Face Down Beneath The Eleanor Cross Part 9

The first revelation did not shock her. She'd suspected there was something odd in the earlier report of her half brother's death. But how could anyone think Susanna could kill?

"There is a letter here from Pendennis," Gilbert told her, extracting it from the others. "In code."

It took him a few minutes to translate the message, time enough for Catherine's vivid imagination to conjure up a dozen alarming possibilities. Although Susanna had written that it would be months yet before she came to trial, Catherine could not help but be frightened for her. What if she could not prove her innocence?

If Gilbert's deepening frown was any indication, he did not like what Pendennis had written. He handed the transcription to her as soon as he'd finished the decoding. It confirmed that Robert's death by plague had been a contrivance to cover up activities better kept secret.

"I do not know why I should be surprised that he was murdered the moment he came back from the dead," she murmured. "Robert always did have a flair for making enemies."

"No wonder, either, that Susanna is a suspect. She has good reason to want him to stay dead."

"She'd never have killed him. Never."

"Guilty or innocent, it is an ominous sign that she has been charged with the crime."

The more negative Gilbert's comments, the stronger Catherine's avowals became in Susanna's defense. "She has until May to catch the real killer."

As soon as the words were out, Catherine realized she believed in Susanna's ability to do just that. As fast as it had earlier engulfed her, her panic dissipated. Susanna had brought murderers to justice ere now. She could do so again.

"Susanna intends to journey to Appleton Manor to ask questions," she told Gilbert.

"Lancas.h.i.+re? That is a long way for a killer to have traveled. Sir Robert was slain in Westminster."

"That woman is at Appleton Manor. Eleanor. And her child."

Gilbert took back his translation of Sir Walter's letter and reread it. "Susanna suspects one of her husband's mistresses. Logical. I suppose she wants us to question Annabel Mac Reynolds."

Taking the wine Gilbert held out to her, Catherine gave him Susanna's letter. While he read it, she crossed to their bed, pulled aside the crimson velvet hangings, climbed two little steps, and settled herself atop the counterpane with her legs tucked up beneath her, tailor-fas.h.i.+on.

"She's asked you to discover Annabel's whereabouts on the day Robert was poisoned."

"Annabel left court before Christmas," Catherine mused. "She went to visit her family, or so she said. I did not see her tonight. Therefore, she has not yet returned. She's had time to go all the way to London."

"How did Susanna learn Annabel had been her husband's mistress?" Gilbert sat beside his wife, turning her chin with the help of one large finger so that she was obliged to meet his eyes.

He had removed his gloves. The touch of flesh on flesh sent an antic.i.p.atory s.h.i.+ver straight to her womb, and for a moment, that sensation eclipsed all thought of Susanna's troubles.

He had also removed his cloak and his doublet, Catherine noted. Unlike Susanna's marriage to Robert, her union with Gilbert was a love match. They could talk about this troubling situation, plan and scheme and share ideas together. They could also share much more, comforting and soothing one another in perfect harmony.

"Catherine? How did Susanna hear about Annabel?"

"I told her," Catherine admitted. "In a letter." At the time, she'd thought it her duty to report what she'd learned upon first coming to the Scots court.

"Robert had gone back to England by the time we arrived here. He was unlikely to return or take up with her again." Gilbert sounded disapproving.

Catherine frowned down at her hands, which were tightly clasped around the cup balanced in her lap. "It did not seem right that everyone here knew of their scandalous trysts and Susanna did not."

"Scarce everyone." Gilbert slung one arm around Catherine's shoulders and tucked her in close against his side.

"More than one person felt obliged to report Robert's dalliance to me."

"Mayhap they did so in order to discover what relations.h.i.+p existed between the two of you."

That they were related was obvious to anyone who met both Robert and Catherine. She had her half brother's dark brown eyes and hair, his narrow face, and his high forehead. The characteristics, in combination, were distinctive.

"I understand that you were angry on her behalf," Gilbert continued, "but what if your rash revelation gave Susanna additional cause to hate her husband?"

