Face Down Before Rebel Hooves Part 9

They'd been riding since dawn, but with a household the size of Northumberland's, even rebellion had been obliged to wait upon provisioning. They were an entire day later in starting than Lady Northumberland had intended. Susanna reckoned the entire distance to Brancepeth at some thirty miles, and they'd traveled no more than a third of the way. They rode in a long double line with carts following behind to carry their belongings.

Cecily Carnaby closed one eye and squinted through the other, although she claimed she saw a hundred times better now than she had before Susanna suggested roasting an egg. "Northallerton," she answered in her soft, mellifluous voice.

Susanna recognized the name and envisioned in her mind the map Walter had shown her. He'd have pa.s.sed through here on his way to Streatlam. Could she locate Sir George Bowes's house if she slipped away from the cavalcade and went off on her own? She doubted it. Such an attempt would also be most foolhardy. To be brought back a prisoner would benefit no one.

"A pity we are not here on a Wednesday." Susanna had to strain to catch Cecily's murmured comment. "Wednesday is market day in Northallerton. A stirring speech from the market cross and we'd have roused the rabble to join our cause."

Leaving the village behind, they crossed over a bridge with one stone arch and continued along the center of a vale, pa.s.sing between a range of hills and a river over gently undulating land. Rabble? Susanna turned the word over in her mind. Did the rebels mean to rely upon untrained farmers and shepherds? 'Twas true she'd seen no sign of an army, but how could any cause hope to succeed without a well-trained band of soldiers?

Cecily sighed. "I wish we were to pa.s.s through Giggleswich on this journey. Water from St. Alkelda's holy well is said to aid those whose vision is impaired."

"Nonsense." Susanna spoke before she remembered that belief in the healing powers of saints, particularly local martyrs, was a tenet of Roman Catholic faith.

"I am sure you have the right of it." Cecily looked resigned. "If every shrine worked miracles, no one would ever die."

"You've had a difficult time of it. Losing your sight. Your husband."

A soft laugh answered this probing remark. "Ranulf made little difference in my life dead or alive." With that enigmatic comment, she closed her eyes against the glare of the sun and said nothing more.

Susanna s.h.i.+fted her attention to Marion Standbridge and Guy Carnaby, who rode just ahead. Next to his bulk, she looked fragile as a flower, but she did not seem intimidated by his greater size. For his part, Carnaby behaved with great gentleness toward her. When the two of them had shared a trencher at supper the night before, he'd taken care to present Marion with the tenderest morsels.

After a time, Carnaby was called away to deal with a problem elsewhere in the cavalcade and Marion dropped back in the line. Susanna's mare, the horse Walter had procured for her in that village on the coast, s.h.i.+ed nervously at the change in position.

"You should have named her Skittish." Marion eyed the roan with wary eyes.

"Turmeric suits her. Both have a tendency to bite." Susanna had learned that the hard way when she'd attempted to make friends with her new mount.

"Turmeric?"

"A spice." It was Nick's favorite, a taste he'd picked up during his travels. "It must be pleasant," she commented after a bit, "to return to Brancepeth and not be obliged to leave Master Carnaby behind."

Marion gave Susanna a sharp look, then sent a pointed one in Cecily's direction before spurring her horse forward. Had she chosen the animal for its satiny black coat, Susanna wondered, to match her own fine mane? Clucking to Turmeric, she caught up with Eleanor's cousin, putting Cecily and the others out of earshot.

"Have I misspoke, coz? 'Tis plain he cares for you."

"Uncle Roger will not permit me to marry Guy."

"Are you betrothed to someone else?"

"No."

"Then how can Uncle Roger prevent your marriage? You are old enough to make your own decision."

"Uncle Roger controls my dowry."

Injustice always made Susanna angry. She wondered if there was some way she could help Eleanor's cousin. "Is Uncle Roger at Brancepeth?"

"Uncle Roger is too old and frail to leave his home in Westmorland."

"I am sorry to hear it." Musing aloud, she continued. "Perhaps I will pay him a visit there after this business is finished."

