Face Down among the Winchester Geese (10 page)

"A pity you just missed him, then,” Jennet said.

Confused, Susanna gave her housekeeper a sharp look as they descended green-slimed steps to the water gate. The tide was so low that they might have walked from Whitehall to the houses along Canon Row byway of a narrow, muddy, pebble-strewn beach.

Susanna handed over sixpence to a waterman for the west-east journey and the two women settled themselves on cushioned benches beneath an awning while he cast off.

"What place is that?” Jennet asked, pointing toward the north shore. “The great house just in the middle of the curve of the Thames?” They moved rapidly past it, propelled downriver by tide and oars.

"That is Durham House,” Susanna told her. “Why?"

"Sir Robert left there by water just as you were making your way into the royal gardens. I do not think he noticed me, but he stared long and hard at you."

"Nowadays the house is leased by the Crown to Alvaro de Quadra, bishop of Aquila and ambassador to England. It is the Spanish embassy."

"I am certain it was Sir Robert, madam,” Jennet said. “I recognized his court dress."

Susanna did not reply. Doubtless it had been, though she did not suppose his white-and-crimson doublet was unique. Robert had only recently returned from a long sojourn in Spain on the queen's business, making it logical to assume he had reason to deal with Spaniards. And yet, she'd been under the impression he was through with them, and glad of it.

"What did the Lady Mary say?” Jennet asked.

"That several men were questioned during the investigation of Lora Tylney's death.” Susanna lowered her voice so the boatman would not overhear. “Sir Robert was among them.” Jennet's eyes widened. “And Lord Robin Dudley.” Her mouth opened to form a silent 0. “Also suspected were Peregrine Marsdon and Francis Elliott, two courtiers who were in the duke of Northumberland's household at the same time Robert was, though I have never met either of them."

When she hesitated, Jennet prompted her. “Who else, madam? Did the Lady Mary name Sir Walter?"

"Aye, and a Spaniard. A man by the name of Diego Cordoba.” The Lady Mary had known nothing more of him.

They rounded the bend in the river. Susanna could see the whole of London spread out before her. And the Southwark shore. Her sharp eyes picked out the Sign of the Smock.

She had not been surprised to hear Robert and Sir Walter mentioned as suspects. It had been obvious from the first that the two of them knew more than they were prepared to share with her. What she had not expected was the keen sense of disappointment she'd felt on learning Robert had been involved in the cover-up of a tawdry murder. And in drunken revels at court.

What else, she wondered, would she discover about her husband in the days to come?

Was it possible she was married to a murderer?

His face appropriately solemn, Robert threw dirt into the grave that held Diane St. Cyr. An eerie silence descended on the churchyard as the only mourners—himself, Pendennis, and Susanna—turned away.

When his old friend declined Susanna's offer of supper and left the two of them to go to his own lodgings in Blackfriars, Robert's gaze followed his departing form with real longing. He did not look forward to an evening in his wife's company. Because he had not been home since Sunday, he knew she'd have a barrage of questions. He had a few of his own, but was unsure how to determine what business she'd had at Whitehall without explaining why he'd been in a position to notice her entering the palace grounds.

He'd barely been able to see Whitehall's Privy Stairs from the Durham House water gate, but he'd caught sight of the wherry passing the Spanish embassy and noticed something familiar about one of the women on board. When Susanna stood, the better to view her surroundings, her height and proud carriage, all too familiar, had attracted his attention. Recognizing his own wife somewhere she had no reason to be, he had continued to watch the watercraft until it docked.

Her destination both puzzled and worried him. Susanna was scarce an intimate of the queen. In fact, she had never been presented to Queen Elizabeth. Robert intended that to remain the case. The very thought of two such independent-minded, overeducated women working in concert filled him with dread.

But if it seemed unlikely his wife had gone to Whitehall to meet with the queen, then why had she disembarked at the Privy Stairs? Hours later, that question still nagged at him.

Not long now,
he reminded himself. The plan was moving forward. His allies in Spain were cooperating. If he could just keep Susanna from meddling and also manage to divert official attention from this unfortunate business of the Frenchwoman's murder, all would be well. Somehow, he had to prevent Susanna from involving herself further in the matter.