"She did not hate him!" Catherine twisted out of her husband's embrace to glare at him. "She knew he had mistresses and accepted that fact. She also taught me that it is best not to try to keep secrets."

Catherine had to admit, however, that if she had it to do it over again now, two and a half years later, she'd not be so quick to share the rumors she'd heard bandied about at the Scots court.

"One section of Sir Walter's letter puzzled me," she said when she was snuggled close to Gilbert's side once more. "He hinted that Annabel may be more than she seems. What does he mean by that?"

Gilbert hesitated before he answered, as if weighing how much to tell her. She could feel the increase in tension in his chest and shoulders. "It is possible Robert first knew Annabel in France, years ago, when Walter Pendennis was there as part of the English delegation. Annabel was in Queen Mary's retinue then."

"I know the Scots queen lived at the French court for most of her childhood." For a brief time, during her late husband's short reign, Mary Stewart had worn the crowns of both France and Scotland. "But what could that have to do with Robert's murder?"

"I suspect he thinks Annabel might have acted on orders from Catherine de' Medici. There have long been rumors that she recruits beautiful young women as spies."

"And she is reputed to be a poisoner. How convenient." She shut her eyes for a moment, then lifted her lashes to give Gilbert a direct look. "I do not believe Annabel went, or was sent, to England to poison my brother. She's never been at all interested in hearing about him. Why should she even suspect he was still alive?"

"You read Susanna's letter. She speculates that he might have contacted her, perhaps even tried to extort money from her."

"That seems most doubtful." Catherine downed the last of her drink and handed the empty cup to her husband.

Looking thoughtful, Gilbert set it next to his own on the bedside table. When he took her in his arms again, Catherine felt him smile against her forehead. "I think you are right. If Robert had asked Annabel for help, she'd have told him about Vanguard."

"How clever of you!"

Soon after Robert's alleged death, Susanna had sent his favorite horse, Vanguard, to Catherine as a gift. The arrival of the big, black stallion with the white blaze on his forehead had caused a stir at the Scots court. It seemed that during Robert's time in Edinburgh as a special envoy from England, Queen Mary had tried to persuade him to make her a gift of the courser. It would have been politic of Catherine to do so when Vanguard came into her possession. She had chosen instead to follow her brother's example. She doted on the horse, just as Robert had.

"Since we still have Vanguard, it follows that Robert never contacted Annabel. If he knew we had the animal, he'd have lost no time coming here and reclaiming him, by theft if necessary." Gilbert bent his head, lips ready for kissing her, but paused when he caught sight of her expression. "Now why do you frown?"

"Because, in spite of your logic, I must still do as Susanna asks and question Annabel."

Before they'd met, Catherine had not expected to like Robert's former mistress. But Annabel had turned out to be clever and lively, and she noticed little things that others at court did not. Amusing things. She had also flattered Catherine by asking her help. She'd wanted someone with whom to practice her English. Annabel was fluent in French and also understood Gaelic and Inglis, the language of the lowland Scots, but although she'd learned to read Catherine's native tongue, she had great difficulty p.r.o.nouncing English words. As did Queen Mary. In exchange for dancing lessons, Catherine had been endeavoring to teach Annabel the correct way of speaking.

Gilbert began to undo Catherine's laces. "You can do nothing until she returns to Edinburgh." He lowered his head to taste the slope of her breast. As a distraction, it was most effective. Worry over the danger facing her sister-by-marriage could not compete with the lure of the marriage bed. Giving in to her own desires, Catherine consigned all thought of murder to the future and threw herself with blissful abandon into Gilbert's eager embrace.

Susanna would discover the truth before she had to stand trial. Catherine was convinced of it. That being so, she did not give the matter another thought until well after Gilbert had left her bed the next morning.

Chapter 21.

The journey from Leigh Abbey to Appleton Manor took ten days in the best of conditions. Susanna's party progressed at a snail's pace. Frozen roads were easier riding than those mired in mud, but excessive snow was always a problem. By the time St. Paul's Day dawned, they had twice been delayed by fresh acc.u.mulations and were still in Ches.h.i.+re.

