Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) (4 page)

When she sobbed a little on Underwood’s shoulder in the dark intimacy of their big, old-fashioned four-poster, and refused to tell him the cause of her tears, he could only hold her in his arms and hope that whatever troubled her would soon pass. He could not know, nor would he have understood, that something fundamental was shaken within her. Some part of her innocence was destroyed forever with the knowledge that people were capable of being so utterly beastly to each other. Tragedy should, she knew, bring a married couple closer together, not give them excuses to revile each other. Such thoughts made her fret about her own relationship with Underwood. She wondered constantly how they would react should some such disaster overtake them. Her health took another sudden plunge, but now she was being physically sick. It took all her ingenuity to hide this from her husband, but Gil was not fooled so easily.

She was mortified when early one morning, about ten days after their arrival in Hanbury, she raised her head from vomiting in a bowl in the kitchen and met the concerned gaze of her brother-in-law, who was standing in the doorway.

He said nothing, merely crossed the room and handed her a cloth to wipe her mouth, then led her solicitously to a chair. She sank listlessly into it, then promptly burst into tears, “Please say you won’t tell Cadmus, Gil!”

“But why, Verity? Don’t you want him to know you are going to have a child?”

Her head jerked up so swiftly he almost expected to hear the vertebrae crack,

“What!”

“A baby, Verity. That is what all this is about, isn’t it?”

To his amazement she broke into wilder sobs, “Oh, dear God, is that what’s wrong with me?”

“Didn’t you know?”

“No! I thought I was ill. I never had a mother to tell me about these things. It never occurred to me to think of a baby.”

Sudden affection for her clutched at his heart. Bless the girl! She knew nothing at all, of course. Her mother died young and her father was a clergyman – a man hardly likely to sit and explain the facts of life to his daughter.

“Well,” he said bracingly, “I’m no expert, and I think you should consult a doctor, but I should be astounded if there were any other explanation.”

Her relief was such that she rose to her feet and flung herself at him. After a momentary hesitation he put his arms around her, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but understanding her need to be held.

It was thus that Underwood, come in search of his missing wife, saw them through the kitchen door. First tears in the night, and now this. With a faint frown creasing his brow, he turned silently away and went back to his rapidly cooling bed.

*

CHAPTER FOUR

(“Odi Et Amo” – I love and I hate at the same time)

Verity decided to wait for confirmation from a doctor before she told Underwood their news, but events conspired to prevent her from doing so for quite some time.

Their customary visit to the Pump-rooms the following morning was spoiled for Verity by the presence of one whom she had hoped never to see again.

Her heart began to beat a little faster before she was even conscious of recognizing the bright abundance of chestnut hair visible across the expanse of the room, then the woman turned and Verity knew with sickening certainty that it was none other than Charlotte Wynter – to girl to whom Underwood had been betrothed before Fate had intervened and left him to Verity.

Charlotte had, if anything, grown more lovely with the passing of a year. She had lost the charming girlishness, it is true, the rounded plumpness, the silliness, but in its place there was a woman of poise, grace and a certain dignity which her sorrows had bestowed upon her. Still barely nineteen, she seemed older, and it was that fact alone which struck terror into Verity’s heart. In a battle for Underwood’s affection, she could have beaten the silly child hollow, but this grave young lady was a different matter entirely.

Charlotte saw them before Underwood noticed her, for he was busy exchanging greetings with various acquaintances and did not look towards her until he heard her voice, “Why, it is Mr. Underwood and Verity. I had no idea you were here.”

There was something in her voice, and still more in her calm demeanour which suggested to Verity that this statement was untrue and she had known full well of the Underwoods’ presence in Hanbury. She managed to force a smile, but her covert glance at her husband told her nothing of his reaction. He certainly was not smiling, and he looked a little paler, perhaps, than usual, but no more than naturally surprised to be thus addressed, “Good Heavens! Miss Wynter. What brings you to Hanbury?” he asked, after the slightest hesitation.

“The stage, my dear Mr. Underwood!” she replied, her gay laughter lifting the gravity of her expression for one compelling moment.

A physical pain stabbed Verity when she saw her husband’s face also break into a delighted smile and his hands reached for his erstwhile betrothed, “You look wonderful, Charlotte. I cannot believe you stand in need of the waters.”

Charlotte laid her hand in his and he promptly kissed it.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said softly, then added, “Of course you are quite right. The waters are not for my benefit, but for my sister Isobel.”