He glanced at her, noting the stiff way she held herself, the stubborn jut of her chin, and realized he had little chance of persuading her to cooperate. His wife was as tenacious as a terrier. His best chance of success lay in counterfeiting amiability and persuading her to share her conclusions about Diane's death. At least that way, when she strayed into dangerous waters, he would have warning before they were both dragged under the waves.

A cat greeted them at the door, stropping against his best hose with utter disregard for their cost. “Get away,” he ordered, kicking at the ginger-colored beast. It ran, but stopped to glare malevolently at him from a safe hiding place beneath a cupboard.

"Bring ale to the solar,” he barked at Jennet, who hovered nearby, ears flapping. He'd like to banish both housekeeper and cat from the premises, he thought irritably.

Bad enough he had to put up with Susanna.

"A word with you in private, madam,” he said to his wife.

Susanna followed him up the stairs meekly enough, but he was not fooled. Either she was angry because he had been the dead woman's lover, or she was prepared to be forgiving, an annoying tendency that took much of the spice out of an amorous extramarital exploit.

"I cannot think why you have concerned yourself in this.” Robert began to upbraid her the moment the solar door closed behind them. “Diane was naught to you and little more to me. Far better for the body to have gone unknown and unclaimed."

"Difficult, when Diane had a paper on her person directing any who round it to the house of Sir George Eastland in Catte Street."

"Pendennis did not tell me that,” Robert murmured. “An unfortunate oversight. Should have been more careful."

"Who?” his wife asked. “Diane? Sir Walter? Yourself?"

Robert scowled at her. “Diane was an amateur. A novice at intrigue for all her connection to La Renaudie."

"Her killer was no novice.” Susanna's intense gaze made him think it possible she had so far lost faith in him as to suspect him of murder.

They were circling each other like fencers, each waiting for an opening, prepared to thrust or parry.

No, Robert thought. That analogy was not accurate.

Only he was skilled with a sword. His wife's weapon of choice was poison.

At that moment, Jennet arrived with two cups of ale, handing one to Robert and the other to Susanna. He resisted the absurd urge to insist that they swap drinking vessels. “Leave us, Jennet,” he said instead. “We will sup in an hour's time."

"Have you an hour's worth of news to impart?” Susanna asked when they were alone.

"Let us speak honestly together,” he suggested, pasting on his most sincere expression.

She lifted a skeptical brow. “A novel notion."

"As honestly as I am permitted to speak,” he amended, hoping she'd think he was bound by the security of the realm to keep some matters to himself.

"Very well, Robert. Honesty. I have nothing to hide.” She settled herself on the window seat, taking great care with the arrangement of her skirts.

"I have been told you visited Whitehall earlier today. What purpose had you in going there?"

Susanna's fingers stilled on a fold of fabric. “I met with the Lady Mary Grey."

Robert choked on his ale, coughing uncontrollably.

"'Twas as well he could not speak, he realized when he finally caught his breath. His shock had been great at hearing that name. He might have given something away.

Susanna could not possibly know his plans. Her face was open, easy to read. He saw in it only her concern for him—she went so far as to get up and pound him on the back to aid his recovery.

This had to be mere coincidence. It could be nothing else. And yet ‘twas worrisome.

"The ale went down the wrong way,” he said hoarsely.

"Yes,” she agreed, and waited, as was her habit when she wished to encourage others to speak first, filling a deliberately left silence.

'Twas a remarkable effective ploy. Robert pretended to fall into the trap. “What business did you have with the Lady Mary?” he asked, as if he'd only just recalled what she'd said before his fit of coughing. “Why, I had almost forgot she was at court.” He grinned, thinking of the Lady Mary's size. “She is passing easy to overlook."

No smile came in reply. “She is a most observant person herself,” Susanna told him solemnly. “The Lady Mary likes to know things.” She sighed and folded her arms on the table. “There is no point in concealing my intentions from you, Robert, but I must tell you that had you been here, I'd have had no necessity to question the Lady Mary."

"I find your words enigmatic, Susanna.” Question the Lady Mary? He did not like the sound of that. “Tell me plain what you discussed with the queen's cousin."

"The murder of Lora Tylney."

