Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

Gratten hesitated, unsure of his position in this matter, for the truth was he had never had a suspicious death occur during his time as Constable. The title had been a courtesy one only until this moment. He had been hoping to slip away and consult with his magistrate friends before committing himself to any action.

“I … I doubt we have enough proof to perform an arrest, madam,” he ventured.

“My mother lies dead, poisoned with water from a cup filled by that man – what further proof do you need?”

Gratten glanced helplessly at the impassive Underwood.

“We have no evidence Mrs. Dunstable was actually poisoned, Mrs. Gedney, merely a suspicion. Perhaps if Mr. Dunstable were to agree to stay with, shall we say, the vicar, and he were to agree to stand guarantor for his continued presence in Hanbury, until a
post mortem
has been performed…” Underwood gently suggested. Verity knew immediately that there was method in his offer of shelter. He intended to solve the mystery of Josephine Dunstable’s death, and having the accused under his eye was the first step.

Gratten looked intensely relieved, “A very sensible suggestion, sir, if I may say so, and one that should satisfy all parties.”

He glared about him, daring anyone to disagree. Leah Gedney looked mutinous, but her husband’s restraining hand stayed any further protest. It occurred to Underwood to be surprised that the usually belligerent and opinionated Gedney had been so uncharacteristically quiet through all this.

“Due to the nature of the accusation, Mr. Dunstable, I have no choice but to order the immediate sealing of the dead woman’s home, until any remains of food or drink she may have consumed can be examined by the doctor. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to return to your lodgings, so you will have to borrow or buy anything you require in the way of night-attire and so forth.”

Dunstable seemed past caring. Still shocked and stumbling, he allowed himself to be led away by Gil, whilst Underwood took Verity’s arm. It was a very subdued party who returned to Hanbury vicarage that afternoon.

*

CHAPTER SIX

(“Mendacem Memorem Esse Oportet” – Liars should have good memories)

Though Verity entirely understood Underwood’s reasons for bringing Oliver Dunstable to the vicarage, she was nevertheless deeply unhappy that he should have done so.

The quarrel, for a quarrel it turned out to be, was conducted in the vicar’s study, of necessity in heated undertones, neither of them wishing to embarrass the unwilling and unwanted guest with the knowledge of the dissent he had unwittingly caused.

“How do you expect me to face that man every day, knowing what I do know about his behaviour?” hissed Verity with no preamble. Underwood began very calmly, but it was not long before his extreme irritation broke through the façade of stoicism.

“You know nothing about the man,” he answered quietly.

“I know what I saw in the Circulating Library.”

“What you
think
you saw,” he corrected, but the note of condescension in his voice was just the provocation Verity needed to make her lose her temper, “Are you suggesting that, as a
mere
woman, my eyes and ears are not to be trusted? If Gil had seen Oliver Dunstable petting his mistress, you would never dream of doubting his word!”

“I never suggested I was doubting your word. That wasn’t what I said at all.”

“Then what did you say, Mr. Underwood? That it is quite acceptable for any man to clandestinely meet a girl young enough to be his daughter and flirt outrageously with her, whilst his wife waits patiently by?”

“Young enough to be his daughter? The young lady must have been young indeed then,” said Underwood sarcastically, knowing full well that Verity had been referring not to Dunstable but to himself and Charlotte Wynter.

“You know full well what I meant,” she returned furiously.

“I did, and I tell you now, do not tread this path,” he said warningly.

“Should I not?” she retorted, “What are you afraid of being exposed?”

              He gave her a look of contempt, “I think we had better say nothing more until we have both calmed a little. Mr. Dunstable stays and there’s an end to it. He did not murder his wife, of that I am convinced. His private affairs have nothing to do with the matter, and I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch the poor man hanged simply because you do not approve of his morals.”

              This harsh comment drew a gasp of shock from his wife, the horror at his opinion of her motives showing plainly on her face, “I cannot believe you think so little of my character! I do not know if he is innocent or guilty, for it is not given to us all to be so sure of everything as
you
plainly are. I do not care if he has a mistress or not, I simply cannot bear to bide under the same roof whilst knowing I have witnessed him in an indelicate situation.”

“Then I suggest we tell him, and allow him to give you his explanation. Will that satisfy you?”

