An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (11 page)

“Quite!  Francis was the same.  I dare swear I would have had to drag him away by his coat tails.”

The Countess sniffed huffily, “I realize you ladies are accustomed to your husbands’ vagaries, but may I say that I find your levity in this matter not only distasteful, but positively unwomanly!”

They both had the grace to look abashed, “Pray forgive us,” said Verity hastily, “You are quite right.  We entirely forgot ourselves.  Our only excuse is that our husbands see such matters in a businesslike manner, and over the years we have come to view things in very much the same way.  Of course, it is a wholly different matter when it is one’s own family which is affected.  Do say that you are not terminally offended with us.”

She looked so sincere in both her sympathy and her regret that the Countess could not resist the plea.  She managed to smile, “Think no more about it, my dear.  No doubt Underwood is a trial to any wife.  Cara has told us of his many exploits and I must say, I do not know how you have the patience to condone his behaviour.”

This was treading on dangerous ground, for Verity would allow no one to criticize her beloved Cadmus, but she swallowed the hot words that sprang to her lips.  This was not the time to have a quarrel with the older lady.

“Marriage to Underwood has many compensations,” she said lightly, “Now, tell me how soon we can contact this lady and send the children to her?”

Successfully diverted, the Countess began to make her plans.  She went across the room to a small davenport, found paper, sharpened a quill and began to write. 

“Pryce can find the fleetest groom and send him immediately.  Provided Miss McClure has no other claims upon her, we should be able to send the children off this afternoon.  As soon as William tells me Peter has gone, you ladies can go and ask your maids to pack your children’s clothes.”

As though the thought provoked the action, a knock sounded at that precise moment and a young maid peeped around the door, “Beg pardon, ma’am, but I’m to tell you that Lord Peter is safely away.  Dr. Herbert has accompanied the body.”

“Thank you, Sara.  You may take away the tea things, we have finished, and ask Mr. Pryce to attend me at once.”

The girl bobbed a curtsey and bore away the tray, almost staggering beneath the weight of the silver and china.  Mr. Pryce usually carried the tea tray for this very reason.  Verity, noting the valiant struggle, kindly held the door open for her, bestowing a smile upon the heated minion, “Thank you, ma’am,” she whispered.

Having been given the signal to leave the room, the ladies now went their separate ways, leaving the Countess to give her instructions to her butler.

*

Underwood finally found Toby when the body of Lord Peter had been carried off the premises.  The big man was looking uncharacteristically grim and Underwood was concerned.  It was unlike Toby to be anything other than perfectly amiable.

“I gather the Earl has spoken to you, old friend?”

“He has.  These Aristos!  No wonder the Frenchies chopped all their heads off.  They think they own you body and soul for a few coins.”

Underwood laughed at the unusual vision of Toby in a bad mood, “Dear me, he has rubbed your fur up the wrong way, hasn’t he?  Well, calm yourself.  I made it quite clear to him that you are a free man as far as I am concerned, and have no obligation to perform any task that you dislike.  If you do not wish to chase across Europe in pursuit of Gil and Cara, you certainly do not have to do it on my account.”

“No, but I do have to do it on Giovanni’s account!  The poor fellow is devastated by all this.  I cannot send him alone – and Luisa has begged him to go.  That means the order is carven in stone.  His loyalty to her is unswerving.”

Underwood could see his problem, but even so he countered, “If you hate the idea so much, Toby, then do not go.  Giovanni will have to take care of himself.  From all I have heard, he has done so for many years now without your help.”

“No, it is no trouble really.  I just did not like the way the Earl ordered me about, but if I am honest, I have no real objection to the journey.  Rev. Underwood left directions where they can be found – you know how organized he is!  The whole thing should be accomplished in a matter of days.  With swift horses and good luck, we should have the pair of them back here for the funeral before a sennight is passed.”

“I hope so.  I can think of nothing worse for Luisa than to have the funeral delayed any longer than is strictly necessary.”