Marion's laugh sounded forced. "This business? Rebellion, do you mean? Oh, it will not take long to transact. All the North will rise up to support us. We will gather our troops, free Queen Mary, and topple that usurper from the throne by Christmas."

"So, Mary of Scotland is part of the plan. I'd begun to wonder." At present they were riding away from the place where she was being held.

"She is the key." Marion could not seem to resist the opportunity to boast. "I may not have made what our uncle would consider a good marriage, but I am in the confidence of the countess of Westmorland. For months now she has carried on a secret correspondence with Queen Mary. Your countess and mine and the queen of Scots have among them conceived a plan that cannot fail."

Susanna's stomach tightened. Just as Walter had surmised, all those she'd met and liked at Topcliffe, especially Lady Northumberland, were traitors. And there were letters. Proof of treason. If she could lay hands on them when she reached Brancepeth, Walter would have the evidence he needed to remove forever the threat Mary of Scotland posed to the realm. With a new sense of purpose, she rode on.

Joan Lascelles, a plump, cheerful young woman who tended to find a silver lining in the darkest cloud, urged her pretty little dapple-gray palfrey forward. "I heard you mention Queen Mary," she gushed at Marion. "Do you think she will need more ladies to serve her?" Joan fair vibrated with excitement at the thought that she might have a chance to become one of them.

"She has ladies sufficient to her needs." Marion sounded irritated. "Scots ladies."

"She'll need English ladies when she's England's queen," Joan protested. "Besides, some of those Scots are no better than they should be. Mary Seton, for one. They say Christopher Norton had no trouble seducing her."

"Oh, that!" Disdain filled Marion's voice. "'Tis but a ploy to establish contact between our party and the queen of Scots. Norton only pretended to pay court to Mistress Seton."

"Who is Christopher Norton?" Susanna asked.

"One of Old Norton's sons. No doubt he will be at Brancepeth with his father and all his brothers."

Susanna tried to remember what Walter had told her about the Nortons but could only recall that there were a great many of them.

"He's the handsome one," Joan whispered.

Marion laughed. "Nell has high standards in that regard. Norton's not so fine as her manservant. What was his name again?"

"Lionel Hubble," Susanna said. "He's naught but a lowly groom, Marion."

"I do not want to marry him, Nell. Only flirt with him a while. 'Twill keep Guy from becoming complacent. Do you think this Lionel will return soon with your daughter?"

Susanna replied, with depressing honesty, that she had no idea when she might see Lionel again.

It was dusk before the entourage stopped in Darlington for the night. They claimed every bed the town had to offer. It was Cecily Carnaby's turn to attend the countess. Susanna, Marion, Joan, and Margaret Heron shared cramped quarters in the room adjoining hers. They'd scarce fallen asleep when a great to-do awoke them. Susanna was first through the connecting door.

"Kill it! Kill it!" the countess screamed.

Cecily was attempting to obey, slas.h.i.+ng at a cornered rat with a knife. She landed a lucky blow, skewering the creature, and Susanna thought the crisis past, but instead of dropping her weapon, Cecily stabbed the small corpse repeatedly, sobbing all the while. Only the combined efforts of Susanna and Joan finally made her stop.

"Beast! Horrid beast!" The breathy cries were the loudest sounds Susanna had ever heard her make.

"So must all vermin be extinguished," Lady Northumberland declared. "You have done well, Cecily. We must root out all such infestations and leave those who oppose us b.l.o.o.d.y and mangled in our wake."

Cecily's sudden descent into violence and frenzy shocked Susanna, but the countess's words left her stunned. They were an unwelcome reminder that Lady Northumberland could order the death of a person who stood in her way just as easily as she could give the command to kill the rat.

Chapter 17.

York November 12, 1569 Why am I here? Catherine Glenelg asked herself. She'd been asking the same question for five days, ever since she'd impetuously left Glenelg House in the company of Jennet, Fulke, and a young man called Toby.

Their unexpected arrival had caught her in the middle of the worst quarrel she'd ever had with Gilbert's mother. If she'd stayed in London, she'd have laid violent hands on the imperious old besom by now. She'd only shown common sense to leap at the chance for escape Jennet had offered.