He walked out of the room before she could stop him, and her cheeks burned with utter mortification at the whole unsavoury situation. She had never felt herself so much at a disadvantage. She had lowered herself in the eyes of her husband and must, in addition, listen to the sordid confessions of a man she did not particularly like. The day was growing worse by the minute.

Dunstable made no attempt to hide anything from them, and Verity could not decide if this attitude were not almost worse than if he had lied through his teeth in denying the existence of another woman besides his wife in his life.

Looking at his still pallid face and haunted eyes, she guessed it must be the shock of his recent experiences which had stripped him briefly of the desire to keep his affair a secret. She knew he must be aware that his situation was desperate and Underwood was probably the only man who believed in his innocence and who could save him from the gallows. In such circumstances it was only sensible to keep nothing back.

Underwood was his usual straightforward self; Verity had never known him employ diplomacy when he wished urgently to acquire information, and this was no exception, “Mr. Dunstable, my wife says she saw you in a compromising position with a young lady not of her acquaintance, and naturally feels you ought to know of this if you are to remain under my brother’s roof.”

At least he had the grace to look sheepish before admitting ruefully, “I hold up my hands, Underwood. Your wife was not mistaken. I do have a young friend – of whose existence my wife had no idea – but that does not mean I did not view Josie with the greatest respect and affection. The truth of the matter is, my wife was elderly and often unwell and – well, I am a man after all, and many men have mistresses!”

Verity grew scarlet to the roots of her hair, but Underwood accepted the confession with equanimity, “Thank you for your candour, Mr. Dunstable. I realize that this concerns us in no way at all and you would have been quite within your rights to tell us to go to perdition.”

“Not at all,” protested the young man, “Do you think I am not signally aware of the help you have already given me, and the future aid I trust you will offer? I consider you have the right to ask me anything at all, if it will help convince you both of my innocence. God! My poor Josie. I’ve scarcely had time to think of her in all this, so fearful have I been for my own safety. Underwood, I swear the Gedneys mean to see me hang, I know it. What shall I do?” This last cry of despair moved even Verity, who had been trying to remain impartial, but was swayed by her dislike of the man.

His head sank into his open hands and his shoulders shook with barely restrained sobs. Verity and Underwood exchanged a glance over his bowed head, and Verity slowly nodded. Underwood took this gesture to mean that she was now prepared to allow Dunstable at least the benefit of the doubt. He would stay at the vicarage, for the present.

Underwood considered his next move. He felt very strongly that he needed a doctor he could trust to perform the
post mortem
examination. He certainly did not intend to accept any choice of medic by the Gedneys. It was with this in mind that he wrote a short missive to the Constable, asking that the Coroner’s inquest, which was to be held next day, should immediately adjourn until further evidence of foul play could be gathered, and naming Francis Herbert as an excellent and trustworthy professional.

Had she been aware of this move, Verity might well have pointed out that Francis might not wish to travel a distance of some twenty miles to perform an autopsy merely to oblige Underwood, but she was not consulted and knew nothing of Dr. Herbert’s involvement until he arrived two days later, bringing his wife and young son with him.

To say that Verity was pleased to see her old friend would be to much understate the matter. She was not only delighted, but secretly rather relieved. She had been wanting to seek the advice of a doctor, but had not been able to do so without her husband knowing. More than ever now, she wanted to be sure of Underwood’s feelings for her before she told him of her condition, for she could foresee no greater misery than for them to be bound together by a child, in a loveless marriage. She had been almost convinced of his devotion before Charlotte’s arrival in Hanbury, but her insecurity, coupled with feeling constantly unwell had eroded all her self-confidence and she was less sure of him than she had ever been before.

Francis gladly examined her and confirmed her pregnancy, but was rather concerned when she insisted upon confidentiality, even from Ellen. He tried to convince her that her worries about Underwood and Charlotte were unfounded, but failed miserably and decided in the end that he had no choice but to follow her wishes. His own experience with his wife had taught him that women could be infernally emotional at such times in their lives and were best humoured. If either Verity or Ellen had read his thoughts, he would have been soundly trounced!

