Face Down Beneath The Eleanor Cross Part 4

"She'll soon put things right." Lionel, who had boundless confidence in their mistress, towered over Jennet. In the last year he'd begun to fill out. It seemed only yesterday he'd had but half Fulke's strapping bulk. Now Lionel was full grown, and the two men were of comparable size.

Fulke's lugubrious expression conveyed stoic acceptance rather than optimism. Jennet frowned. What did he feel about Sir Robert's death? Even though Fulke had chosen to remain with Lady Appleton, he'd been Sir Robert's man for a long time. He'd accompanied him on journeys into Scotland and to Spain.

Mark's voice interrupted her speculations. "They are just coming now," he announced from his post by the window.

Jennet rushed to his side and looked down with relief upon the familiar figure of Lady Appleton. Even cloaked and hooded, she was easy for Jennet to recognize. She had a long, self-confident stride and a proud carriage.

Sir Walter, as was his wont, wore bright peac.o.c.k plumage. Part of his doublet showed beneath his scarlet cloak, a blaze of apple-green velvet in the morning sun. His tawny-color bonnet boasted a huge black plume, held in place by an equally ostentatious red jewel.

A third person accompanied them. A stranger. A short, stocky fellow whose head seemed a bit too big for his body. Lank brown hair hung just past his ears, its shade a match for the leather jerkin he wore over a sheep's-color doublet. A guard, Jennet realized, and from that instant did much dislike him.

A few minutes later, Lady Appleton entered the inn chamber. Her composure seemed unruffled as she greeted her faithful retainers, though her face had the pinched look it sometimes got when she'd received bad tidings.

She discouraged Jennet from rus.h.i.+ng into speech with one quick, warning glance and refused Mark's offer of refreshment. Then she introduced Bernard Bates.

Up close, the guard's appearance did not improve. A unkempt beard shadowed the lower half of his pockmarked face. The remainder was dominated by a pair of dark, deep-set, watchful eyes.

Sir Walter accepted a cup of ale and instructed Bates to wait without. Bates went as far as the door but remained inside the room. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, as if daring anyone to object.

"What we cannot change, we must accept," Lady Appleton murmured. "Come, my friends. Gather around this table. We have plans to discuss."

Lady Appleton produced several sheets of paper filled with writing, proof she'd not lost heart during her imprisonment. Jennet smiled, but her mistress's next words quickly erased the expression.

"We must visit a number of persons during the next few weeks," she said. I hope to determine which of those who might have had reason to wish Robert harm were away from home on the day he died."

"Visit?" Jennet echoed. "You mean travel? In winter?"

"Bad roads and cold weather did not deter Robert's murderer. In truth, the slowness of travel at this time of year may be to our advantage. It would take a number of days to reach Westminster from any distance. If one of these suspects has been absent from home, it will have been noticed. By servants. By neighbors. Someone will tell us this, and we will have our poisoner."

She made it sound simple, but Jennet was not deceived.

"More travel," she grumbled. Her backside had scarce recovered from the trip into London.

"More travel." Lady Appleton sounded almost cheerful. "You need not come with me, Jennet. I'll not ask it of you."

"You need not ask, madam. My place is with you. Just do not expect me to be pleased that I must ride."

"I would never think to. And I antic.i.p.ate that you will grumble all the way. I should fear you were ill if you did not."

"All the way to what place?" Mark asked.

Lady Appleton's voice was controlled, her expression serene as she tapped the pages on the table. "The tavernkeeper at the Black Jack saw a woman meet Robert, greet him familiarly with a kiss. She is the most likely person to have added poison to his meal, but to want to kill him, she must have had some connection to him. The most logical suspects are, therefore, his former mistresses, one of whom he may have contacted during the last year and a half. We will visit Dover first, as that place is close at hand."

Jennet saw the sense in this proposal at once. For years, Sir Robert had kept a mistress in Dover. Alys Sparcheforde. He'd even set her up in her own house. She'd not taken it well when he ended their a.s.sociation.

Sir Walter cleared his throat, then withdrew a piece of fine, thick parchment from inside his doublet. "There is one person upon whom you must call before we journey into Kent. When the Lady Mary Grey heard of Sir Robert's death, she wrote to me. She fears the entire story of his disappearance will come out. At this late date, she prefers the queen not learn what was kept secret from her eighteen months ago."

The Lady Mary had lied to her royal cousin, Jennet remembered. Lied to help Lady Appleton.

"I have taken the liberty," Sir Walter continued, "of arranging a meeting between you, tomorrow morning in a private place."

"Could she have done it?" Jennet asked. "Could the Lady Mary have poisoned Sir Robert?"

"I think it doubtful," Lady Appleton replied.

But Jennet was not so sure. The Lady Mary was a maid of honor to the queen and, according to what Sir Walter had told them when they first arrived in London, Queen Elizabeth and all her court had been at Whitehall Palace on the day Sir Robert was murdered.

Jennet bit her lower lip to keep from pointing out that Whitehall, like Charing, was part of Westminster.