“Oh, is Isobel here too?” asked Verity, glad to have her thoughts distracted by this piece of news. She had been Isobel’s governess and had been particularly fond of her young charge.

Charlotte looked down at Verity for the first time, all her attention having previously centred on Underwood, “Hello, Verity. How are you? I hope you are taking the waters. You ought to, you look so pale and thin!” Her smile was supposed to indicate to Underwood that she was sure she must share this opinion with him, and Verity’s cheeks became suffused with painful colour at the insult. She knew she was not looking her best, and had no desire for her shortcomings to be paraded before her husband.

“Yes,” continued Charlotte, not displeased with the effect her words had had upon Verity, “She is over by the fountain there, dutifully drinking her water with a wry face. Would you be sweet and go over and tell her where I am? I am sure she would be delighted to see you.” This apparently ingenuous dismissal gave Verity no choice but to comply and she did so with evident reluctance. She was not much cheered by Isobel’s reaction to this piece of folly.

“Good God, Verity! What are you thinking of, leaving Charlotte alone with Mr. Underwood?” she rebuked her old governess, when the barest of greetings had been exchanged, “She only thought of bringing me here for my health when she heard from Ellen Herbert that you were both here.”

Verity silently cursed her own stupidity in writing and imparting this information to her friend Ellen. But how could she have guessed Charlotte was still interested in Underwood? She had been given enough chances to marry him, had she so desired, and had rejected him in no uncertain terms. It would seem she was now regretting that decision, but was Underwood?

As she glanced across the room, Verity saw, with a sinking heart, that Underwood was showing every sign of enjoying himself immensely. He was laughing at something Charlotte had said, and she was leaning towards him, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve.

If only she had known it, Underwood was not quite as relaxed as Verity was imagining. As soon as he saw Charlotte’s lovely face, he had been painfully reminded of the passion the girl had roused in him, but the emotion was fleeting. Her behaviour from the outset appalled him and he suddenly realized that she was, in fact, not a particularly pleasant girl. The way she first ignored Verity, then spoken dismissively to her, as though she still saw her as a servant and an inferior, and had then obviously enjoyed the visible humiliation Verity had experienced, had killed any possible rekindling of his old affection for her. He knew now, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he had never loved Charlotte, though he had been infatuated with her. As he looked at her, dispassionately examining her, he could forgive himself for that weakness, reflecting that any man would have had his head turned by her. She was a magnificent creature, but her outward appearance hid a young woman who was vain, selfish and more than a little cruel. He silently thanked Providence that he had been saved from himself and her. All that, however, did not quite banish the memory of finding his wife in his brother’s arms. He did not really believe they were betraying him, for he felt he knew both their characters well enough to be sure than neither was made for infidelity, but he still wanted to know exactly what was going on between them, and he felt Verity deserved a little punishment until she chose to confide in him. It was for this reason that he did not follow his first instinct and walk away from Charlotte the moment she started being rude to his wife.

Verity, unaware of any of these machinations, could only watch with growing misery as he husband smiled at the gaily-flirting Charlotte.

Isobel, altogether a much nicer and more intuitive creature than his sister, saw at once Verity’s distress and set out to take her attention away from the unpleasant scene unfolding before their eyes, whilst silently vowing to castigate her sister later, in the privacy of their rented house.

“Verity, I am so very glad to see you again,” she said, beginning to walk and drawing her companion with her. Verity was forced to tear her gaze away from her husband and fall into step beside the younger girl.

“Dear Isobel,” she said, realizing what was being attempted and achieved, “how very grown up you have become. You used to be so shy, I feared you would never leave the house again, once I was gone.”

Isobel laughed, not in the least perturbed by this plain speaking, “I was a strange little thing, wasn’t I? But when Papa died, everything changed. It was as though a great weight had been lifted from me. I had been quite terrified of him, but so accustomed to the sensation that I couldn’t imagine any other way of living. I suppose I thought everyone must behave as he did, and all I ever wanted was to become invisible, so that no one would shout at me, as he had always done. It altered my life beyond description when I met you, then Mr. Underwood, for suddenly I understood that not everyone in the world was like my father and Harry and my horrid cousin Edwin.”

“I suppose he is still at Wynter Court?”

“Oh, yes – and as odious as ever. Did you hear that my sister Maria died, and now he is free to marry again? That is part of the reason why we came away. He proposed to Charlotte and she wants to think about it.”

Verity was aghast, “Good God, she is never thinking of accepting him? After the way he treated Maria?”

