An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (21 page)

“My lady, I have no wish to distress you, but you really must tell me the truth.”

“Go away!”

“I cannot!  Luisa, this must be resolved,” he spoke harshly and immediately regretted it.  He took a deep breath, “Let me help you,” he added, more softly.

“How can you help?”  she asked, raising her head and looking at him, despair and misery displayed all too plainly in her eyes, “Whichever way I turn there is death and destruction.”

“Perhaps if I knew everything, I could find a way,” he cajoled, seating himself beside her, “Any court in the land would listen with sympathy to your story.  Peter was being unbearable – he had even beaten you in the presence of your father – what man would not try to protect his daughter under such circumstances?”

She wavered, half wanting to throw herself on his mercy, but still unsure whether or not she could trust him.  She cast a pleading glance towards Underwood, “Dear sir, tell me what to do,” she whispered in anguish.

“There is only one thing to do, my dear.  Tell Mr. Grantley everything.  I assure you, he has your best interests at heart and will do his utmost to ensure your future happiness,”

She lowered her head into her hands, the large gem which was Peter’s engagement present glowing warmly against the sallow flesh of her finger, “I will never be happy again.  I have lost the man I loved!”

Grantley could control himself no longer, he took possession of one of her hands and kissed it fervently, “You did not love him, Luisa.  You could never have done so, after the way he treated you.  You were grateful, merely, that he consented to marry you and deliver you from poverty and misery.”

As Luisa lifted her tear-stained face and stared, astounded, into Grantley’s eyes, Underwood felt the moment had arrived that he should leave.

He sidled out, closing the door quietly behind him.

*

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

(“Occasionem Cognosce”- Strike while the iron is hot – Literally, “Recognize Opportunity”)

The message, when it arrived, sent the Countess into a frenzy.  She had been growing steadily more frantic as the time passed and there was still no sign of Trentham, now her worst fears had been realized.  She had been unconvinced from the onset that her husband’s cynical assurances that their son had merely taken himself off to a cockfight or a mill would prove to be true.  His had been an ominous silence.  It was unlike him to neglect to tell his mother of his whereabouts – it was not always true, but he never failed to tell her something!

A carriage accident could happen to anyone, especially in the notoriously unstable phaeton, but this was particularly cruel, for it seemed that Trentham had only just missed breaking his neck.  As it was he had been unconscious for several hours and had broken ribs and his collarbone, besides the damage done to his handsome face. 

When the axle had snapped he had been on a desolate stretch of road which had meant he had not been found for some time and then his rescuers had not thought of searching his luggage to find his identity until the following morning.

It appeared he had set out on his journey less than an hour after the rest of the party, and his mother’s premonition of disaster had been quite correct.

Within minutes of hearing of the mishap, the Earl and Countess were issuing orders for the packing of some bare essentials so that they might fly to their son’s side.  The Earl sent for Underwood and briefly explained the situation, “I apologise, Underwood, this means I must leave you here – without being able to offer you the option of going home.  Grantley will not countenance us all leaving, but we really must go to Trentham.  It seems he has been carried to the nearest inn on a sheep-hurdle and is lying, insensible, with only a frowsy maidservant to nurse him.  His mother will not be happy until she sees for herself that he is not in immediate danger of death.”

“One can scarcely blame her for that,” replied Underwood evenly, “The past few weeks cannot have engendered a feeling of confidence in the lady.  Pray think no more about Verity and myself.  We are quite comfortable and, as you say, Grantley would hardly welcome our desertion.”

“I know Cara will want to come with us, but I will insist she and Gil stay here.  I understand Trent is pretty smashed up and I don’t want her to see that.  She has endured quite enough horror for the present.”

“Poor Trentham!  Is there any indication how the accident occurred?”

“The message we received was short, but the gentleman who wrote did say that the axle had snapped clean in two.  Mighty curious, when you think about it.  The vehicle was new and had only been driven from London to Lovell Hall.  Dashed if I can think how such damage could have been caused.  Even Trentham cannot have been driving badly enough to break an axle!”

Underwood said nothing, but he thought much.