Once she'd heard that Susanna Appleton was in trouble, Catherine had wasted no time. She'd changed into the boy's breeches and thigh-high boots she used for travel, packed a few essentials, left a note for Gilbert, saddled Vanguard, and set off for Yorks.h.i.+re. She'd had plenty of time since to consider that her departure might have been a bit precipitous, but once committed, she'd had to continue on. Hadn't she?

Why am I here? Catherine asked herself again, sprawling on the bed in their chamber at the George as she watched her companion pace. An hour into their journey, she'd been missing Gilbert and young Gavin, but concern for Susanna, who had raised her from the age of fourteen and taught her and loved her, had kept her moving north.

Catherine understood Jennet's reasons for recruiting her well enough, perhaps better than Jennet did herself. The presence of a lady in their company a.s.sured better service on the road-faster horses if they needed to change mounts, more luxurious accommodations, and the right to demand an audience with someone in authority, the lord president of the council in the North himself, if the need arose.

But was there need? Even before they left the home counties, they'd heard rumors of an uprising in the North Riding. That part of Jennet's theory seemed true enough. But there was nothing to indicate Susanna was in any danger or that they could help her even if she was. Indeed, if the rebels heard that Lady Glenelg was asking after Lady Pendennis, that fact might complicate matters for Susanna. Gilbert was known to be a supporter of the Protestant party in Scotland.

"Well, where is he?" Jennet demanded. "We have been here for hours without a sign of him."

Catherine stared at the canopy above her head. She'd held her tongue long enough. Jennet had worked herself into a frenzy of worry and frustration, gnawing at her lower lip until it bled. She attempted a mild reproof. "Master Baldwin cannot have known which day you'd arrive. You must be patient, Jennet. When he hears you are waiting, he will come."

"Inefficient. He named this inn in his letter. He should have left a man behind."

"We made better time than he'd have expected."

The road from London to York was straight and in reasonable repair. Although the days were growing shorter, they'd been blessed with fair weather. The key to their speed, however, had been Catherine's insistence that Jennet abandon her pillion, which she disliked in any case, and ride astride as Catherine did. Reluctantly, Susanna's housekeeper had accepted the horse she'd been offered, but she'd resolutely refused to wear breeches, bunching her skirts up between her legs instead and showing a good deal of plump ankle.

"Inconsiderate." Jennet continued to grumble as she peered out the chamber window, squinting at the street below. "How difficult is it to leave a message?"

"He is wise to trust no one he does not know and Toby was with us." As soon as they'd discovered Nick Baldwin was not at the George, Catherine had dispatched both Toby and Fulke to search the city for him.

Jennet swung around to glare at her. "You are pa.s.sing calm, madam." Her tone turned the words into an accusation. "Can it be you do not care what happens to Lady Appleton?"

Catherine sat up and glowered back. "Certes, I care! But the Scots have an expression. They say, 'Dinna fash yerself, la.s.sie' and 'tis good advice." Although she'd be happiest if she never had to set foot in Scotland again, Catherine did like the language.

Jennet's sputter of protest failed to impress her.

"You were to come here, to this inn, and wait. That is what we will do."

"Yes. I was to come here. Master Baldwin does not expect you." After a significant pause she added, "madam."

"And it may be that neither one of us is needed. Susanna agreed to pretend to be Lady Pendennis and spy for Sir Walter. Mayhap Master Baldwin exaggerates her need for a.s.sistance."

Returning to her post at the window, Jennet turned her back on Catherine. "Faith, I pray you have the right of it."

There had been no mention of meeting Sir Walter in York, which made Catherine wonder if he and Nick Baldwin were working together or at cross-purposes. Perhaps the greatest service she could provide would be to bring the two men together, to point out that, no matter how little they might care for each other, they must put aside their differences for Susanna's sake.

"Do you remember the first time Sir Walter met Susanna?" Catherine asked. "Even though Robert was still alive then, he could not help but fall in love with her."

"He wooed her after Sir Robert's death, until Lady Appleton refused his offer of marriage."

"And then Eleanor-crafty, clever Eleanor-won him. I wonder what will happen now that they are both free to marry again?"

