Face Down Before Rebel Hooves Part 7

"Ought to be by now. That's where she and Sir Walter meant to go."

"Sir Walter Pendennis?"

Nodding, Toby wrung the cap clutched nervously between his hands until it lost all semblance to headgear. There was a worried expression on his beardless face.

"Start at the beginning," Jennet suggested.

"Sir Walter came to Hamburg and took Lady Appleton and Lionel away with him because his wife had died."

"Faith! Lady Pendennis dead?" Jennet was so startled she almost dropped the letter. It had said nothing about that. "When? How?"

"In Augsburg. As to how, well that's the problem, you see. Sir Walter told us she was killed in an accident, but that he'd lied to everyone and said she was scarce hurt. Then he came for Lady Appleton because he needed a wife to go back to England with him."

Jennet sank into Lady Appleton's favorite chair and stared at Toby in bewilderment. "He asked Lady Appleton to marry him?" And just what did Master Baldwin think Jennet could do about that?

"Oh, no," Toby corrected her. "Sir Walter wanted her to pretend to be the wife he had."

That made even less sense, Jennet thought.

"Master Baldwin did not like the idea." Toby added. "He swore most foully the day they left. And then we went to Antwerp, and there Master Baldwin learned that Lady Pendennis's death was no accident after all. 'Twas murder."

"What?"

"Murder."

"I heard the word. 'Tis the meaning of it confounds me. Why would anyone murder Lady Pendennis?"

And who, she wondered, was to tell Mistress Rosamond her mother was dead? Then again, mayhap the child would not grieve too much. She'd not seen Lady Pendennis since she was two. It was Lady Appleton she called "Mama."

"Master Baldwin says Lady Appleton may be in danger. That's why he went to York and sent me here to fetch you."

Jennet reread the letter Toby had brought. It was terse to the point of rudeness. Master Baldwin all but commanded her immediate departure for York. This was all most mysterious, and alarming, but the words "Lady Appleton needs your help," underscored twice, could not be ignored.

"You must tell no one that the real Lady Pendennis is dead," Toby warned. "Master Baldwin bade me be sure to tell you that."

"Certes, the news must be kept from her daughter."

"Poor little mite," Toby said.

"Never mind Rosamond. Why did Lady Appleton go to York? And why does Master Baldwin think she needs my help? Why does she not ask for it herself?"

"She does not know she is in danger. Master Baldwin did not tell me much, but I think it must have something to do with Sir Walter having once been an intelligence gatherer."

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Jennet's husband, Mark, who served as Leigh Abbey's steward. He took one look at Toby and reached for the aqua vitae. "The lad's reeling with exhaustion," he chided her.

"I have more questions for him."

"They can wait until he has food in his belly."

Jennet let him fuss while she ruminated further. Not long ago, Dover and Rye, and likely other English ports, as well, had suddenly and inexplicably been closed. Rumors had flown about the countryside until they reopened, wild tales of imminent invasion, of rebellion . . . of unquiet in the North.

When Toby had been fed, Jennet made him repeat everything he'd told her, including the claim that Lady Pendennis had been murdered. When he'd finished, Mark and Jennet exchanged troubled looks.

"I do not like the sound of this," he said.

"Nor do I, but if Lady Appleton needs me, I must go."

"She has Lionel and, by now, Master Baldwin, too."

Jennet gave a derisive snort. She liked Lionel well enough, and he was useful when heads needed bas.h.i.+ng, but for cleverness she made two of him. As for Master Baldwin, if he'd thought he could rescue Lady Appleton on his own, he'd not have sent for her. There had never been any love lost between them.

"You have no idea what is going on." Mark ran one hand through his mole-brown hair in exasperation. "The only thing Toby knows is that Lady Pendennis is dead and Lady Appleton is pretending to be Sir Walter's wife."

"Not just dead. Murdered. There's cause enough to take action. And it appears that Master Baldwin has some plan in mind. Why else send for me?"

If he did not, Jennet would devise one of her own. In truth, she'd already had a most excellent idea. When they pa.s.sed through London on the way north, she would act upon it.

Sensing her determination, Mark stopped trying to talk her out of leaving. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Jennet shook her head. "The children need you here." In case something did happen to her.

"Take Fulke, then."

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. She had married a most remarkable man. He might have forbidden her to go. Legally, he could have enforced his will. Instead he paid her the supreme compliment of letting her decide what was best to do.

