Behind The Horseman (The Underwood Mysteries Book 3) (5 page)

The look on their faces was comic to behold.  Neither of them had allowed himself to become adept at domesticity, so this remark drove all other thoughts from their minds, “She wants
us
to clean?” asked Underwood, aghast.

“Well, as she so pertinently remarks, she cannot do it all alone, and certainly not before your guest arrives.”

The reminder that they were due to greet a visitor in less than four hours did much to drive away any lingering doubts that they should not be wielding mops and brooms, as Mrs. Trent had undoubtedly known it would when she sent the carefully worded message.  The Underwood brothers still had much to learn of the subtleties of woman.

*

CHAPTER FIVE

(“Homo Doctus In Se Semper Divitias Habet” – A learned man always has wealth within himself)

Dr. Russell was more than somewhat bemused to have the front door opened to him by one of his hosts, and, even more astonishingly, that host was holding a broom and was dressed in his shirt sleeves, waistcoat and breeches, and was running his fingers through his thick, blond hair, a rueful grin on his face, “Dr. Russell, welcome!  Forgive my appearance.  We had a minor crisis – now thankfully resolved.  Pray come in.”

“Q
uomodo vales,
Underwood?”  he said.

“I am well, my friend – and you?”

“Beginning to feel my age.”

Underwood, subconsciously aware of Gil’s sceptical remarks on the subject of their old tutor, now looked at the older man with rather more depth than would ordinarily be the case.  He could see nothing which verified that gentleman’s statement.  Dr. Russell looked much as he always had; small, well built, not precisely overweight, but certainly not slender.  Perhaps his crisp white hair was a little thinner, but he had healthily pink skin, with no more wrinkles than Underwood remembered.  He looked, in short, precisely what he was, an elderly, stocky little man, who had rather less strain in his life than most people, was well-fed and well cared for by those who thought of him with fondness.

“One would never guess it.  Let me take your cape, and stick, then you must come and meet Verity.”

“Your wife?”

“My wife,” asserted Underwood, leading the way.

“You surprised me with that announcement, you know, my boy.  I thought you would be the one man I could rely on to end his days at Cambridge as an elder statesman.”

“Ah, but you have not met Verity,” said Underwood, with a fond smile. 

He turned away and did not see the quizzical lift of Russell’s eyebrows as he answered, “She must indeed be special.”

Over a late and leisurely luncheon the family explained the disaster of the morning.  Naturally now that the danger was passed, the incident, at least to Verity and Gil, had taken on an amusing aspect.  The bundle of rags had been swiftly and expertly converted by Toby into a disused bird’s nest, and anything which might seem vaguely threatening had been adeptly turned into a joke.  Gil, of course, was entirely oblivious of anything untoward.  The truth was he had enough to occupy his mind without re-examining the evidence presented by his brother and Toby.  Verity had been a little harder to convince, but deep in heart, she did not really want to know if there was something wrong, and so she buried any doubts she might have, for her own peace of mind.

So the house filling with smoke, and Underwood refusing to leave his bedroom without his breeches all became the reason for much hilarity.  Underwood believed he had lied very successfully, until he became aware of Dr. Russell’s eyes upon him, speculative and wary.

The afternoon was to be spent in resting; Dr. Russell to regain his strength after the strain of his long journey, and the rest of the household to recover from their exceptionally early morning and the subsequent cleaning – something which was now playing on inexperienced muscles.  It was therefore not until dinner that the guest and hosts met again.  Because of the still unsatisfactory condition of the parlour they were gathered in the vicar’s study, enjoying a pre-dinner sherry, when the front door knocker threw out its imperious summons.  Mrs. Trent presently showed Godfrey Rogers into the room.  He was full of
bonhomie,
as usual, and as the housekeeper walked into the hall, he called after her, “It seems I’m just in time for dinner.  Set another place for me, Mrs. T. there’s a sweetheart.”

Mrs. Trent cast an enquiring glance at her master and the vicar nodded almost imperceptibly.  He did not like Rogers, and he deeply resented the intrusion, but he was a kindly man and there was no possible way of snubbing the boy without making him look a fool.  Gil would not cause an embarrassing scene without a very good reason indeed.

