Food For The Gallows (The Underwood Mysteries Book 2) Page 2

  Mr. Underwood was a man who was always very much in control of his emotions, but if there was one man in the world who could reduce his stoicism to behaviour that would be more fitted to the nursery, it was his younger brother, and it was therefore a belligerent answer which flew back, “I would very much like to know what you think it has to do with you? If you must go about saving souls and giving sermons, keep them for those who appreciate your meddling.”

  Verity was appalled to be at the centre of this sudden squall, never having seen the brothers argue before, and wondered frantically how she could calm the situation. She would have been even more horrified had she known jealously lay at the base of their animosity. With his brother out of sight and therefore out of mind, Underwood had been able to forget that Verity and Gil were exceptionally fond of each other, but these unexpected comments from his brother roused a possessiveness which he would have been deeply ashamed to have to acknowledge.

  For his own part, Gil had been as near to being in love with Verity as he had any woman, but had nobly stepped aside for his brother, knowing she was in love with him. That suppressed emotion now translated itself into a determination to force his brother, if necessary, to cherish the woman he had won.

  Of course Verity knew Gil was fond of her, but she imagined the affection was brotherly, as her own was sisterly. It never occurred to her that he had ever really been in love with her. Vaguely it was borne upon her that this visit might not have been the best of ideas.

  “Please, gentlemen. Let us have no more of this. It is very sweet of you to be concerned, Gil, but I assure you, Cadmus has given me no cause for complaint.”

  Gil glanced at her, taking note of her thin face and heavy eyes, then returned his gaze to his brother, “Do you hear that, Chuffy? No cause for complaint, but no mention of happiness, of fulfilment.”

  Underwood had regained his composure and was able to give a short laugh,

  “Good heavens, Gil. Do you expect us to parade our private lives before the entire world?”

  “I expect nothing but assurance of Verity’s happiness,” reasserted the vicar, with more determination than tact.

  “Gil, I am happy. Of course I am happy,” interjected Verity hastily.

  “Satisfied, brother?” demanded a triumphant Underwood.

  Gil grinned amiably, “That was all I wanted to know.”

  Underwood, realizing he had been successfully baited, allowed his expression to relax into a rueful smile, “Dammit, Gil! You almost had your claret drawn.”

  “You would not strike a man of the cloth,” said Gil, feigning shock and horror.

  “I’d gladly strike this one,” grunted the seriously discomposed Underwood; “He shows an over-enthusiastic interest in my wife.”

  Gil said nothing, suddenly aware that he had gone too far, but was unable to entirely regret his behaviour. He felt that Underwood had married Verity for a dozen reasons, none of which included love. That would have been of no consequence had Verity felt the same way, but it could only cause her intense misery knowing her affection was not returned. From his uncharacteristically aggressive reaction, Gil felt sure that his brother was at least growing fonder of his wife, and with hard work and luck, a long and happy marriage might ensue. Gil had great regard for his brother, unresolved and unacknowledged feelings for Verity and he wished neither of them to suffer the anguish of an unhappy partnership.

  The storm blown over, the brothers settled happily into an easy discourse in which Verity took no part. Neither seemed to notice that she had fallen unusually quiet and her demeanour was no longer placid. She wished Gil had not questioned her upon her marriage for, in doing so, he had forced her to ask herself the same questions, and she was not completely sure she could give herself the same answer she had given him.

  She had been so happy in those first few weeks after their wedding, requiring nothing more from life than to be with Underwood, to be sincerely grateful that the miracle had happened, that he had married her and not the girl with whom he had fallen in love only months before.

  Now, however, she found herself increasingly dissatisfied with their relationship. She thought more and more about Charlotte Wynter, wondering if Underwood too was thinking of her. She could not forget that she had been second choice, and that had things fallen out differently, he would never have seen her as anything other than a friend. In short he had never told her that he had fallen out of love with Charlotte and in love with her. She loved him still, perhaps more than ever before, for she had given herself completely to him, had lain in his arms at night and discovered the passion of which he was capable, but that had merely intensified the underlying misery which soured her feelings for him. How could she be sure that he was thinking of her, and not imagining another life?

  She could not control her bitterness and found herself being critical of his actions, always looking for an ulterior motive when he said or did something kind or complimentary. She despised herself for it – and him more for causing her to do it.

  Had she really been lying when she told Gil she was happy? She did not know, and it was not knowing which gnawed at her, cankerous and malignant.

  *

  CHAPTER TWO

  (Verbum Sat Sapienti” – A word is enough to the wise)

  A chink in the curtains allowed a single strand of sunlight into the room, which shone directly into Verity’s eyes, waking her with a start. After a considerable delay for blinking, stretching and yawning, she lay watching the dust motes dancing on the air. It was not until she realized how high the sun must be to shine in at this angle that she began to wonder just how late she must have slept. The little gold watch that had been a wedding gift from her husband and now spent its days pinned to the front of her dress, lay on the table beside her bed and she reached lazily for it.

  She gasped and quickly sat up when she had focused clearly enough to read the time – past eleven o’clock. No wonder the bed beside her had been long vacated by Underwood!