No doubt Lady Appleton was right, Jennet told herself. She usually was. And it made sense that one of Sir Robert's mistresses had killed him. The only thing that surprised Jennet, now that she thought about it, was that one of them had not done so sooner.

Chapter 11.

Lady Mary Grey had a particular reason for choosing the lodgings above the water gate at Whitehall as a meeting place. She could trust the discretion of Master Thomas Keyes, the gatekeeper.

Her position at court was precarious. By the accident of her birth, she was the queen's heir, but that near relations.h.i.+p had proven more curse than blessing to Lady Mary's sisters. Jane had been executed by Queen Mary for attempting to usurp the throne. Catherine would live the rest of her life a prisoner, confined for daring to wed without Queen Elizabeth's permission.

"My lady," Keyes said, "here is Lady Appleton to see you."

"Thank you, Thomas. You may leave us."

He was tall, the tallest man in England, some said. He towered over Susanna Appleton, even though she stood higher than most women. From behind Lady Appleton's head, Keyes had the audacity to wink at Lady Mary. She had to fight not to smile.

Only after his footsteps had faded away on the stairs did Lady Mary realize that a stranger had accompanied her guest into the chamber. A low sort of fellow, to judge by his dress. He stationed himself by the door, looking ill at ease but determined.

"Who is this man?" she demanded. "I asked to speak with you alone."

"My apologies, my lady." Lady Appleton's expression was rueful. "I fear I am not permitted to go anywhere without my guard."

"From whom does he guard you?" But even as she asked, she suddenly understood the true nature of his duties.

With a grimace of sympathy, she resigned herself to the fact that he must stay. She led Lady Appleton to the east-facing window opposite the door. Unfortunately, it was also far from the fire in the hearth. Pure, clear winter sunlight would have to do to warm them while they talked.

"Does he know who I am?" she asked.

"He may guess."

The words were diplomatic, but Lady Mary was no fool. She could scarce help but be aware of how easy she was to recognize. Only a bit over four feet tall, she had enough of a deformity to be called "Crouchback Mary" by the cruelest of the queen's courtiers. Those distinctive features, combined with the bright red Tudor hair and a profusion of freckles, made it difficult for her to hide her ident.i.ty.

At court, she was often overlooked, in both senses of the word, but here, with none but Lady Appleton for company, she stood out. The guard would doubtless remember her.

When she wished, Lady Mary could call up every bit as much regal dignity as her royal cousin Elizabeth. In an authoritative voice, she ordered Lady Appleton's unwelcome escort to remain by the door, then turned her back on him.

"I read the letter you wrote to Sir Walter," Lady Appleton said. "You need have no concern, my lady. Your name will not come into the matter of Robert's death."

Although Lady Mary trusted few people, she believed Lady Appleton. "Your discretion does you honor, but I fear others may know of our connection. Your husband contacted me a few weeks ago. He threatened to reveal the secret you and I and Sir Walter agreed to keep between us. He asked to be paid for his silence."

Audacity had never been a trait Sir Robert Appleton lacked. Even though he'd been the cause of all her difficulties, he'd believed he could persuade her to give him money and some of her jewelry.

"I was to have met him on the day after his appointment with you, Lady Appleton. If you killed him, I do thank you. He was a troublesome man. Dangerous and clever."

"Someone else was more clever." A sigh escaped the new-made widow. "I did not poison my husband, my lady."

"Then who did?"

"Mayhap someone else upon whom he made demands. If he had other victims, I mean to discover them, and I will find out who killed him." Her lips twisted into an ironic smile. "I have little choice in the matter. The threat of being burnt at the stake if I fail does provide wondrous fine incentive to succeed in my quest."

"You are remarkable calm."

"There is no profit in swooning or tearing out my hair. My time is better spent asking questions."

"What if you discover I killed Sir Robert? You have already sworn to tell no one of my involvement."

"I think it unlikely you did so, my lady."

"Why? I cannot account for my time at the hour your husband was poisoned." She'd taken pains to learn all the details of the case and this was unfortunately true. Should she be obliged to prove she was not in Charing that evening, she'd have to reveal an even greater secret than the one Lady Appleton had just now promised to keep.

"Forgive me, my lady, but it is most doubtful you and I could ever be mistaken for one another, even cloaked and hooded. I am... overlarge."

Diplomacy again. Sir Robert had been a master of pretty speeches, but his widow possessed a sincerity he'd lacked. She chose her words not to flatter, but to avoid causing distress.

"Tell me your plans." Lady Mary's peremptory tone brooked no dissembling.

Lady Appleton hesitated only long enough to convey that she complied because she wanted to, not from any sense of obligation. "One of Robert's former mistresses seems the most likely person to have poisoned him." She summarized the itinerary she intended to follow in order to discover the whereabouts of each of three women on the day Sir Robert died.

"You must have a care for your own safety," Lady Mary warned. She glanced at the guard, then pursed her lips in thought. "If this woman met your husband in your stead, then mayhap she knew you were expected. What if she meant you to be blamed? As you were. Indeed, why else choose poison? Why else dress as you would be dressed?"

"Robert's poisoner wants me dead, too?" The idea that the murderer might have plotted against them both seemed to startle Lady Appleton. "I a.s.sumed Robert was the only intended victim, but what you say makes sense. I will consider it further."

