Face Down among the Winchester Geese (14 page)

"My dear,” Sir Robert said to his wife. “May I present my old friend Francis Elliott."

"Master Elliott.” Lady Appleton graciously offered her cheek to be kissed, then waved him back to one of the chairs grouped before the unlit fireplace. Sir Robert had already provided their guest with wine and poured a goblet for himself. Lady Appleton declined the offer that he do likewise for her.

"Does it not seem remarkable to you that we have never met ere now?” she asked. “You were in the duke of Northumberland's service at the same time Robert was, and I, soon after, became the duke's ward."

"Aye, madam. A pity, too.” Master Elliott had a deep, resonant, melodic voice. He jerked his head toward Sir Robert. “Mayhap this dog would not have won you for himself had I seen you first."

Safe in her favorite place of concealment, Jennet snorted softly. She knew a little of her mistress's past. The marriage to Sir Robert had been arranged by Northumberland. Neither of them had been allowed any say in the matter. They'd not even met until the day of their formal betrothal.

Social chatter quickly dispensed with, Sir Robert broached the subject of murder. “Pendennis sent word just as Elliott and I were about to leave Whitehall to come here,” he said to his wife. “One man now seems more likely than any other to have killed both Lora and Diane."

"Diego Cordoba?” Lady Appleton guessed.

Jennet heard a sharp intake of breath but was uncertain which of the gentlemen had been startled. Master Elliott, most likely, since he did not know of her past successes.

"Diego Cordoba,” Sir Robert agreed. “Or, as he has called himself these last few months, Ruy Vierra. He remained behind in England after King Philip left six years ago. As a spy."

"Intelligence gatherer, do you mean?” Lady Appleton's tone was arch. Sweet, but tinged with sarcasm. Sir Robert always insisted upon using this less negative term when he referred to his own work for the Crown.

"Aye,” he conceded. “Intelligence gatherer. We have not yet been able to trace all his movements. He would have employed disguises. Taken on false identities. Of late he held a minor clerk's post at Durham House."

"And has a warrant been issued for his arrest?"

"Alas, my dear, ‘twould do no good. Cordoba, or rather Vierra, has vanished. He must have learned that questions were being asked about the murders and fled in a panic."

A small silence fell. Jennet could almost hear her mistress thinking. She was unsurprised when Lady Appleton expressed doubt. “You have no proof, then. Only supposition."

"Why would an innocent man run?"

"Because he is not so innocent of other matters. You said yourself he was in this country to gather intelligence. What if he simply found out all he needed to know and went home to report to his master?"

"It seems to me too great a coincidence that this should occur just as you began to investigate the murders."

"You give me too much credit, husband."

"Only that which is your due, my dear."

He was laying on praise too thick. Jennet hugged herself and waited. She was not disappointed.

"It may be you are right, Robert,” Lady Appleton said slowly, “but I do think I must continue to ask questions. For mine own peace of mind. And here you have most fortuitously brought me Master Elliott, who may provide me with some of the answers I seek."

While Jennet strained to hear every word, Lady Appleton took both men through the night of Lora Tylney's murder six years earlier. The story was familiar by now. Drunken courtiers in pursuit of a wench. All of them searching the room where scenes and machines for court masques were stored. Master Elliott telling the others that Lora must already have departed.

"And so you can assure me, Master Elliott, that she was still alive when you left that room?"

"Alive and healthy."

Lady Appleton placed one hand on his arm and gazed up at him, speaking softly. “Did you kill her, Master Elliott?"

Jennet held her breath.

He did not seem to take offense at the question, and his words had the ring of truth in them. “I saw she'd hidden, realized how afraid she was, and indeed, I did consider returning alone, to take advantage of her gratitude, but then I remembered how recently she'd been Cordoba's woman, and I did not think such an action would be wise.

"So you have suspected she was killed by Diego Cordoba all along?"

Master Elliott made a dismissive gesture. “He was always a suspect, but there was no proof. All I can tell you with certainty is that someone went back into that room after we all left together."

Abruptly, Lady Appleton turned her attention to her husband. “Did Diego Cordoba have opportunity to return that night, Robert? Did he wander off on his own once you'd returned to Lord Robin's chamber?"

