole thing.  If it had not been for that damned chair wedged under the doorknob, there would be no mystery.  An assailant, who entered, killed and left.  They would still be no nearer to knowing who that assailant was, but at least they would know
how
he had done it.

The Magistrate, not unreasonably, was furious at the absence of the widow and the victim’s nephew, but since he was faced with a dear friend of the King, he could hardly voice his disapproval.  He contented himself with sternly telling the Earl that he was minded to agree to an adjournment, so that the authorities could complete their enquiries, but that when the court reconvened, he expected to see
every
member of the noble family before him.

With an almost unanimous sigh of relief, the Earl and his companions left the room, followed closely by Mr. Grantley, who so far forgot himself to grip the arm of the aristocrat, “My Lord, I would have words with you,”

The Earl glanced down disdainfully at the hand which held him, and Grantley blushed a deep red and released him, half angry with himself for falling into line, but wholly aware that the Earl had an innate sense of his own worth which carried him through any situation.

“What is it, Grantley?”

“I merely want to remind you that I must have speech with your son as a matter of urgency.”

“I had not forgotten.  He will be back in Brighton this evening.  You may call and speak to him then – in fact, you must do so, if you want to catch him, for we are all going back to London tomorrow.  Peter’s funeral must be held forthwith, and I want to be there to greet my daughter and her husband when they arrive back from the Continent.”

“Until this evening, then.”

The Earl watched him as he disappeared into the crowds, who milled outside the building where the court had been held, until he heard Underwood calling to him.

“What is it?”

“This gentleman is from the press, sir.  I have told him we have nothing to say to him, but he insists on having speech with you.”

“Tell him to go to the devil!” said the Earl bitterly, and thrust a way through the people to the carriage waiting at the roadside.  Underwood grinned and followed, whilst Francis gripped the back of Jeremy’s wheeled chair and began the short walk back to the house.

*

The kisses and embraces which awaited the men when they returned would have done justice to a parting of several weeks, rather than one night, but the ladies were all feeling emotional.  They had all had to leave their children behind and they had witnessed, at first hand, the utter misery which had swamped Luisa at the loss of her husband.  There was not one amongst them who had not, at some point, given a thought as to how they would have felt had they been in the little Italian woman’s place. 

Even the Countess, married to please her parents and long ago grown accustomed to having the Earl about her, was forced to conclude that she had grown fond of her husband in their years together and would miss him dreadfully should they be forced apart.  He was quite astounded to find himself clasped close to her breast, and a kiss placed squarely upon his lips.  He had never kissed her anywhere but on the cheek outside the bedroom, and he had not done so even there for a number of years.  Once their children had been born, she had felt that she had done her duty and need do no more and he had accepted her decision with stoicism, aided by the knowledge that he had a very plump and pretty mistress who adored him and had borne him three daughters.  Naturally this would never be known by his legitimate family, but the sudden affection of his wife was a pleasant surprise, and one which would earn both mistress and wife a trinket of jewellery to wear.

The other gentlemen, having no such guilty secrets, were simply pleased to have their wives back safe and sound, and, if they were brutally honest, not sorry to have a short break from their offspring.  They were all deeply fond of their children, and would have fought to the death to protect them, but, being men, they had a similar attention span as their infants and soon grew bored with babies who required constant stimulation.  They would all enjoy having the undivided attention of their ladies.

Underwood especially, could not wait to take his wife off and spend some time alone with her.  Not only had he missed her, he also wanted to discuss the case with her.  Verity was invaluable to him.  She was the perfect wife; pliant and eager to please, but with a rare intelligence and a razor wit.  She would shed some light onto this mystery, he was sure of it.

They made their excuses and went for a walk, talking animatedly as they strolled along.

“Has Horatia settled well with Mrs. McClure, my dear?”

                Verity laughed softly, “You can have no conception how well, my love.  Far from being the strict disciplinarian described by the Countess, Mrs. McClure appears to have mellowed in her middle years.  The children were running wild within minutes of arriving.  They all cast off their shoes and hats and headed for the fields.  I’m afraid your daughter will look like a country child when her holiday is over.”

“Good.  I should hate to think of her being unhappy, but it really would not do to have her here with us just now.”

“No, I admit you were right to suggest the children were taken away.  They all seemed relieved to escape from the gloomy atmosphere.  Poor Alistair, especially.  It is a bare eighteen months since Catherine died.  He really did not need to be reminded of the horror of loss.  I know poor Luisa has tried to be brave, but she cannot be expected to hide her feelings all the time.”