Pleased to have contributed something new to the gentlewoman's thinking, Lady Mary was emboldened to offer another piece of advice. "Before you proceed to Dover, stop at Lady Northampton's house in Blackfriars."

"For what reason?"

"Your excuse will be a visit to a dying woman, but-" She broke off at the look on Lady Appleton's face. "You did not know? She has suffered for some time from ulcers in the breast and now grows weaker day by day. But seeing the marchioness is not your true purpose. You must seek out her waiting gentlewoman, Mistress Constance Crane."

"I do not know the name."

"Mistress Crane has been in Lady Northampton's service for many years. As far back as the wedding of my sister Jane to Lord Guildford Dudley... at Durham House."

Comprehension dawned in Lady Appleton's shrewd blue eyes. "She and Robert-?"

"I was a mere child at the time, but I can remember seeing them together. You saw them there, too, I do think." Lady Mary had caught a glimpse of Lady Appleton that day, leaving the gardens. Her face had been uncommon pale, her manner so agitated that Lady Mary had gone looking for the cause of her distress.

Regret tinged Lady Appleton's voice. And sadness. And resignation. "We were all much younger then."

Chapter 12.

"Goodman Bates," Susanna said as they entered the enclosed precinct of Blackfriars, "I am about to visit a dying n.o.blewoman. I am certain you can have no wish to accompany me into her bedchamber. Will a testoon persuade you to wait outside?"

Bates was a man of few words. He extended one hand, palm up. When she'd laid the coin upon it, his thick fingers curled lovingly around the silver sixpence. Susanna wondered why she'd not thought to bribe him sooner.

Lady Northampton was one of old Lord Cobham's daughters. Susanna did not know her well, but they had met several times when they were both mere girls and Susanna's father had visited Cobham Hall. Years later, during the heady days before the duke of Northumberland's plots on behalf of the Lady Jane Grey had brought them all close to ruin, Susanna had met her again.

The woman propped up against down pillows bore little resemblance to the vibrant creature Susanna remembered. She was pale, emaciated, and obviously failing. Her elaborate bedstead, hung with green velvet lined with green sarcenet and trimmed with gold lace, only emphasized her pitiful physical condition.

Scattered across the counterpane were a variety of abandoned needlework projects. Piles of lace, thimbles and thread, a velvet pinpillow, and a silver needle case had been shoved to one side. The latter now rested against a copper warming pan.

"If you are here to suggest some potion or elixir to cure me, I fear you came too late." The voice, at least, was as Susanna remembered it, a musical alto.

"I offer naught but the distraction of my company."

Susanna had observed more than once that bracing honesty was often more welcome in a sickroom than a surfeit of sympathy. She did feel sorrow for the pain the woman in the bed must suffer, but she saw no need to dwell on her misery or encourage her to feel sorry for herself. Nor did Lady Northampton seem to want her pity. Susanna refused to offend her by offering it.

"I thought you might have heard I was desperate," the invalid said. "I did undertake a futile journey to Antwerp to consult physicians there."

"Had I known that, I'd never have dared cross your threshold," Susanna said with mock humility. "How could a simple country herbalist hope to compete with the most renowned doctors in the world?"

Lady Northampton's chuckle was appreciative. She waved Susanna toward a small chair drawn up beside her bed. Made of wicker, it was lined with green cloth and comfortably padded.

From a nearby window alcove came the soft strains of a song King Henry had written in his younger days. Susanna narrowed her eyes as she glanced toward the woman playing the lute. Constance Crane? It seemed likely. Her brown hair matched what Susanna remembered of the woman in the garden.

How odd, she thought, that the Lady Mary should have known about her. More peculiar still had been her insistence that Susanna intrude upon Lady Northampton. It was not as if they had been close friends. Susanna was several years younger than the woman in the bed.

"Most of my visitors bring me nostrums to dull the pain," Lady Northampton said, reclaiming Susanna's attention, "but I do not wish to waste my last days in drugged sleep."

Some of these gifts were piled atop a small, square table near at hand. Susanna could scarce make out its inlaid-work top for all the little ointment pots and wooden boxes scattered across that surface. She sniffed, but no pungent aromas reached her.

"That holds dragonwort." Lady Northampton indicated the nearest container. "I am told it has the magic power to heal any wound or ulcer as soon as it is applied. One of those others is filled with Green Oil of Charity."

Made from adderstongue leaves, Susanna thought. Neither remedy would do Lady Northampton a bit of good.

"You might enjoy one of my favorite sweetmeats," she suggested aloud. "'Tis made from elfwort. I use only roots from three year old plants, dug in autumn. They become aromatic and slightly bitter when ground, but make a tasty treat when tempered with eggs, saffron, and sugar."

"Anything would be better than milk of almonds." That food was frequently prescribed for invalids. "I abhor almonds."

Lady Northampton did not seem to be aware of Robert's most recent death or Susanna's arrest. She did not mention the past. Instead she shared several anecdotes, stories of attempts by well-meaning friends to take her mind off her pain.