In the three days which had passed since Mrs. Dunstable’s death, Underwood had not been idle. He had consulted several books on the subject of poisons and poisonings and confirmed his original theory that the oil of tansy which Leah Gedney had named as culprit did indeed need a fairly large overdose and several hours to take effect – though the effect on the elderly or infirm was not stated with any degree of certainty. It was commonly used in the countryside to kill intestinal worms or to induce abortion or menstruation and it was therefore possible Mrs. Dunstable had dosed herself, either with oil, or with tea made from steeped leaves. Because of her advanced age, it would have been unlikely to be for the latter reasons, and the doctor would know if it were for the former. He also discovered the plant itself grew in peat based soil, so it was very possibly available in the Pennines.

He now needed to interview the servant, Rachael Collinson, who would be the most likely to know the movements of all those concerned on the day and night before the death.

Of course, what he really needed to know was that Mrs. Dunstable had actually been murdered and was not merely the victim of a seizure, and for that he urgently needed the result of the doctor’s examination.

*

The Pump-rooms were closed for the day following the unfortunate demise of one of its patrons, partly due to the fact that most of the inhabitants were crushed into the White Boar for the Coroner’s hearing, which was disappointingly short, the Constable having taken Underwood’s advice and arranged an adjournment until proof of foul play had been found or dismissed; but mostly, since the precious waters had been placed under suspicion, that day was filled with panic-stricken investigations into the purity of the water by various medical and scientific experts hastily brought to the town by the authorities. The result was with greeted with huge relief. Hanbury water was found to be as clean and clear as ever. Any hint of such a scandal could have ruined forever the town’s reputation, and destroyed its most lucrative of products.

After that, however, everything returned to normal. Verity could not help but feel a little sad and guilty that she should still be enjoying life when Mrs. Dunstable lay dead in the morgue.

Not one of the concerts or balls were postponed and within twenty-four hours, one would never have known that Josephine had ever existed.

Charlotte, furious that she had been absent from the Pump-rooms on the fateful day, and had missed all the excitement, lost no time at all in pursuing Mr. Underwood on the pretext of asking him to tell her all about the disaster.

Her opportunity came on the day of the
post mortem
, for Underwood had no intention of attending anything so gory. He did the brainwork, let others wallow in the gore, was his opinion. Dr. Herbert was busy with the body, Verity and Ellen had seized the chance to shop and catch up on all the gossip. Underwood had excused himself from this and was browsing in the library. It did not take the determined Charlotte long to run him to ground, and to insist that he accompany her to partake of coffee in the private parlour of the Bull Inn.

When the tray was laid before her, Charlotte removed her hat, aware that it hid her face from the still-standing Mr. Underwood.

She poured the coffee from the silver pot, remembering that he liked cream and sugar, then bestowed her most dazzling smile upon him as she handed him his cup, “Will you not be seated, Mr. Underwood?”

“I prefer to stand, thank you,” he replied as he took it from her, but he smiled in return.

She took a sip, eyeing him cautiously over the rim of the cup, “I had quite forgotten…” she murmured after a pause, almost as though she had not meant to speak aloud.

“Forgotten what?”

“How very handsome you are,” her voice sank lower still, and there was a yearning in it which made Underwood look thoroughly startled, “Miss Wynter…”

She set her cup down, rose to her feet and joined him before the empty fireplace, “Please, don’t say anything. How I would hate to hear conventional little platitudes from your lips. After all there has been between us…”

“
’
Was’ is correct, Miss Wynter!” he said tersely, recovering his equanimity, and stepping hastily backwards, almost falling over the fire irons as he did so, “I am a married man…”

“Are you going to hide behind Verity’s skirts then?” she asked scornfully, advancing on him.

“I’ll gladly hide behind anything I need to, Miss, to save myself and you from this hideous embarrassment!” he retorted, skilfully putting the table between them and replacing his own unfinished coffee on the tray, lest he should need to make a hasty retreat.

“Am I an embarrassment, then?” she asked mournfully, raising sad eyes to his.

“Yes!” he said brutally, aware that her unshed, but very evident tears were supposed to call upon every ounce of chivalry he possessed, but which, unfortunately for her, did no such thing. He desired nothing more than to escape, but was suddenly conscious of the need to end this situation once and for all. Charlotte must leave the Bull knowing he cared nothing for her and that she would never be alone with him again.

“I am still in love with you,” she said huskily.

“You are not. You are a prodigiously silly girl, who only wants what she cannot have. And I do assure you, Miss Wynter, you
cannot
have me!”