"My dear, I scarce remember what I did that night. He and I and Pendennis and Marsdon and Lord Robin, and Elliott here, kept drinking into the wee hours. I slept some part of that time.” He grinned at her. “No doubt I also made one or two visits to the privy."

"This is not a matter for levity, Robert."

"Nor is it possible for anyone to account for every moment of his time, not after all these years."

Jennet thought Lady Appleton might point out that, six years earlier, during the inquiries into Lora Tylney's death, all the suspects had been asked to do precisely that. And she expected her mistress to ask both men where they had been when each of the other victims was murdered. Instead, she skipped directly to the Frenchwoman.

"Did you ever meet Diane St. Cyr, Master Elliott?"

"Once,” he admitted. “I was in Pendennis's rooms when she turned up there. Took him by surprise, I warrant, a woman visiting his lodgings."

"That is no detriment to her character,” Lady Appleton said stiffly. “I have myself visited Sir Walter's rooms.

A strangled sound issued from Sir Robert, but he said nothing. Jennet leaned out of her hiding place to give him a hard stare. If he reacted so strongly to his wife's visit to Blackfriars, she wondered what he would think of her trips to Southwark.

"Your pardon, Lady Appleton.” Master Elliott's voice was smooth, his demeanor properly contrite. “I did not mean to imply any impropriety, though you must agree that Mistress St. Cyr did not have the highest moral standards. She had no maidservant with her, and she allowed me, a stranger, to escort her to lodgings at an inn. However, I left her long before she was murdered, and in the interim, or so I am told, she came here and spoke with you."

"Where did you go, Master Elliott?"

"Why, to my father's house, in Bermondsey. There I spent the night and returned to Whitehall the next morning by way of Lambeth. I heard nothing of the discovery of Mistress St. Cyr's body until your good husband and Walter Pendennis told me the tale."

"Did she seem nervous or afraid when you spoke with her?” Lady Appleton asked.

"Not that I noticed. She was polite. Grateful for my assistance. Pleased to be safe in England after the turmoil of France."

Apparently satisfied, Lady Appleton thanked Master Elliott for answering her questions. A few minutes later, both men left the house.

"Jennet, you may come out now,” Lady Appleton called as she passed Jennet's hiding place and ascended to the upper floor. She was in her solar, already pouring a reviving glass of her special tonic, by the time Jennet scurried in. “You heard everything?"

"Yes, madam."

"A neat solution, presented to us on a platter."

"Aye, madam."

"Robert expects me to abandon my quest and stop asking embarrassing questions."

Little chance of that, Jennet thought. “You did not tell him about the other murders."

"I would have to explain how I learned of them. I am not ready to reveal Petronella's part in this. Not yet. Perhaps never. I'd not endanger her."

"Then how will you learn if Master Elliott and the rest can prove they were elsewhere when those murders took place?"

"Perhaps Senor Cordoba is guilty,” Lady Appleton mused. “I've thought him the most likely suspect myself. But there must be proof, and I will seek it."

"How, madam?"

"I will go ahead with my plan to ask Sir Walter to find out if any murders took place near Windsor Castle in 1561.” She sat at her writing table and prepared to compose a letter. “But first, I do think, I must ask him to take me to the scene of Lora Tylney's murder. I would see for myself this scenery storage room where she died."

"I wish you would reconsider,” Sir Walter said as he led Susanna through the rabbit warren of administrative and domestic offices that comprised the ground floor of Whitehall Palace. Jennet trailed behind them, gawking openly at every new sight. “What purpose will it serve? Why not accept that Cordoba is the killer?"

"In every case?” She had just given him a brief summary of the three additional murders Petronella had uncovered. She had not revealed her source. In fact, she'd let Sir Walter believe Robert had supplied the information. She thought it likely her deceit would come back to haunt her, since Robert at present knew of only three victims, but she could see no good at all in revealing Petronella's name.

Sir Walter glanced her way, noted the stubborn set of her jaw, and capitulated. “I will speak with the Coroner of the Royal Household. He is responsible for investigating any murders that occur within the verge, that is to say within a twelve-mile radius of the body of the queen."