This time he could not disguise his shock. He gaped at her, incredulous. “How did you—?"

He broke off as comprehension dawned. He and Pendennis had spoken of Lora in this house. Annoyed that he'd not been more careful, he cast a thoughtful glance at the door. No doubt Jennet was stationed behind it even now, positioned to eavesdrop on every word he said.

He supposed it did not matter. Anything she did not overhear, Susanna would repeat to her later. He'd never understood this bond between mistress and servant and did not approve of it, although he had no choice but to acknowledge its existence.

"Come, Robert,” his wife urged, refilling the cup he could not remember draining. “You are the one who proposed honesty. You cannot deny that the murder of Lora Tylney and the murder of Diane St. Cyr have several things in common. The date—St. Mark's Day. The feather, indicating a connection to Winchester geese. The broken necks. And most important, the physical description of the victim. I have learned of a third murder, that of a prostitute in Southwark just a year ago. Like Lora and Diane, she was small and dark and her neck was broken. What conclusion can I draw but that one man killed all three women? A man who must be known to you, for he was at court with you during Queen Mary's reign."

Robert's mind was too clogged with questions to allow him to speak. What Susanna had reasoned out was at once less alarming and more daunting than anything he'd feared she would say.

"A killer who strikes but once a year,” he finally managed to say. “A killer who follows a pattern?"

"Aye. It makes a sickening kind of sense. There is a sort of logic in it."

"I have never heard of such a thing before!"

"Does that make it impossible to be true?"

"No,” he said, short-tempered because he did not care for surprises. Her conclusions were unexpected. He refused to inquire how she knew of the death of a whore.

"Well?” Hands on her hips, Susanna glared at him. “Will you help me discover this killer's identity?"

"Before I agree to anything, you must tell me all you learned from the Lady Mary Grey.” Most particularly, he thought, Susanna must tell him if the Lady Mary had mentioned his name.

"Do you agree with my conclusions?"

"I agree only that I must hear more of this matter before I can decide. Why did you go to the Lady Mary?"

Resigned to telling him, Susanna reclaimed the window seat. “I thought of her because she and her sister, the Lady Catherine, were privy to all that happened at court during Queen Mary's reign. They knew who had reputations with the ladies.” She gave him a pointed look, but did not elaborate. “The Lady Mary well remembered the uproar over Mistress Tylney's death. She said King Philip himself took charge of the investigation. And put a stop to it."

"He had good reason to do so. There was no obvious suspect. And he had returned to England to gather troops. He needed every able-bodied man to fight the French."

"Ah, yes. I can see how experience killing an innocent young woman might be useful to a soldier."

"That is not how it was, Susanna. And I must protest that Lora Tylney was no innocent.” Robert remained where he was, across the room from his wife, fighting the urge to pace.

"Nor was Diane,” Susanna mused. “That was the point of the feather, I presume."

Robert knew he could never hope to deter Susanna if she was resolved to search for Diane's killer. How, he wondered, could he use her quest to his own advantage? The success she'd enjoyed in the past had given her a false sense of her own abilities. If she pursued this matter, she'd focus on it to the exception of all else. It was unlikely she'd discover who had killed Diane. And she'd not have time to inquire into his comings and goings. ‘Twould be good to divert her from too keen an interest in his business for the next few weeks.

Feigning capitulation, he forced a smile. “Ask me what you will. I vow I will assist you in any way I can. Did the Lady Mary remember I was one of the courtiers interrogated when Lora Tylney was killed?"

"Aye, she did.” Susanna gave him a hard look, then dropped her gaze to stare at her folded hands. “The Lady Mary said you were one of several gentlemen in pursuit of Lora's favors. She seemed to think you ... intended to force yourselves upon her."

"Susanna...."

The warning in his voice went unheeded. “I have heard of such things, but I had thought better of you, Robert."

"I'd had a great deal to drink."

They'd all consumed inordinate quantities of Xeres sack that night. Cordoba had been so deep in his cups that he'd caught hold of a figure in a gown and thought he'd had Lora, only to find out ‘twas merely a creation of terra-cotta and paint. Robert had been none too steady himself flailing about among the props and set pieces and boxes of costumes.