*

The house was very quiet when the bustle of departure had faded away.  Cara had taken to her bed, so that she could weep in peace with only her husband to witness her weakness.  Luisa had been brought low by yet another attack of pregnancy nausea and was also confined to her room.  The servants, with the master and mistress absent, had quickly degenerated into idleness.  Any bell which was rung would be answered, but not with the usual alacrity.

Underwood and Verity were aware of the casual atmosphere, but did not care very much.  They both disliked the constant presence of servants, feeling uncomfortable in the formality of an aristocrat’s house.  It was as though one were constantly on duty, upholding the façade of gentility.  Their own home was run on much more relaxed lines, with Underwood thinking nothing of drinking tea in the kitchen with Toby, or walking about in his shirt-sleeves, and Verity, in her artist mode, drifting about with her paint-smeared smock and her brushes thrust through her hair.

They both considered convention to be of very little importance and it was wearing, to say the least, to be on their best behaviour twenty-four hours a day.  Quite apart from any other inconvenience, it meant that they did not have their usual easy access to Toby.  His position in their household was a unique one.  Through various trials and tribulations, he had been an unwavering support, and he was now much more of a friend than a servant.  The Underwoods had found it vaguely offensive that immediately upon their arrival in Brighton he should have automatically been relegated to the servants’ quarters, but Toby had accepted the banishment as perfectly natural.  He had been raised in an aristocratic home and felt quite relieved to be in a situation which he knew and understood.

Underwood went in search of him and once more shocked the servants’ hall by his unconventional approach.  The staff all rose swiftly to their feet when he knocked briefly then entered and he gestured vaguely that they all resume their previous occupations, “Pray, don’t mind me, my friends!  I merely require my man Toby.  Does anyone know where he is?”

“I think he is with Giovanni in his room,” said the butler, in his most quelling tone.  Underwood, naturally, refused to be quelled, “And the direction?” he asked with a pleasant smile.

“Down the corridor, first on the left,” was the clipped reply.

Underwood was not a man who was in the habit of eavesdropping on the private conversations of others, but hearing raised voices coming from Giovanni’s room, he paused for several seconds before knocking.  Unfortunately it was Giovanni who was loudest and most of his remarks seemed to be in Italian.  Toby sounded pressured and determined, but unintelligible through the closed door.  Underwood duly knocked and was invited to enter.

His sharp eyes missed nothing and the relative positions of the two men told him they had indeed been quarrelling.  Giovanni was sat on the edge of the bed, his face grim and Toby was stood before the empty fireplace, his huge hands thrust into his breeches pockets as though to keep them from lashing out.  One glance at his face told Underwood that he was furiously angry.  Toby was, by nature, the most easy-going and patient of men, but he did have temper.  It was not easily roused, hence his spectacular success as a pugilist, for he always remained cool in the face of his opponent’s blinding rage, but when it did surface it was dangerous.

“I appear to have arrived at an inopportune moment, gentlemen.  Pray forgive me.  Shall I leave?”

“There is no need, Mr. Underwood,” said Toby, keeping his voice even with evident difficulty, “Giovanni and I have nothing else to say to each other.”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance?” asked Underwood tentatively.

“We are beyond help, thank you, sir!”

Underwood was dismayed to hear Toby sounding so definite.  It had been both touching and amusing to see the bond between the two totally disparate men.  Whatever had caused the rift must be serious indeed.  He noticed that Giovanni cast a startled glance towards his erstwhile friend, looking, for an instant, almost regretful, then the shutter came down again behind his eyes and he stared straight ahead, his jaw set mulishly.

“Might I steal you away for a few moments, Toby?” requested Underwood, though he would dearly have liked to pursue the matter further.

“Certainly,” Toby crossed the room and picked up his coat from the foot of the bed, saying to Giovanni as he leaned forward to grasp it, “Take note of what I have said, man!  This has gone too far now and you must end it.”

Giovanni gave no indication that he had heard, so Toby threw him a look of disdain mixed with exasperation and walked out of the room past Underwood, who swiftly followed, agog to know what was going on, but quite unable to frame any questions until they were safely out of earshot of not only the Italian, but any other servants who might be in the vicinity.

“Care to take a stroll, my friend?” enquired Underwood, trying desperately not to sound eager.  Toby was a deeply private person and was likely to look askance at his employer if he felt his personal freedom was being compromised.

“What about Mrs. Underwood?”