  Once the curtains had been drawn fully back, the room was flooded with daylight and with a contented sigh Verity raised the sash, rested her elbows on the sill and looked out onto the garden.

  It lay tranquil beneath her, full of the drowsy heat of the approaching noon. Well-kept lawns were edged with flower-filled borders, chaotic with colour and scent, here and there a heavy-laden bee blundered clumsily from blossom to blossom, and she was enchanted to see butterflies winging their erratic way across the path. A box hedge which divided the garden from the orchard beyond, rustled and filled the air with the high pitched squabbling of sparrows.

  Their sudden panicked flight heralded the arrival of human disturbance, and Verity heard a door close beneath her. Presently Gil and Underwood appeared below her window and both hesitated, apparently to admire the garden, “Who does all this, Gil, for I’m sure it is not your handiwork?” asked Underwood.

  “An elderly relation of Mrs. Trent comes in twice a week, but you would not think it so idyllic on the days he brings his goat. It is supposed to keep the grass short, but the one idea in its head is to eat the flowers. The language is not fit for a clergyman’s ears, believe me!”

  Underwood laughed and Verity was about to call a cheery good morning to them when she heard her name mentioned and succumbed all too readily to a little harmless eavesdropping.

  “Chuffy, are you sure Verity is quite well?” Gil continued, his voice full of concern. Verity shrank back slightly, almost holding her breath for fear they should become aware of her presence. She found that the answer her husband gave suddenly meant a great deal to her.

  “What makes you ask?” Underwood sounded vague, as though his mind were on other things.

  “I notice she does not look her usual self. She has grown a little thinner, has she not?”

  “I have no idea – but after being jostled over bad roads for hours on end, and an appalling night’s sleep in a less than salubrious posting house, it is scarcely surprising she looks a little
jaded.” He sounded more irritated than caring and Verity sank her teeth into her lower lip.

  “Are you sure that is all?” pursued Gil anxiously.

  “Humph!” snorted Underwood, “You show an avid interest in Verity’s welfare – perhaps you should have married her when you had the chance.”

  Gil answered quietly, but with deep feeling, “There are times, my dear brother, when you are unspeakably insensitive!”

  “So I have frequently been told. I apologize.” They strolled away and any further conversation was lost to her. With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled herself away from the window, afraid that the brothers might give a backward glance and see her at the window.

  She sat at the dressing table and gazed pensively at her reflection, thinking with hurt confusion of what she had overheard. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, said the old adage – how true! Underwood had sounded so indifferent to her, so callous when he suggested that Gil should have married her. Did he perhaps now wish that things had been different? And to use the word ‘jaded’ in reference to her; it was a word one used for old, raddled women.

  The face which stared palely back at her served only to cruelly reinforce his assessment. She was worse than jaded, she was positively haggard! The hair combed back off her face in her night time plait was altogether too severe a style, accentuating the strong shape of her physiognomy, the too determined jaw, the slightly heavy brow.

  With a determination born of hurt and anger at her husband’s dismissive attitude towards her, Verity loosened the plaint, found a pair of scissors in her dressing case and began to hack at the front of her hair.

  It took her only a few minutes to remember how to use the curling tongs, but a little practise to use them on herself – she had only ever used them before in her capacity as a lady’s companion, and she found it was entirely different wielding them on her own hair. Had she but known it, she was extremely lucky to have such thick and resilient hair, for the inexpert coiffure could have been disastrous. As it happened, any errors she made in the cutting were hidden in the glossy ringlets she finally achieved. The back of her hair she left long, partly because she couldn’t reach or see it, but also because she could not bear the idea of parting with all her tresses. This was coiled into its usual chignon, but her face was softened by the fashionable ringlets which now framed it, lending an unaccustomed and unexpected femininity and prettiness. A gentle pinching restored a little colour to her cheeks, and she decided that the time had come to doff the dark colours she had worn since her father’s death and her occupation as a governess – after all, she was a governess no longer.

  She was grateful now that her mother-in-law had persuaded her on several shopping trips just prior to her wedding, and had enticed her into purchasing numerous articles of clothing and adornment which she had been convinced she would never wear. Her present mood, however, was one of reckless abandon, and she delved deep into the trunk which she had, as yet, not managed to unpack.

  *

  When his wife walked into the dining room, having missed breakfast, but in good time for luncheon, looking stylish and much younger than she had the day before, Underwood’s mouth dropped open in an exceedingly unbecoming gape. It was left to Gil to leap to his feet and hold her chair for her to be seated, saying, as he did so, “What a remarkably pretty dress, Verity. I don’t believe I have ever seen you wear red before. I must say it suits you.”

  Verity managed to smile at him, but her eyes were fixed on Underwood, wondering what his reaction was going to be. She thought he was finding the dress too garish, though it was in fact a rather muted shade, more dark cherry than scarlet, and picked out with tiny gold spots.

  Underwood, with all the tact of his sex, managed to say entirely the wrong thing, “What have you done with your hair?” he asked bluntly.

  “Don’t you like it?” she asked, a little breathlessly. He observed her dispassionately for several seconds, his head slightly on one side, “I liked it long.”