Chapter 14.

By the fifth time Susanna took a morning const.i.tutional on the leads, the guards at Topcliffe had grown as accustomed to seeing Lady Pendennis circle the wall walk at roof level as they were to watching the other gentlewomen practice with longbows at the archery b.u.t.ts. If she paused now and again to admire the view, they paid no attention to her.

Susanna had discovered she did not need to become a nameless, faceless servant in order to be invisible. What people were in the habit of seeing, they soon learned to ignore. Armed with her capcase full of medicines, supplemented with ingredients from Topcliffe's stillroom, she was free to roam all over the fortified house to minister to the dozens of small ailments common among a large number of people packed close together as cold weather came on.

As she stared down at the hall-and-chamber block and the range of lodgings at ground level, Susanna reviewed the progress she'd made in the last few days. A tonic of fennel root mixed with wine had been highly successful for alleviating the catarrh and had given her an excuse to mistake a separate door in the end wall of the ground floor for a way to the kitchen. The storeroom she'd stumbled into had been full of weapons, but they'd all been rusty and ill cared for. An air of neglect hung about the place. That the room had been unlocked and unguarded also seemed to argue that the earl had no intention of mounting a rebellion.

She'd made opportunities to talk with almost everyone in the residential tower and the annex built against it to the east. A poultice to reduce the pain of gout-rue and lovage pounded with preservative honey and applied hot-had even won her the grat.i.tude of Sir John, the priest. She'd also suggested several remedies for the temporary relief of the pesky quartain ague suffered by a number of the earl's henchmen. If cinquefoil did not help, meadowsweet would.

As in many households, people here grumbled about the government, ever ready to describe the woes and calamities the kingdom suffered under its present monarch. They lamented the loss of the way things had been in the good old days. Various remarks also gave credence to the rumor Lionel had repeated-that the earl was desperate for funds to satisfy his lavish tastes. But no one, at least in Susanna's hearing, had proposed rebelling against the queen as a way to cancel his debts.

Still, there was that mule. Had it been imported in antic.i.p.ation of the needs of a new Catholic archbishop in the North? Susanna paused in her circle of the wall walk, catching sight of approaching riders. No prelates appeared to be among them, but they carried the earl of Westmorland's banner. More interesting still, they were led by a woman.

Half hidden behind a large, heraldic lion hewn out of stone, Susanna watched the newcomers arrive at Topcliffe's gatehouse. At first, seeing the deference with which their leader was treated by the most menial servants at Topcliffe, she thought the countess of Westmorland herself might have come to call. She rea.s.sessed that conclusion when Northumberland's secretary, Guy Carnaby, crossed to the still-mounted woman, swung her out of her saddle, and engulfed her in a pa.s.sionate embrace. By the time he released her, her hood had been knocked askew to reveal hair as black and glossy as a raven's wings.

The wall walk had direct access to Lady Northumberland's chamber. When Susanna descended the narrow stairs from the roof, the countess was the only person there. She had just opened the large, German-made blanket chest that occupied pride of place in one corner of the room. Something in her demeanor made Susanna pause in the shadows. Willing herself to stillness, she watched the n.o.blewoman work the latch on an inner compartment, reach inside, and retrieve a roll of parchment. Taking it with her, she went into the privy attached to her chamber.

Susanna hesitated only a moment. There would be no better time to investigate. The other waiting women had doubtless gone to greet the new arrival. The countess, whether she was reading the doc.u.ment or throwing it down the jakes, would be occupied for a few more minutes.

The ornately carved chest stood about two feet high, its dark wood gleaming in the sunlight streaming through a nearby window. Both lid and compartment stood open. Within were more rolls of parchment. They were maps, similar to the one Walter Pendennis had used to show Susanna the route to Topcliffe. Unsure what this meant, she retreated to the window and was innocently gazing into the courtyard when the countess emerged from the privy.

"Ah, Eleanor! Good. I was about to send for you." Her dark eyes twinkled, as if she had a secret to share. "You will be pleased, I think, to learn that Lady Westmorland has sent one of her women from Brancepeth Castle with messages. Her name is Marion Standbridge."

Walter's dismissive words echoed in Susanna's mind: Mary? Marion? No matter. I doubt you'll encounter her in Northumberland's household.