“Set your mind at rest.  Giovanni is packing a few things right now, and the horses are being saddled in the stables.  I shall be away within the hour.  And the Earl is useful for something.  He is writing us letters even as we speak.  His frank should get us across most borders without difficulty.”

                Underwood held out his hand and shook Toby’s firmly, “Then I will wish you good luck and Godspeed!  And pray break the news gently to Cara when you find her.  She was one of the few people who seemed to be fond of Peter.  One has to admit he was not an amiable man.”

“Hardly!  But he didn’t deserve to have his throat cut, just the same.  Well, goodbye Mr. Underwood.  Pray give my regards to Mrs. Underwood, for I fear I will not have time to see her before I leave.”

“I’ll tell her.”

*

CHAPTER ELEVEN

(“Potius Mori Quam Foedari” – Rather to die than to be dishonoured)

The Brighton residence of the Earl and Countess saw a steady stream of traffic coming and going that afternoon.  Toby and Giovanni were not far behind the magnificent hearse, which bore away the body of Lord Peter Lovell.  They always made an ill-assorted pair, but on horseback they were even more disparate.  Toby had to ride a mount, which bore an uncanny resemblance to a destrier of old, so large was his frame, but Giovanni, of course, would have been more at home on a child’s pony.  It was not possible to put him on one, due to the miles needed to be covered in a short space of time, so he was mounted on a lady’s bay mare.  It still meant there was a vast difference in height between the two men, but neither seemed unduly concerned by the discrepancy.  There was evidently a strong bond of affection between them and Verity had a hint of a tear in her eye when she had waved them away.

The next journey was accomplished in a large, old-fashioned coach.  It was the only vehicle the Earl had to hand which would hold the all the children.  The Underwood’s Horatia was to be accompanied by Francis Junior and Edward Herbert, Melissa Thornycroft and Alistair Pennington-Underwood.  Only Alistair had a real idea why they were being sent off into the countryside, and though he did not particularly want to leave his beloved Aunt Verity, he understood the need for him to give a good example to his confused young companions.  Verity, noting the bravely bitten trembling lower lip, gave him a huge hug, “It won’t be for very long, my dear, and Papa Gil will soon be home.”

                She, Adeline, Ellen and the Countess were taking the children to Miss McClure, settling them overnight, then returning the following day, so she was feeling slightly tearful herself.  It was extremely rare that she and Underwood spent even a night apart – but when she returned to him, she must leave her child behind.  It was not a prospect she welcomed, for Horatia too had never been away from her mother, but on balance, she knew, strangely enough, that it would be the child who would miss her least.  She was such a little stoic, so like her mother that she took whatever life threw at her with squared shoulders and a lifted chin.  She spent such a lonely life with the adults at Windward House that whenever she was thrust into the company of other children, she simply blossomed.  In the present circumstances it would be more cruel to take her away from her cousin and her playmates than it would to deprive her of her mother.

As the great carriage lumbered out of the gates, it almost collided with a gig coming in.  This held Constable Grantley, looking severe.  He pulled his steed to a standstill and watched the coach negotiate the sharp turn out of the gate before allowing himself access.  The gentlemen, who had been waving farewell to their wives, observing his arrival stayed on the doorstep to greet him.

He jumped lightly to the ground and tossed the reins to a resplendently dressed footman, who caught them with a barely concealed sneer, and passed them immediately to a groom.  He had a low opinion of a man who did not know that it was not a footman’s duty to care for the horses.

Grantley could not have cared less.  His expression was grim as he climbed the steps and addressed himself to the Earl, “You appear to have been busy, sir.  Might I ask why you have allowed anyone to leave this house?  There may have been a valuable witness amongst those you have encouraged away.”

“Don’t be absurd, my good man!  I have merely arranged for the children of my guests to be sent into the country.  They could hardly be allowed to stay here, now could they?”

Grantley was not an unreasonable man, for all he was a pedant, so he shrugged slightly and admitted grudgingly, “I suppose not.”