"That will be most helpful."

Three days had passed since Susanna sent her note requesting Sir Walter take her to the scene of Lora Tylney's murder. The May Day festivities had taken place in the interim, making an earlier tour impossible. The area would still be a hive of activity, Sir Walter had warned her, what with returning all manner of scenes and machines and costumes to storage.

They entered a cavernous room, filled with wondrous strange objects. Susanna blinked and came to an abrupt halt. “It is ... overwhelming,” she admitted.

"Come, let me show you some of the sights.” Sir Walter led her deeper into the room. “When we were first at court during King Edward's short reign, Francis Elliott and I spent many hours here. The Keeper of Machines told marvelous stories about the days when King Henry employed skilled artisans just to design and execute new scenes.

Although this was the place where Lora Tylney had been foully murdered, Susanna found herself falling under the enchantment of its contents. An entire forest seemed to grow from the bed of a wagon more than thirty paces long. Its trees were painted with as rich a variety of greens as nature offered. Nearby was an arbor of gilt pillars wreathed in artificial vines, constructed on another wagon. Next came an elaborate fountain twice as tall as she was and all covered with silver foil.

"There was one pageant wagon, designed for festivities here at Whitehall, that carried thirty men and women,” Sir Walter said. “It moved, turned about ... and was so heavy that it broke right through the floor."

The almost musical lilt of his voice was as pleasing to Susanna as his stories. The rhythm of his native Cornwall had reasserted itself in these surroundings. When she realized how much she was enjoying his company, however, she chastised herself for forgetting their purpose in coming here. She started to remind him, but stopped at the startling sight of a ship, white sails set on two high wooden masts and room for a dozen people on the brightly painted deck and half-deck.

"Climb aboard,” Sir Walter invited, gesturing to the gaudily decorated galleon.

"How do they make any of these wagons move?” she asked when they had both ascended the rope ladder and were standing side by side at a highly polished, red enameled rail.

"That varies,” he said. “The lighter pageant wagons are often drawn by young men dressed in costumes. That forest we looked at can be moved by two stout lads. I remember one time it was used. One fellow was dressed as a lion and the other as an antelope. That tower over there,” he said, pointing, “requires a horse to pull it into the hall. The ill-fated wagon I mentioned earlier was towed in by an entire team of oxen."

"And these scenes are used as the backdrop for a story?” Susanna's experience with masques was limited, for she'd never been invited to attend court functions.

Sir Walter nodded. “Most are simple variations of the same tale. A band of fair damsels occupies a castle, or a mount, or a ship. A group of men dressed as Turks or crusaders or pirates lays siege. The women surrender."

"Always?"

In spite of the twinkle in his eyes, Sir Walter's voice was solemn. “Always,” he assured her. “Then other elements are added, for variety. Myth and legend freely mix with comic turns and studied complements. Often there are disguisings."

"When I was very young, my grandmother often spoke of such things,” Susanna confided. “She was at court early in King Henry's reign and remembered one time when the king dressed himself as Robin Hood and his courtiers as outlaws, all in short coats of Kendall green. She said they wore hoods on their heads and were armed with bows and arrows and swords and bucklers when they made an early-morning visit to the queen. They only revealed their true identities after Queen Catherine and her ladies agreed to dance with them in the queen's bed-chamber."

As a small child, Susanna had thought this sounded most romantic, and had believed that King Henry must truly love his wife. What nonsense, she thought now. Catherine of Aragon had been but the first of Henry's six queens. There had already been two more by the time Susanna's grandmother told her this tale, one beheaded and one dead in childbed.

"Robin Hood is a popular figure,” Sir Walter said. “So are the three worthies and the three princes.

The worthies, Susanna knew, were Julius Caesar, Hector, and Alexander. The princes were Charlemagne, Arthur, and Godfrey of Bouillon. “What masque was performed the night Lora Tylney died?"

"Four damsels were inside a tower much like that one.” Sir Walter indicated a nearby structure of canvas and wood. “Four masked men, all similar in height and breadth of shoulder and dressed in identical costumes, joined them there as the mumming ended. One of them was King Philip."