The sound of bootheels on the planks outside the chamber door prevented Jennet from speculating. Accompanied by Fulke and Toby, Nick Baldwin had arrived. To Catherine's surprise, Lionel was also with them.

"I did not expect you, Lady Glenelg," Baldwin said when the first wave of greetings had ebbed.

"I am, I hope, a happy surprise."

They had met before, but only twice and both times briefly. Although Catherine was aware of the extent of Susanna's involvement with this man, she had difficulty imagining what Susanna saw in him. Sir Walter had far more to offer, and Catherine's half brother, the late Sir Robert Appleton, had been much better to look at.

Still, she could scarce question Baldwin's devotion. His fears were writ large on his expressive face, along with everything else he felt for Susanna. "She has no notion that Lady Pendennis's death was anything but an accident," he told them. "She must be warned before she makes some misstep that will get her killed, too."

An hour later, Catherine and Jennet had been apprised of all Baldwin knew of the situation. Catherine did not like any of what she'd heard and was disturbed by three points in particular.

According to Master Baldwin, Sir Walter Pendennis had not been upset by the news that his wife's death was murder. Indeed, Baldwin seemed convinced he would sacrifice anyone for the good of England. Was that jealousy talking? Or had Walter's affection for Eleanor diminished over the years?

Further, Baldwin believed that the earl of Northumberland had given the order for Eleanor's death, and yet Lionel's report from Topcliffe indicated another possible interpretation of the facts. Lady Northumberland seemed to be the one in charge and it would have been easy enough for her to have used her husband's signet ring to seal a letter. Had she been the one who suspected Eleanor of deceit? Did she still?

Third, as Baldwin himself continually emphasized, Susanna was in danger as long as she did not have all the facts. She'd gone willingly to Topcliffe to spy on the rebels, but she was under the impression that everyone there trusted Eleanor Pendennis and had from the beginning. Clearly, that was not the case.

The rebels had now left Topcliffe, taking Susanna with them in the guise of Eleanor Pendennis. But Eleanor Pendennis had once been considered a threat, simply because of her connection to Sir Walter. If the earl, or his countess, had any reason to believe she was there to spy on their activities, she could expect no mercy.

"Does Sir Walter have one of his agents with the rebels?" Catherine asked.

"Susanna is his agent."

"It is not like him to neglect to send in support." She gave Baldwin a pointed look. "How difficult can it be to pretend to be one of the rebels?"

Leaning back on a stool, both feet extended in front of him and his head resting against the paneled wall, Baldwin's pose was negligent but the look in his eyes was anything but. "Easier said than done, Lady Glenelg, as Pendennis repeatedly reminds me. I could cause more harm than good if I try to reach her. If Susanna recognizes me, she might give herself away without meaning to. As much as I dislike agreeing with Pendennis about anything, he has the right of it. I cannot approach Susanna without increasing her danger."

"Is that why you sent for me?" Jennet asked. She had been silent for a very long time . . . for her.

An embarra.s.sed flush suffused Baldwin's face. "I do not know what I was thinking. It just seemed to me that you might be of some use."

Jennet had used the same reasoning, Catherine suspected, in deciding to stop at Glenelg House. Sound instinct had been at work in both cases.

His facade of unconcern crumbled as Baldwin s.h.i.+fted position. With his feet flat on the floor and his spine stiff, his very demeanor betrayed the depth of his concern. "Pendennis is willing to take risks with her. I am not. You are a woman and a servant, Jennet. Ideally suited to get close enough to tell her that Lady Pendennis was murdered."

"Once Jennet informs her Eleanor's death was no accident, then what?" Catherine awaited Baldwin's answer with considerable interest. His reply would tell her a great deal about how well he knew Susanna.

"I do not hold out much hope that she'll agree to leave the rebels. Not when she is there to fulfill a promise to Pendennis."

Catherine regarded him with greater interest. Perhaps he was not such a bad match for Susanna, after all.

"I can do more than warn her to be cautious," Jennet interjected. "I can stay with her to watch her back."

"And there must be something I can do," Catherine murmured. "Mayhap Sir Walter will have some use for me. Where is he, Master Baldwin?"

"He left York this morning, to meet with Sir George Bowes at Streatlam."