Underwood’s feelings at this unexpected interruption were mixed.  The major part of him wished Rogers in Hades, but on the other hand, it was well-nigh impossible for the young man to cause mischief whilst safely under his eye.  On the whole he was not too displeased, so it was with tolerable composure that he said,

“Good evening, Rogers.  Allow me to present my old friend, Dr. Russell.”

Dr. Russell rose from his chair, where he had been effectively hidden by the bodies of those who were standing, and the way Rogers’ startled glance flew to his face before swiftly returning to its habitual grin, told Underwood, at least, that they had met before.

“Your servant, Dr. Russell,” said the young man automatically, holding out his hand.  Russell took the proffered hand with a smile, “My dear Godfrey, what a surprise.  How strange that fate should cause our paths to cross yet again.”

“Mighty queer,” agreed Rogers, with little conviction and even less enthusiasm, “I had no idea you were acquainted with the Underwoods.”

“Oh, yes, for many years.  I tutored them both as youths,” said Russell, “How came you to know them?”

“Mr. Underwood oversaw part of my brief Cambridge career,” Rogers explained quietly in return.

“And, as I now recall, also ended it,” jibed the old man, without real malice, but Underwood cringed at the error.  He did not want Rogers to know he remembered that particular fact until he was sure the boy was not guilty of the pranks against his family.

Rogers managed to grin ruefully, “You need not think I hold that against him.  If it had not been Underwood, it would have been someone else.”

This remark ought to have set Underwood’s mind at rest, unfortunately it did no such thing.  Rogers had merely said the only thing it was possible to say under the circumstances.  One thing did puzzle him, however.  How did Dr. Russell know it was he, Underwood, who had been responsible for the sending down of Rogers?  He had not seen his erstwhile tutor for over fifteen years, though they had corresponded erratically during that time.  The sacking of a student was not something which Underwood felt he would have included in a letter.  Suddenly he wanted to know more of the relationship which evidently existed between Rogers and Russell.

“So, my dear Theodore, you too have been plagued by the infamous Rogers.  How came this about?”  he asked heartily.  Rogers and Russell were not the only ones who were masters of the art of dissimulation.

              Dr. Russell tore his eyes from Rogers and turned to his host, with a smile which to Underwood looked rather forced – and was the old man a little less pink of cheek than was his wont?

“The same reason as your good self, Underwood.  I tutored Mr. Rogers after he was sent down.  His father refused to send him out into the world without at least a rudimentary grounding in the things a gentleman should know.”

“What a task.  I’ll warrant you were unsuccessful?”

“Spectacularly,” agreed the old man.

Rogers blushed uncomfortably, “Very well, gentlemen.  You’ve had your little joke at my expense.  Shall we agree to a change of topic?  Mrs. Underwood and the Reverend gentleman cannot wish to listen to your private reminiscences.”

Mrs. Trent saved him from further embarrassment by arriving at that moment to announce dinner.

Under cover of the chatter at the table, several conversations progressed.  Verity asked Gil where Catherine was hiding herself.  From this innocent inquiry, the vicar realized that his brother had not told Verity of his difficulties.  For some reason, which he did not try and fathom, Gil found he had no wish to confide those difficulties to his sister-in-law.  Fortunately there was another excuse he could legitimately offer, “She is in bed with a quinsy.  The doctor recommended peace and quiet for at least a week, so I doubt you will see her for a while.”

“Poor Catherine!  I will send some flowers and bon-bons – oh no, not bon-bons.  I don’t suppose she will find them easy to swallow?”

“I think not.  I understand she can barely manage liquids at the moment.”

“Oh dear.  I shall certainly send her some flowers tomorrow – but how very remiss of you, Gil, not to tell me sooner.  Catherine must think me quite dreadful.”

“Catherine understands that you have had an unpleasant few days yourself, my dear.”

Gil did not even notice that this careless remark sent Verity into a brown study.  She did not want to relive her terrors, but a chance comment could send her plunging back into that dark abyss.  No one particularly noticed that she pushed away her plate, the food scarcely touched.