“Mrs. Underwood is busy with her sketchbook.  She has felt she ought not to appear to be enjoying herself too much, with all the tragedy in the house, but can now indulge herself whilst the owners are away.”

“Very well.”

They went out of the house by the back door and made their way towards the seashore.  Toby drew in a deep breath which Underwood took to be more of an indication of relief than a desire to fill his lungs with the ozone.

“Something troubling you, old friend?”

Toby kicked viciously at a pebble, which skittered down the beach, clattering noisily against other stones, “Nothing you can help with, Underwood, unfortunately.”

“Try me.  I’m a great deal more helpful than I am ever given credit for,” answered the older man, prompting a reluctant smile from Toby.

“I owe you an apology, sir.  I have been forced, by circumstances, to raise barriers between us which were never my choice.  You must have felt that I did not trust you through all this, but believe me, nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Other men’s secrets?” asked Underwood shrewdly.

“Are the very devil!” asserted Toby aggressively, then shrugged and grinned, “Pray ignore me, I am a little out of sorts today.”

“If it is any consolation to you, Toby, I can tell you that I know beyond any shadow of doubt that Giovanni killed Lord Peter – and, I must say, given the circumstances of the crime, I cannot say I am entirely without understanding for his reaction – but murder is murder, and he must stand trial for it.  Can you help me persuade him that he must give himself up to John Grantley and face the consequences of his actions?  We are both certain that his story would be heeded with every sympathy.  I think I can confidently say I do not think he would hang for the killing…”

“If Lord Peter’s blood was the only stain on his hands, you might be right.”

For a moment Underwood was shocked into silence, “Is there something more you should be telling me, Toby?” he ventured carefully, when he found he could speak again.

“Probably – but I was sworn to secrecy.”

Underwood realized that his answer must be delicately worded.  Toby was very evidently torn between his loyalty to his friend and his moral duty.  If Underwood made the wrong comment now, Toby could easily be swayed in entirely the wrong direction, “I understand – and I do not envy your position.  It must be damnable to hold such information and not be able to act upon it.  Giovanni is a man who acts upon his instincts and the mood of the moment, without thought for the consequences – or the effects his actions have upon those who hold him in affection.  There is probably only one other person who can appreciate the horror of your situation and that is Lady Luisa.  However badly Peter treated her, she seems to have genuinely adored him.  I can only imagine her torment now, having to shield the man who took the life of her husband.”

Toby digested this in silence.  Underwood could not have more eloquently disparaged the selfishness of Giovanni’s actions without actually insulting the man – and Toby knew it.  After a moment he said, “I know Mrs. Underwood would not believe it, but you have missed your calling – you should have been a diplomat.  Give me twenty-four hours, then I will tell you all there is to know.”

“Certainly, my friend.  It is the very least I owe you, after all you have done for me and mine in the past.  Shall we say we will resume this conversation tomorrow at the same time?”

“Very well.”

They parted company, Underwood strolling back to the house, not dissatisfied with his performance, and Toby heading for the nearest inn, to drown his sorrows, which, at that moment, were heavy.

Once back at the house, Underwood wrote a letter to Grantley, outlining his conversation with Toby and inviting him to attend the meeting the following afternoon, warning him that he should be prepared to perform an arrest for the murder of Lord Peter Lovell.

*

As with most of the best-laid plans, none of this was to happen as Underwood envisioned.  The following morning was to bring a hand-delivered message from the Earl.

“
Dear Underwood,

There have been unlooked-for developments which I do not dare to list here.  Suffice it to say that Trentham is conscious and has been able to tell us that his accident was no such thing.  The axle had been sawn almost completely through.  It is a miracle he went as far as he did before it broke.

We will be returning as soon as we can with the boy, but in the meantime, do not, for the love of God, allow Giovanni to leave the house – and more importantly, do not let Luisa go anywhere in his company!

I am trusting you in this, Underwood, and cautioning you not to let this letter fall into the wrong hands!

William Lovell.”

Underwood was grim-faced as he read this short missive through twice.  He now thought he understood what Toby had been inclined to tell him.  It seemed Giovanni’s anger had not been limited to the erring husband.

He folded the note along its original creases and placed it safely in his pocket before going in search of Toby.