“Come inside.  This is not the place to conduct a conversation of this sort.”

They all obediently trailed indoors, Underwood pushing Jeremy’s wheeled chair, since Adeline was not there to do her usual task.  They all seemed curiously deflated without the presence of their wives, though no doubt the realization of freedom would soon fall upon them and they would have an evening of riotous ribaldry.

In the meantime they had Grantley to deal with and his demeanour was more quelling than the most exacting of wives.  The Earl led them into his study and they all stood about, shifting their feet and looking impossibly guilty.  Grantley scanned them with a severe eye, “Well, gentlemen, have you recalled anything that I ought to be told?”

“Not a thing,” said the Earl emphatically.

“Then I require your permission to examine the victim’s room once more.  My men will arrive presently and they will be speaking to the staff.”

“Very well.”

              Underwood, who had been leaning against the door jamb, his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, straightened and addressed himself to the Constable, “Mr. Grantley, do you think I might come upstairs with you?  I should very much like to test a theory or two of my own.”

Grantley observed him for a long moment before he replied, “Your fame goes before you, Mr. Underwood.  I have read reports of your exploits in the newspapers.  Of course, being a man of pride, my first reaction is to ban you from meddling in this matter, but common sense must prevail.  Your assistance would probably be most useful.”

Mr. Underwood bowed in acknowledgement of this compliment and then the two men went up the stairs together, leaving the Earl open-mouthed and Jeremy laughing delightedly.

As they walked down the long corridor which led to the fatal room, Grantley remarked, “I don’t mind telling you, sir, this case has me puzzled.  Having met the Lady Luisa I cannot bring myself to believe she has killed her husband, but what other explanation can there be?  Even if your theory is correct that she allowed the killer to escape, that must still embroil her in his death.”

“My dear fellow, you must never allow your instincts to sway you from finding the truth.  One of the most mouse-like, cowed and spiritless women I ever met was responsible for smashing in the skull of her own sister, and she then calmly carried the severed head in her saddle-bag up onto the moors and cast it into a peat-bog!  One never knows what brutality hides behind the façade of gentility.”

Grantley appeared to be suitably horrified by this disclosure, “Dear God!  Did she swing for it?”

“No, her family connections meant that she was able to die of natural causes in a Lunatic Asylum – but I swear she was no more mad than you or I.”

“So, you are saying that you think Lady Luisa murdered her husband?”

“Not at all.  I doubt it very strongly, but I recognize the need not to make assumptions.  Given extreme circumstances, we are all capable of doing things which we would previously have sworn to be out of the question.  Take myself, for an example.  Though I have, on many occasions investigated crimes, I assiduously avoid the necessity of either viewing the body or the gore-strewn area where the incident occurred.  My work is all cerebral and never physical.  Yet here I am, volunteering to enter this room with you.  Yesterday I would have sworn it to be impossible, but today I find myself more and more intrigued by that locked door.”

Grantley took the key from his pocket and opened the intriguing door, “You have proved your point, Mr. Underwood – pray enter.” 

Underwood did so, with an air of distaste, but it was not long before he found himself forgetting the tragedy in the excitement of solving the mechanics of the problem.

The room, though still bloodstained and disordered, was now strangely prosaic.  The atmosphere was no longer charged and dramatic as it had been when Luisa and Peter had been there.  It was as though all emotion had drained away with the removal of the two prime players in the tragedy.  Like an empty theatre when the curtain comes down and all the actors have gone away.  During the performance one could be moved to laughter or tears, then suddenly it is over and the memory swiftly fades.

The two men looked about them for several moments before Underwood spoke, “I think we have to discount Luisa from any responsibility of actually striking the blow which killed her husband, Mr. Grantley.”

Grantley had evidently seen the same thing that had convinced Underwood, for he approached the bed and replied, “Very true.  Even Lady Luisa could not manufacture that!”  He gestured towards the bed.  An almost perfect outline of Luisa’s body was marked in blood – or rather, the lack of it.  She had evidently been lying on the bed, just where they found her, when Lord Peter’s severed carotid artery had pumped his blood in a gushing fountain over her.  She could not have hoped to slash his throat, then lie down on the bed before his blood hit the covers.  Her story on that point at least must be true.