Meanwhile Rogers, who had deliberately seated himself by Dr. Russell, took the opportunity to hiss viciously to the old man, “What in Hell’s name are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, my dear boy.”

“Why?”

“I thought you might stand in need of my help.  I heard of this proposed court case to be brought by your mother and …”

“And nothing!  I can handle that myself.  Spend your few days here with the Underwoods, then take yourself off.”

“Certainly, if you are sure that is what you want.”

“It is!”

Dr. Russell said nothing more, but turned away from Rogers with great deliberation and addressed himself to Underwood, “I understand there are magnificent lime caves in the hills near here, do you know of anyone who could serve as a guide?  I should be fascinated to see them.”

“But of course.  It is obligatory for all visitors to see the caves.  The real difficulty is getting away from Hanbury without being subjected to their beauties.  I will arrange it tomorrow.  Do you accompany us, Rogers?”  This last was said aloud to the table in general, but Rogers had evidently been following their conversation for his reply was immediate and emphatic, “God, no!  I’ve been dragged around those dashed caves more times than I care to remember!  I’ll take Mrs. Underwood to the Pump-rooms and endeavour to entertain her.”

                Over my dead body, thought Underwood grimly.  Mrs. Underwood will be going nowhere alone with you my friend!

*

Dinner over, Rogers remembered a card game organized by Major Thornycroft and took himself swiftly off; he found he had no desire to talk over old times with Dr. Russell.  Verity pleaded fatigue and withdrew to her room.  Gil went to his study, ostensibly to write his sermon for the following Sunday, in reality to cogitate upon his future.  Accordingly Underwood and Dr. Russell retired to the damaged parlour to drink the rest of the claret and discuss life.  As they sat, Underwood glanced about him, imagining the carnage which would have ensued had the explosive device actually gone off.  As it stood, most of the damage inflicted had been by soot and smoke.   The wall above the fireplace and the stone mantle were blackened, a picture which had hung on the chimney breast was burned beyond repair and stood outside the back door, to await disposal.  The hearth stones had saved the oak floor from real harm and all that had been necessary to restore the rest of the room to its former state had been a thorough cleaning.  Of course there was still a definite aroma of burnt wood and cloth, but that would wear off with time.  Dr. Russell watched his companion’s face as he perused their surroundings, “Is there something you are not telling me, Underwood?”

Brought back to himself by this intuitive remark, Underwood could do nothing but smile wryly and reply, “Was I so transparent as a boy, Theodore?  If so, I can understand why you always seemed to know when I had failed to complete the tasks you set me.”

“I like to think I am not insensitive, my friend, but I admit it does not take a great talent for deduction to know there is something worrying you.”

“Dammit!  I had hoped it was not so apparent.  Tell me Verity has not noticed.”

“Calm down, Underwood.  I’m sure Verity noticed nothing, but why is it so important she should not?  Never tell me you are conducting a clandestine affair.”

“Certainly not!  What manner of man do you think I am?”

Dr. Russell smiled kindly at his tone of abhorrence, “I do beg your pardon – but an affair is usually the reason why a man does not wish his wife to notice his demeanour.”

“That is not the case here, I assure you.”

“Then what is it?”

Underwood, recalling his affection for a man of great humanity, kindness, wisdom and integrity, needed no further encouragement.  The whole story came tumbling out, including the incident of the fire, without omissions, and his suspicions concerning Godfrey Rogers.

“Do you think he is capable of such behaviour?” he asked, greatly troubled that he was being unjust to a young man who might not deserve it.

Dr. Russell considered the question carefully before giving a measured answer,  “Rogers left my care over a year ago, and boys growing into men can change a great deal in a very short space of time, but I have to say Godfrey possessed a peculiarly cruel streak, the like of which I have never encountered before.  He found things amusing which others would find only sickening.  Frankly, I think that young man is capable of almost anything.”

*

George Gratten, Constable of Hanbury, did not, on the face of it, have either the figure or the demeanour of a knight in shining armour, but that was how Underwood came to view him on the following morning when he met him on the street, “Well met, Underwood.  The very man I wished to see.”