Although they'd spent the night in a comfortable inn, safe and warm and cozy, Susanna's leg ached from an old injury. Cold weather always made it worse. And even before she and Jennet joined Walter, Fulke, and Bates in the common room to break their fast, Susanna sensed that Jennet, too, had woken stiff and sore. In her case the condition was the result of having to ride long hours on a pillion attached to the back of Fulke's saddle.

The prospect of yet another day on horseback made Jennet surly. Her temper was already fraying when she heard Bernard Bates knock on a table and call out "Put!"

"I see it," Fulke answered.

The two of them were engaged in a game of cards. This time Bates won the round and the game and collected the stakes. Fulke shuffled and dealt three of the inexpensive, block-printed cards to each of them.

"Wastrels," Jennet grumbled.

"They must do something to pa.s.s the time," Susanna reminded her. Travel was nine parts boredom and one sheer panic, as when horses bolted or rivers had to be forded.

"But that game has a low reputation even in alehouses. And I'll wager Bates cheats." She spoke loudly enough to be overheard.

Bates glowered at her but said nothing. He rarely broke his silence, though once or twice Jennet had provoked him into speech.

For some reason, Jennet had taken an intense dislike to Susanna's official escort. She complained that he was always hanging about, that she all but tripped over him every time she turned around. Susanna had given up trying to convince her that Bates was only doing his duty. Since he did not know her as well as Jennet did, he could not be certain she would not try to escape. He had to stay close.

Fulke looked up from the card game with a grin. "Have a care, Jennet, lest we wager for your company. Loser takes the pillion, eh, Bates?"

But Bates refused to gamble for those stakes. At the end of the next game he collected the cards and stored them inside his doublet, then went to look outside. "Fair weather," he said from the door. And then, succinct as ever, "Fair year."

He referred, Susanna realized, to the old superst.i.tion that the weather on St. Paul's Day was an indicator for the coming year. If she remembered correctly, a windy day predicted war, a cloudy day a visitation of the plague. She wished it were that easy to guess what the next months held for her.

They were on their way within the hour, Walter and Susanna in the lead. Fulke, with Jennet behind him, rode in the middle. Bates led the pack horse and guarded their backs. They had ridden thus all the way from Leigh Abbey, stopping some nights at inns, others at the estates of friends. Cold as it was, they'd been able to use frozen rivers and streams as roads. That was preferable, in Susanna's opinion, to traveling them by boat. She had no tolerance for choppy water and even on a short crossing took the precaution of dosing herself with ginger or peppermint, either of which helped soothe an unsteady stomach.

Two days later, when they had been on the road just under two weeks, they at last came to a rise in the land and looked down upon Appleton Manor. Not a creature stirred in the barren white landscape, but the house, in contrast to the first time Susanna had seen it, deserted and desolate, greeted them with a welcoming spiral of smoke rising from its central chimney. When a crisp, cold breeze carried the scent of burning gorse their way, Susanna felt some of her uneasiness wane. She had been sore afraid they'd arrive to find Eleanor and the child gone to London and the manor abandoned.

Sitting a little straighter in her saddle, Susanna guided her mare over a double-arched stone bridge across what, in more hostile times, would have been called a moat. She was nervous, she admitted to herself, worried about meeting Robert's daughter. Since his death, she'd felt a growing need to see his child again. Irrational, she supposed, but there it was. She had come to Appleton Manor as much to spend time with Rosamond as to question Eleanor.

The little girl was Robert's heir, whether or not Susanna was executed for killing him. She intended to take steps to insure that the child's illegitimacy did not bar her from claiming the Appleton estate. She could do that much, at least, for the child who should have been hers.

They rode into the cobblestone courtyard a few minutes later, setting up a great clatter. The heavy oak doors of the main entrance at once flew open. Beyond, Susanna could see into the lofty room at ground level that was Appleton Manor's great hall, but her gaze quickly s.h.i.+fted to the small figure in the foreground.

The child was scarce two years old, but she was fleet of foot and already showed signs of having inherited her father's impetuousness. She wore neither cloak nor gloves to keep the cold at bay. No cap covered her dark tumble of hair.