“She could not have laid out her night dress on the bed, then changed into it afterwards?” suggested Grantley tentatively.

“No, the material was too flimsy.  Only the front was soaked with blood.  It would have gone right through unless her body had been there to stop it,” answered Underwood thoughtfully, “Everything points to his standing over her and slitting his own throat.  It would explain why she screamed and why she fainted.  Damn the missing knife!  If it wasn’t for that, there would be no mystery.”

“Could she have hidden the knife, to save him from the ignominy of being buried as a suicide?” suggested Grantley.

“It is possible I suppose, but where the devil can she have hidden it?”

“I’ll have the room turned upside down, but in the meantime, there is nothing to stop us having a look around now.”

Underwood was glad to move away from the bed, but he was presented with another mystery when he did so, “You know, Grantley, I find this very curious.”

“What?”

“The fact that the connecting door to the dressing room is not locked with a key, but secured by having a chair-back thrust under the door knob.”

“Why?  It is as good a way as any to make sure a door cannot be opened.  You must know that it is effective, since you could not get in through that way on the night in question.”

“Yes, but why not simply lock it?  The key is in the door.”

Grantley joined him, “That is odd.  Why go to all the trouble of dragging a chair across the room when the key is freely available?”

Underwood crouched and scanned the chair more closely, “There is dust on this stretcher, but some of it has been wiped away.  We either have a slapdash maid or something else brushed against this one particular spot.”

“My money would be on a slapdash maid any day of the week,” responded Grantley cynically.

“Still, rather puzzling just the same.”

“Perhaps Lady Luisa can provide an answer.  I need to speak to her presently, so I will add that to my list of questions.”

They continued their perusal of the room.  Underwood, not knowing why, but vaguely hoping to find the missing knife or a bloodstained razor, opened a large wooden chest which stood against the far wall, under the window.  It was almost empty, containing only a spare blanket for the bed.  He was about to close it again when he saw something which made him stop hurriedly and peer more closely.

“Grantley, come here.  Tell me if my eyes deceive me, or is that a spot of blood?”

Grantley obediently scanned the blanket; “It certainly looks like it.”

“Do you recall this chest standing open on the night of the murder?”

“Not that I remember – and if it was closed, how did blood get onto the blanket?”

“Precisely.  Do you suppose she could have hidden the weapon in here?”

“If she did, where is it now?”  He took out the blanket and shook it.  No clatter of a knife hitting the floor – nothing.  If the knife had been there, it was there no longer.

“Lady Luisa has a great deal of explaining to do, Underwood.”

“I should be very interested to hear her replies.”

*

They were surprised to find her out of bed.  True, she was still pale, her eyes red-rimmed with the tears she had shed, but she was up, dressed and downstairs in the parlour.

There was a look of apprehension on her face when she caught sight of Mr. Grantley, her hands fluttering nervously to her throat, as though she thought he intended her physical harm.  Underwood noticed the tension in the air between them, but made no comment upon it.

“I trust I find you a little better, my Lady,” said Grantley with great formality.

“A little, thank you.”

“Would it be inconvenient for you to answer some questions?”

“I … I suppose not.  Is Mr. Underwood to stay?”

“Only if you do not object,” interjected Underwood swiftly.

“Not at all.  In fact I should prefer it.”  This last was said with a slightly defiant glance cast in Grantley’s direction and Underwood was astounded to see him blush rather painfully.

“Very well, madam.  Perhaps we could begin with a minor point, which is baffling both Mr. Underwood and myself.  Why was the door to the dressing room blocked by a chair?”

“I don’t know.  Pietro did it.  He said he did not wish us to be disturbed.”

“But why with a chair?  Why did he not use the key?”

“How should I know?  Perhaps he did not have the key?”

“The key was in the lock!”