A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) (19 page)

He thanked Tom for his time and the entertainment he had provided, and then rose rather unsteadily to his feet.

Tom watched him stagger towards the door with an affectionate smile on his face, “I see you gave him the unwatered, Jonas!” he called across to the landlord.  Jonas was swiftly on the defensive, spluttering indignantly, “You’ll find no watered ale here, Tom Briggs and I’ll thank you to mind your tongue!”

Mr. Underwood stumbled, blinking, into the sunlight, to the sound of a hearty quarrel issuing from the dark doorway behind him.  He leaned against a convenient post for a few moments until his head ceased to swim, then began to make his unsteady way back to the vicarage.

*

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

(“Mater Familias” - The mother of a family)

Mrs. Underwood was blond like her eldest son, but had the calm demeanour of the younger.  She alighted from the London stage with not a hair out of place and seemingly completely unaffected by the long hours of rocking and bumping over largely unmade road, and a night in a posting house, which now lay behind her.

She kissed both her sons with equal affection, but the very observant might have noticed an especially worried look in her grey eyes as the scanned her elder child’s face.  She had heard of his troubles through letters from Gil and it was this alone which had brought her to Bracken Tor just then, though she had been planning the trip for quite a while beforehand.

“How lovely of you both to come and meet me.  Such an unexpected pleasure.”

“Nothing could have kept us away,” asserted Mr. Underwood, unblushing and with his most charming smile.  Now that he was with his mother, he had entirely forgotten his determination to avoid her.  His mother, however, knew quite well that she was being flattered and tapped his cheek in mock annoyance, “Behave yourself!”

There was a loud thud on the ground behind them as the luggage was heaved from the top of the coach and unceremoniously dropped to the floor, raising a cloud of choking dust.  Rev. Underwood ran to retrieve it, throwing an irritated glance in the direction of the unheeding coachman.

Whilst his attention was thus distracted, Mrs. Underwood took the opportunity to have a private word with her eldest, “Are you well, my son?  I have been worried about you.”

Underwood put a comforting arm about her shoulders, “No need, I do assure you.  I have told you often enough not to waste your thoughts on me.  I should concentrate on Gil, if I were you.  Now there’s a man in need of solace. You have sent him almost to the point of apoplexy with your little announcement!”

“Oh dear,” said his mother absently, not sounding in the least concerned, “Which announcement was that, my love?”

Underwood was well aware that his mother’s apparent abstraction served exactly the same purpose as his own – it was a very useful device for drawing attention away from a subject which was inconvenient or unpleasant.  Being a master of this particular trick, he was not about to be taken in by his mother.

“The news of your forthcoming nuptials,” he explained patiently.

“Oh that,”  she declared dismissively, drawing on her gloves and fixing them firmly by the simple expedient of pressing her index finger between each other finger, “I really don’t see why that should have upset Gil, my dear.  It is not as though either of you lives at home any longer, now is it?  My marriage will have little effect on your daily lives.”

Gilbert rejoined them at this moment and asked brightly – rather too brightly, thought Underwood, “Shall we be on our way?  There is still some distance to travel, and I know Mrs. Selby will be eager to welcome you, Mother.”

From this Underwood assumed, correctly, that the vicar had known exactly what their conversation entailed and felt it entirely inappropriate that it should take place on the public highway.

Presently, all the luggage safely stowed; the family was bound, at a sedate trot, towards Bracken Tor in the dilapidated carriage owned by the vicarage, drawn by one of Tom Briggs’ hired horses.  The Rev. Underwood did not keep a horse of his own, though the vicarage did boast a stable, for he could not justify the expense of an ostler when he so rarely found himself needing transport.  He was fond of walking, and there were very few of his parishioners who lived beyond his range.  That his brother was not fond of walking and was finding the lack of transport an inconvenience was of no concern to him.

Gil was handling the reins, very inexpertly in his brother’s opinion, but he kindly no comment and turned his attention to their mother, “How are the family, Mother?”   This question was prompted, not by filial devotion, but from an awareness that Mrs. Underwood could happily discuss her family for hours on end and once started, no further input would be required from her sons.