"Marion? My . . . cousin?" Eleanor's cousin. What was she doing here? For one giddy moment, Susanna wondered if she could be Walter's agent. Then she remembered what she'd seen from the wall walk. Marion Standbridge was no stranger here. Moreover, she was pa.s.sing friendly with Guy Carnaby, the person at Topcliffe Susanna trusted least.

The shuffle of leather-shod feet on the stone steps warned them of the newcomer's imminent arrival, together with the countess's three waiting gentlewomen. Susanna turned to greet them, forcing a smile.

"Nell?" Marion's voice, airy as thistledown, expressed delight. Her eyes, which were faintly almond shaped, giving her an exotic look, warmed as she tripped lightly across the chamber, arms extended toward the woman she a.s.sumed to be her cousin. She had restored her headdress to order, concealing most of her midnight hair.

Unable to evade either Marion or the cloud of musky perfume emanating from her, Susanna allowed the much smaller woman to engulf her in a delicate embrace. As she endured the intimacy, she could not help but think the heavy scent an odd choice for one so fragile.

Stepping back, Marion flashed a brilliant smile that showed off a great many remarkably straight teeth. "Why, coz, do you not remember the imp who tagged along after you when you were twelve and I was five?"

Susanna breathed a little easier. She'd been afraid Marion had known Eleanor later in life. Before she had time to feel complacent, however, Marion introduced another subject fraught with pitfalls.

"I bring greetings from your lady mother."

Susanna tensed. "Is she here in Yorks.h.i.+re?" So much for Walter's a.s.surances!

A trill of laughter greeted that question. "Oh, no. She remains at Gillingham Place."

"Is she in good health? She and her husband both?" Susanna wondered how far away Gillingham Place might be. She'd never heard of it and did not dare a.s.sume it was in Westmorland, where Eleanor had lived until she went to Lady Quarles.

"Oh, aye," Marion a.s.sured her.

"I am glad to hear it. But, I vow, I am surprised she should bother to send a message to me. We have been estranged for many years, as you must know." Susanna hoped she'd injected just the right note of aggrieved resentment into her words. Eleanor had been shabbily treated by her kinfolk.

Marion seemed amused by Susanna's comment. "She speaks of you often."

The countess of Northumberland cleared her throat, recalling Marion to her duties. The real reason she was at Topcliffe was to deliver messages from the countess of Westmorland.

Susanna and the other waiting gentlewomen took up their embroidery at the other side of the room, but they had a clear view of all that transpired. After she read her sister countess's letter, Lady Northumberland produced the map she'd retrieved earlier. She and Marion pored over it for some time, making Susanna wonder if she'd been mistaken. She'd begun to think the queen had naught to fear. After all, the earl of Northumberland fell far short of what was required in an impa.s.sioned rebel leader. Even his own tenants referred to him, behind his back, as "simple Tom."

But Anne, countess of Northumberland, possessed all the boldness, cleverness, and ruthlessness her spouse lacked. She even had experience in the art of command. She was the absolute ruler of her household, alternately charming and bullying its large domestic staff. In the last few days, Susanna had seen ample evidence that the youthful impulsiveness the countess had bragged about had not lessened as she grew older. She'd ordered a huge bonfire built the previous night, just so she could enjoy watching it burn. She'd only been dissuaded from tossing gunpowder into the flames by Guy Carnaby's warning that it took more than that to produce fireworks.

Needle poised over a rosebud, Susanna paused, her uneven st.i.tches forgotten. Carnaby? Was he the key? Lady Northumberland conferred with him on a regular basis. Susanna had a.s.sumed they met so often because he carried orders to the countess from the earl. But what if the chain of command went in the other direction?

"Nell?"

Belatedly, Susanna realized Marion meant her.

"Your pardon, coz. I was wool-gathering."

"The countess has given us leave to continue our reminiscences. Shall we find a more private place to talk?"

A short time later, at Susanna's suggestion, they walked together in the same chilly garden she'd used four days earlier for her a.s.signation with Lionel. Marion's conversation contained references to dozens of relatives Susanna had never heard of, let alone met, but she nodded and smiled and prayed that Eleanor had not been familiar with most of them, either.

Abruptly, Marion halted beneath a trellis and gave Susanna a sharp look. "Your letter was most welcome, Nell."

Susanna hid a sudden burst of anxiety with a laugh. "Which letter?" If Walter had been mistaken about Eleanor's total estrangement from her family, this masquerade was about to fall apart.