  Gil waited for the explosion of wrath from his sister-in-law which he felt Underwood richly deserved, but Verity said mildly, “It is still long, I have only trimmed the front a little.” Then she added, rather stiffly, “You have never mentioned liking my hair before!”

  He looked blankly at her for a moment, as though he did not quite understand the significance of this comment, then countered, in a tone which brooked no argument, “Of course I have.” Upon which he began to serve himself from the assembled dishes.

  Verity, however, was not about to relinquish the discussion. Too often in the past she had done just that, and had endured frustration and unhappiness, feeling that nothing was ever resolved between her husband and herself.

  “In fact,” she pursued in a quiet, thought clear and slightly aggressive tone, “you never mention my appearance at all. I don’t suppose you could even tell me the colour of my eyes.”

  It was a challenge and he immediately recognized the fact. Vaguely it was borne upon him that he was about to undertake some sort of a test, and his future comfort might very well depend upon his answer. He was not pleased for he was a man who cherished his peace, besides which he was hungry and wanted his lunch. After the slightest delay he lifted his eyes to her face, whereupon she closed the disputed orbs. His anger vanished in an instant and amusement replaced it. He smiled as he said softly, “You are placing ridiculous importance upon a trifle.”

  With her eyes screwed firmly shut, Verity replied, “You only say that because you cannot answer. If I am wrong and you do know, I shall retract and apologise, but I do not think I shall be called upon to do so.”

  Underwood threw his glance heavenward in exasperation, then looked in irritation at his smugly grinning brother.

  “Very well, if you must play silly games. Your eyes are hazel, with intriguing specks of pure gold. The dress you wore yesterday was dark grey with a white lace collar. Your birthday is September the tenth and you will be twenty-seven years old. Our Wedding day was the nineteenth of November and your height is five feet four inches. Does that satisfy you?”

  Her eyes sprang open at the first of these revelations and now she looked at him, her eyes soft, her teeth sunk guiltily into her lip, “Oh, Cadmus!”

  “Oh, Cadmus, is all very well, but I have been vastly maligned,” he told her with mock severity. She took his words far more seriously than he ever intended and tears glistened in her eyes, “Yes, you have,” she admitted, “But you have no one but yourself to blame. I have not the gift of second sight. How can I know you see these things if you make no mention of the fact? It would be nice if you occasionally told me that I was dressed becomingly.”

  “But you are always neat and tidy, and I was not aware that such comments were required of me. I have never asked your approval or opinion, because the looking glass tells me everything I need to know.”

  “It is not the same for a man,” she said helplessly, aware that he would never understand this vague protest, “My looking glass does not tell me if I seem attractive in your eyes.”

  As she watched his reaction from beneath lowered lids, her heart sank. His expression was one of complete astonishment – evidently he had never thought of the word ‘attractive’ in connection with his wife. She almost wished she had not initiated the conversation – and yet, was it not better to know than to be forever wondering? Of course he did not find her attractive, he had never done so, had never pretended otherwise. She only wished her humiliation were not about to be paraded before Gil.

  In her misery she desired nothing more than to slink away, to hide and lick her wounds like an injured animal.

  “Attractive to me? My dear girl, I had no idea you had any such ambition. I wish I had been aware of it, for I might have saved you a good deal of inconvenience,” he said smoothly. Distress tightened in her throat in a painful lump which threatened any moment to burst forth in a torrent of weeping. Why had she started this? But he was still speaking and she forced herself to lis
ten, though she thought she had never felt such pain as this before in her life.

  “It is not your apparel which I find attractive, it is merely a decent covering. It is your heart and your mind which hold my interest. Your face and those lovely expressive eyes, the colour of which, despite your cynicism, I shall recall all my life, hold my attention more surely than any dress. I do not notice nor care what you wear, and I always thought it was the same for you.”

  It was Verity now who gaped in amazement. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined Underwood saying anything so charming or romantic.

  Gil was rather taken aback. Had he realized Underwood intended to speak so frankly he would have vacated the room several minutes ago. He rose as quietly as he was able and swiftly left, but he need not have worried. Neither husband nor wife noticed his departure. They had eyes only for each other.

  Verity swallowed deeply, unable now to prevent the tears spilling onto her cheeks, “Cadmus…” her voice broke on a sob and he rose so quickly that his chair fell over backwards and clattered unheeded to the floor. When he reached her, he took her in his arms and kissed her. It was as though their lips had met for the first time, so powerful were the emotions Verity was experiencing.

  They could have remained thus for some considerable time had not Gil knocked at the door and called plaintively, “I trust all is settled between you, because I am passing out with hunger.”

  Underwood released her and laughing, tossed her his handkerchief, “I have never known a woman to have an handkerchief when she needs one! Wipe your tears. Gil wishes to show us Hanbury when we have eaten.”

  When the meal was over, Verity went to prepare for their walk and Gil faced his brother across the table, “You handled that situation very well, Chuffy. You have great charm when you choose to exert it, but tell me now, truthfully, did you mean a single word you said to Verity?”