“Uncle George is suffering badly with gout,” she answered.

“Serves him right,” intercepted the vicar, in a most unchristian tone of voice, “He drinks too much.  I have told him often enough that his over-indulgence would end in some such way.”

“As I recall, he called you a ‘priggish young puppy’ when you delivered that particular sermon,” said Underwood, with a wry grin.

“Now, now, boys!  Enough of that, thank you, kindly remember that Uncle George is my favourite brother,” said Mrs. Underwood calmly.

“Uncle George is an outrageous old rip, and if you knew half the things he had done in the past…”

“Tut, tut!”  interjected Underwood hastily, “Gil, I don’t know if these details are fit for a ladies ears – and you really should try to remember you are a man of the cloth.”

The reverend gentleman had the grace to blush and subside into a rather sulky silence.

Underwood, recalling that there were very of their relations of whom Gil approved, decided that it was altogether too unsafe a topic and guided his mother’s conversation along other lines, “Are we to be allowed to know to whom you have plighted your troth, Mother?  Your rather cryptic missive held no hint.”

When he felt, rather than saw, his brother stiffen beside him, he realized he had made yet another tactical error, but it was too late to withdraw from the fray now – and it was something which was going to have to be faced sooner or later, so let it be sooner, by all means.

To the surprise of the brothers, Mrs. Underwood began to laugh heartily, “Oh dear me!”

“Perhaps you would care to share the jest, Mother,” said Gil testily, “I own I see nothing in the situation to laugh at myself.”

“You would if you had witnessed General Milner struggling up off his knees after he had made his proposal,” she answered, taking her handkerchief from her reticule and wiping her eyes.

“Good God!  General Milner must be ninety if he’s a day,” exclaimed Underwood.

“Nonsense, Chuffy. Don’t be unkind,” chided Mrs. Underwood, with great dignity, “He is exactly the same age as your dear Papa would have been, had he lived.”

Since the brothers always thought of their father as the relatively young man he had been at the time of his death, this came as rather a shock and they both needed a few moments to digest this information.

“So, you actually intend to go through with this folly?” said Gil presently, in a sarcastic tone which he tried hard to disguise, and which he immediately regretted when he heard the hurt gasp of his mother’s intaken breath, “Gil!”

In his anguish he simply dropped the reins and turned to his mother, “I’m so sorry.”

“Dash it all, Gil!” yelled Underwood, “Are you trying to tumble us all into a ditch?”

Gil was too busy trying to take Mrs. Underwood’s hands in his own to take any notice of his struggling sibling, “Mother, I apologise and retract.  That was unforgivable.”

“Yes, Gil, it was, but I do forgive you.  I understand this had all come as a terrible shock to you both, but I think you ought to try and see my own dilemma,” said Mrs. Underwood reasonably, “I rarely see either of you – you have your own lives after all, and that is how it should be, but I do feel terribly lonely sometimes, and General Milner has always been exceedingly kind – and I have to say – constant.”

“But you know you are more than welcome to come and live with me,” protested Gil, “I have asked you often enough.”

His mother smiled gently and patted his cheek, “Now, my dear boy, you know how I despise women who hang onto their son’s coat-tails.  And if I was to be there to look after you, you should never feel the need to find yourself a wife.  No, I’m quite determined to see my grandchildren out of short-coats before I die – though you two are making it less and less likely.”

Mr. Underwood had, by now, succeeded in bringing their errant steed under control and felt confident enough to take his brother’s place and speak at the same time, “Mother, I have not the slightest doubt that you will live far longer than either Gil or myself, so you may take that pathetic expression off your face and stop trying to blackmail us into matrimony.”

“I don’t know how I managed to raise two such rude and disrespectful boys,” she answered crossly.

“Mother, you know perfectly well that you raised ‘
par nobile fratum’
.”

Gil laughed, “That’s very good, Chuffy!  A noble pair of brothers.  How very apt.”

“It is not at all apt,” countered Mrs. Underwood, “You are an ungrateful pair of wretches, and I don’t know why I travelled all these miles merely to be insulted.”