"Did you write more than one?" Marion's eyes narrowed to slits.

Susanna's sense of impending danger became almost palpable in the crisp, November air. She sank down onto the same stone bench she'd occupied on her previous visit to this garden and buried her face in her hands. Making every effort to sound as pathetic as possible, she put a hitch in her voice. "There is something I have not told anyone. Something terrible."

At once, Marion was all sympathy. She sat beside Susanna and slipped one arm around her waist. "What is it, cousin? Tell me. Let me help."

The bench was as hard and cold beneath her as Susanna remembered, but she found Marion's perfume less overpowering in the open air. Drawing in a deep, strengthening breath, she plunged into the only tale she could think of that might allay suspicion. "I was injured just before I left Augsburg." The first of what she intended to be carefully orchestrated sobs broke the narration. "A runaway horse." Susanna sniffed and risked a peek at Marion through her fingers. The other woman's face wore a frown. "I was struck down. I was unconscious for hours. Ever since, there have been gaps in my memory." She gripped Marion's arm and dared to meet her eyes. "I cannot recall some things clearly, and others not at all. I fear I have no recollection of writing any letters to England from the Continent."

A look of patent disbelief greeted this claim, but Susanna found it easy to sound earnest with so much at stake. If Lady Northumberland was behind the plans for rebellion and had been corresponding with Lady Westmorland through Marion, then Eleanor's cousin was as committed to the uprising as they were. Any hint that "Nell" was an imposter, even the suspicion that she did not share their dedication, would force them to take steps to ensure her silence. Susanna did not care to contemplate just how they might achieve this goal. For all she admired Lady Northumberland, she knew that anyone willing to contemplate treason would be prepared to risk her own life and would not hesitate to do away with an unimportant gentlewoman who stood in her way.

"I have never heard of such a thing," Marion said.

"Nor had I, but a doctor Walter took me to in London told me of a similar case, a man struck in the head by a falling rock. Afterward, he was unable to recall anything about himself, although in time he recovered some of his memories." She let go of Marion's arm to fumble for a handkerchief and noisily blow her nose.

"You did not remember me, did you?"

Susanna shook her head. "There are great, gaping holes in my past. I remember why I fled my husband's lodgings, but not how I came to meet Master Dartnall. I know that I have a daughter I've not seen for more than four years, but I have no clear recollection of how I came to leave her behind in Kent."

"Your letter bragged of your husband's importance."

"I have no memory of any letter," Susanna insisted. "Not to whom I sent it nor what I said. Where was I at the time I wrote it?"

"Poland."

Dabbing at her eyes, in the hope Marion would believe she shed tears of despair, Susanna tried to think what to say next. From Poland, Eleanor would have written of her new husband's recent appointment as amba.s.sador. She had been pleased, Susanna remembered, although she'd been disappointed to discover that the post would earn Walter only eight hundred pounds per annum, far less than the stipend paid to the amba.s.sador to France.

Of what else, Susanna wondered, would Eleanor have boasted? Had she said something, even that long ago, to make the conspirators believe she would help them? Susanna could not imagine what it might have been. It was possible there was no connection at all between this letter and the uprising. Perhaps Eleanor had simply been in the right place at the right time to meet Dartnall and reveal, in all innocence, that she had ties to Westmorland.

Marion broke a long silence. "It must be most annoying to lose part of your past."

Susanna managed a rueful laugh. "In particular when there is no rhyme or reason to which things I remember and which things I cannot recall. Why, I might easily encounter someone I've met before and have no memory of him. Think of the embarra.s.sment!"

"Do you remember Uncle Roger? Sir Roger Cholmeley?"

"Roger is a common name in our family." There had been at least three in the genealogy Walter had sketched for her.

"I mean your mother's uncle, who is my mother's, too. He is very wealthy, Nell, in case you have forgotten that."

"And I wrote to him?"

"Yes. You announced your marriage." For a moment resentment simmered in Marion's unusual eyes. "According to Uncle Roger, a good marriage erases all manner of past mistakes."

And Marion was still unwed. Susanna wondered why Guy Carnaby did not take her to wife, but she could not inquire without revealing she'd spied on them from the wall walk. "Marion," she said instead, "I have left my husband. When he hears that, Uncle Roger is unlikely to think well of me."