“Well, she loves the house so, and her horses, and as she pointed out, she will have to marry sometime, so why not Edwin? She thinks she will be able to control him in a way poor Maria never could.”

Verity, who could think of a thousand ‘why not Edwin’ answers, could only shake her head in disbelief. She was saved from having to comment further by the sound of Charlotte’s laughter echoing across the room, and the pained look which passed over her face prompted Isobel to say, “I had hoped walking about the room a little would cool me, but I am still far too hot. Would you mind if we went out into the fresh air?”

Her companion nodded miserably, too suddenly weary to think of a reason for denying her. Their peregrination led them past the circulating library, and of one accord they entered those august portals. However, once inside, they wandered about in a most desultory manner, neither feeling much inclined to find a book to read. Verity thought Isobel looked most unwell and her growing concern for her young friend made her forget her own troubles for a while.

Strangely enough, Isobel’s thoughts were of a similar nature and she wished heartily she had possessed strength enough to have dissuaded Charlotte from this visit. Her own selfish desire to see Verity again had blinded her to the difficulties her sister would inflict on the ex-governess.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Verity glanced at her, rather startled by such vehemence.

“What on earth have you to be sorry for, my dear?”

“For letting Charlotte bring me here. I should have known she meant to cause mischief!”

“Does she mean to do so, Isobel?”

“I fear she does.”

Verity looked defeated for a moment, then squared her shoulders as though to prepare them for the load they might be required to carry, “Underwood is a grown man. He must make his own decisions. Only…”

“Only what?”

“There is something my husband should know, but I cannot tell him until he decides whether it is I or Charlotte whom he wants!”

Isobel was about to enquire further into this intriguing statement when their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a young couple into the almost empty library – a young couple who proceeded to behave very oddly indeed.

Verity and Isobel had found themselves a secluded spot at the very back of the rooms, and had seated themselves on two of the many scattered chairs, placed there for the convenience of browsers. The two newcomers, without noticing their presence, did likewise. There followed a period of love-play which might have entranced the watching Verity had it not been for the fact that the young man was Oliver Dunstable, but the companion who was receiving his kisses with such laughing relish was most certainly not his wife Josephine.

Verity took Isobel by the arm and hissed urgently, “We must get away from here now, and that man mustn’t see us! I could not bear the embarrassment if he were to realize what we have just witnessed.”

She thought, when she considered the matter later, how very ironic it was that it should have been she, and not the wrongdoers, who had ended the morning by sneaking out of Hanbury Library like a thief!

Isobel, though she had the sense to wait until they were out of earshot, was naturally agog to know what had caused Verity’s sudden desire for departure, and was suitably appalled by the duplicity of Mr. Dunstable.

“What a cur he is,” she exclaimed hotly, “Oh how I hate all men!”

Verity felt she ought to dilute this all-encompassing vitriol a little, “Surely not all men.”

“All!” asserted Isobel with passion, “Why, even Underwood, whom I know you consider to be the best of men, is at this moment flirting outrageously with my worthless sister.”

“Well, Gil is not!”

“A vicar? I should think he is not. But he hardly counts as a full-blooded male, does he?”

Poor Gil, thought Verity, immeasurably glad he had not been present to hear that epithet.

As they wended their way back to the Pump-rooms, they were met by Gil and Underwood, who had evidently come in search of them. Part of Verity was glad to see her husband, but that was overtaken by a curious feeling of shyness and embarrassment mixed. She was horrified to find herself blushing as she looked at him.

“I wish you had told me you were leaving, my dear. I would naturally have accompanied you.”

“There was no need. Isobel and I simply found the Pump-room a little close, and I knew you were delighted to be renewing your acquaintance with Miss Wynter.” She tried hard to keep any hint of sarcasm out of her voice, and almost succeeded. Underwood, far from being annoyed by this sally, merely smiled, “If I did not know you better, I’d swear you were jealous,” he joked, with his usual lack of tact.

She eyed him steadily, no answering smile adorning her lips; “Perhaps you ought to tell me if I have need to be jealous? You are, after all, more experienced at the game of love than I.”

“Hardly!” he commented brusquely, mildly irritated that she should choose the street and two interested witnesses for this display of moodiness, “Shall we return to the Pump-rooms?”

“You do so, by all means. I’m feeling a little tired and will go back to the vicarage.”

“Then I shall bear you company.”

“Pray do not put yourself to the bother.”

“I have said I will come with you,” he answered firmly, “Gil, I trust you will see Miss Isobel back to her sister?”