The vicar cast a wicked glance in his brother’s direction and confided, “Be patient Mother, and comfort yourself with the thought that you may not be so very far from attaining your heart’s desire.”

Mrs. Underwood brightened visibly, “My dearest Gil, do not tell me you have found yourself a girl?”

“Not I,” said the vicar smugly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her for once entirely bereft of the power of speech.  Her mouth dropped open in a most unladylike fashion and it was several seconds before she was able to say, “Chuffy?  Chuffy has a girl?  I simply cannot believe it.  Who is she?  When shall I meet her?”

Underwood was glaring at his brother in a way which boded ill for the time they should find themselves alone, “Don’t, pray, get yourself into too much of a spin, Mama.  The young lady concerned has given no indication that she would welcome my suit – nor, may I add, has her father.”

“Not welcome your suit?”  Mrs. Underwood was clearly highly offended that there should be any doubt at all her son was not a fit husband for the highest lady in the land, “If the young woman is too foolish…”

“Now, now, calm yourself.  There is no need to fly into a pet!  I merely meant that I have yet to ask for her hand.  There are reasons aplenty for my reticence, I do assure you.”

“What reasons, my dear one?  You really must not let what has gone before ruin your life any longer.”

There was an awkward silence at this, albeit veiled, mention of Underwood’s past, until the gentleman forced a serene smile to his lips, “I am not, Mama, I promise you.  That was not the reason to which I referred.  The problem is with the child herself.”

“Is she not strong?  Does she suffer from some progressive disease?  Is there madness in her family history?”

“No more than there is in ours,” muttered Underwood testily, then added aloud, “If you would cease to interrupt, I could explain the matter.”  He was clearly losing patience and his mother therefore tried valiantly to hold back the flood of questions which sprang to her lips.

“There is nothing wrong with her health.  She is lovely, vivacious and in rude health – she is also, however, extremely young and I hesitate to ask her to tie herself to a man so much her senior.”

His mother snorted in contemptuous dismissal of his qualms, “Great Heavens, Chuffy!  Is that all?  God bless my soul, what does age matter, you silly boy?”

Underwood remained impassive.  He was not reassured and could not prevent a sardonic note entering his voice as he asked, “Do you not think a man has a responsibility to ensure the future happiness of his bride by at least endeavouring to survive the wedding by perhaps a few years?”

“Now, you are being pessimistic in the extreme, Chuffy!  There is no possible reason for you to imagine you will not live to a great age and enjoy the best of health for years to come.”

“Father didn’t,” said Underwood shortly.

“Your papa died of a fever caught whilst he was on his travels in the orient.  It seems to me you are just trying to find excuses not to ask the girl.”

Gil heartily concurred with his mother’s opinion, but had so far not had the courage to voice his views, so it was with an extremely unkind grin that he greeted this remark.  Underwood saw it, and with great dignity he returned his attention back to the pony, which he clicked impatiently into action, “When – and if! – I feel the time is right, I shall make my proposal.  Until then I’ll thank you both not to meddle in my affairs.”

Mother and younger son exchanged a glance, but wisely refrained from further comment.

*

Mrs. Underwood had almost as great a talent for
faux pas
as her elder son and the next occasion when she succeeded in causing everyone severe embarrassment was on the following Friday evening, at the dinner party held by the good doctor and his wife.

With the vicar’s almost fanatical preoccupation with punctuality, they were the first to arrive and were comfortably ensconced when the rest of the guests made their appearance.

Hearing voices he recognized in the hall, the vicar leant towards his mother and confided in a whisper, “Chuffy’s intended has just entered the house, Mama.  Prepare yourself to meet your probable future daughter-in-law.”

Charlotte swept into the room. Looking extremely decorative in a white gown, with an over-dress of gauze sewn all over with tiny pearls, behind her came Jane, Emma and Eliza.  Verity Chapell brought up the rear, looking, for the first time in weeks, something like her old, cheerful self.  Her eyes, when they came to rest upon Mr. Underwood, shone with a brilliance which lent her plain face an unaccustomed beauty.