Susanna reined in. Bold as a pirate captain seizing a prize, Rosamond stared up at her. Dark eyes set in a narrow face marked her as Robert's offspring. Frown lines wrinkled her high forehead, another legacy from her father.

"I not know you," Rosamond declared in a clear, high voice. The frown turned into pout.

Susanna swallowed hard and slid from her saddle to the ground, landing off balance so that she had to grasp the pommel to steady herself.

Rosamond giggled. "You clumsy."

Susanna heard Jennet gasp at the audacious remark but paid no attention. Instead, she knelt next to the child, bringing their faces level. Maternal instincts she'd been certain she did not possess cried out to her to gather Robert's daughter into an embrace.

She resisted the urge.

"Good day to you, Rosamond," she said instead. "You have grown since I saw you last." She had been a newborn at the time but she'd already had those distinctive Appleton eyes. Susanna had never doubted her paternity.

"I not know you," the child repeated.

She wanted Susanna to introduce herself, to give her name. A simple enough task... except that Susanna was not sure what their relations.h.i.+p was. "I suppose I am your stepmother," she said, hesitant to make the claim.

Two years earlier, Susanna had acted on impulse, certain she wanted to see as little of Rosamond as possible. She'd packed mother and child off to distant Lancas.h.i.+re and tried her best to forget their existence.

"Lady Appleton. You do us honor." The soft-spoken words were tinged with irony. Eleanor Lowell had emerged from the house and crossed the courtyard to her daughter's side.

"I am pleased to find you at home." Susanna stood. "I ask your pardon for descending upon you without warning, but we have come on a matter of considerable importance."

Like her daughter, Eleanor had dark hair, but her eyes were hazel and her face a perfect oval. Her turned-up nose was the only thing Rosamond seemed to have inherited from her mother. In all else, the girl was pure Appleton.

As the others dismounted, Susanna introduced them to their hostess, careful to give the impression that Bates and Fulke were both manservants.

"Come in out of the cold," Eleanor bade them.

She scooped Rosamond into her arms. The child howled in protest but Eleanor paid no attention to the noise. Carrying her was the most expedient way to get her inside. The moment the door closed behind them, she released the little girl but bent to whisper in her ear. Whatever she said, threat or promise, prevented any immediate display of temper.

The great hall had been modernized during Susanna's last visit to Appleton Manor. It boasted a new fireplace and chimney and had several woven tapestries hanging over cold stone walls to keep the heat from escaping. Pale sunbeams shone through an oriel window to light the dais end of the hall, including the stairs that led to the great chamber above. Eleanor ordered Susanna's belongings taken up the high, curving staircase at the opposite end of the hall, which led to a chamber with its own fireplace.

"Jennet shares my room," Susanna told her. "Fulke and Bates will be comfortable in the lodgings above the stables." Walter, she realized, presented a problem. She glanced at her old friend, then looked again.

Walter stared fixedly at Eleanor Lowell. His face wore a most peculiar expression. Not suspicion, which might be expected.

Something quite different.

Chapter 22.

Walter could not stop staring.

This lovely, self-contained creature was Eleanor, the woman who had caused Susanna so much distress?

He knew the surface details of her life. She was older than Alys or Annabel, younger than Constance or Susanna. She'd been born in Westmorland. Her father, a knight possessed of only a small inheritance, had died when she was young. Her mother had remarried and sent Eleanor off to a cousin as soon as she was old enough to enter service. For a period of less than six months, Robert had carried on a dalliance with Eleanor, meeting her in a chamber at the Crowne, an inn situated just beyond the churchyard of St. Botolph-without-Aldgate.

None of those facts had prepared Walter to meet the angel smiling up at him, an invitation in her eyes.

"You must sleep in my chamber, Sir Walter."

His heart tripped at the words, though he was certain she intended no double meaning. Color seeped into his face, something that had not happened since he was a schoolboy. When he looked away from Eleanor in embarra.s.sment, he encountered Susanna's amused and sympathetic gaze.