Face Down among the Winchester Geese (18 page)

Susanna found herself standing in front of the small looking glass that sat atop her dressing box. She frowned at her disheveled appearance. That one errant lock of hair would keep working its way out from beneath her cap. Impatient, she stabbed at it, shoving it under the edge of the fabric. Like her suspicions, it was unlikely to stay out of sight for long.

She had not known the man she'd been married to when they wed. In the years since, she thought she'd come to understand him, but what if she was mistaken?

Could Robert be the killer she sought? She turned away from her scowling image. She was not afraid of him. That must mean something.

It meant, she realized, that she looked on this quest as an intellectual game. At times, it was not entirely real. She was, perhaps, taking foolish risks with her own safety.

But would she not sense it if she were in danger? Especially if Robert were the source of it? There were many areas of his life she was not privy to, but she had also known him intimately for a long time. In the past, on occasion, he had even confided in her, treated her like a companion and friend, asked her opinion.

When had that changed? It had been a gradual thing, she thought. A growing apart. An increase in resentment toward her. She'd made matters worse during her sojourn in Lancashire. Robert had never forgiven her for saving his life.

But that, she decided, was why she knew he was no threat to her. He owed her a life for a life. And the other women? Was Robert capable of killing them? Susanna did not believe that sort of violence was in his character ... though deceit was.

He was keeping something from her now. Her best guess was that he'd involved himself in some scheme of which she would not approve. Why else insist she move to London? Why keep her there when he was only rarely in residence in Catte Street? And why blow hot and cold about helping her bring Diane's murderer to justice? When she'd left London, she'd half expected him to tell her to remain at Leigh Abbey. In the past having her out of his way had always suited his purpose better.

Robert's flaws had been obvious to Susanna for many years—greed, jealousy, unfaithfulness. And he'd claimed credit for several of her accomplishments. In the early years, she'd believed the vows they'd made to each other meant something, that she owed him obedience and loyalty. It seemed, however, that their definitions of loyalty differed.

Susanna had been hurt when she'd first learned about Alys, the grocer's daughter from Dover, but she'd pretended to know nothing about her or the house Robert maintained for her. When she'd been in a position to demand concessions from Robert, after she'd saved his life during that business in Lancashire, she had not asked him to give up his mistress. Instead she'd coerced him into signing a remarkable legal document granting Susanna the revenues of several properties in her own right. Ever since, she'd been able to act independently of her husband ... if she chose to do so.

That contract, even though she'd never availed herself of its provisions, had created a barrier between them. Sometimes she regretted having forced him to yield. No man liked to be bested by his wife. He resented her for that, and for the very abilities he used to his own advantage, such as running this estate so profitably.

After Lancashire, they'd quarreled more frequently and laughed together far less. She'd often taken Catherine's part against him when that young gentlewoman had become part of their household. And then there had been that business in Gloucestershire. Walter Pendennis had been knighted for solving the murders at Madderly Castle when Robert felt the credit should have been his. Since it had been she who'd actually solved the crimes, Susanna had not been particularly sympathetic, especially after she'd learned, from Catherine, that Robert had a new mistress, a Scotswoman named Annabel.

Susanna took another look at her reflection and grimaced, then stalked out of the bedchamber. She needed some fresh air. Her thoughts must be muddied, for she'd just caught herself regretting that Annabel had not been able to keep Robert's interest a bit longer. He'd left Scotland, his diplomatic mission there at an end, in February of 1562. He'd arrived in London in time to kill Ambrosia La Petite.

Robert had been quick to involve himself with another woman, she realized—Eleanor, the one who'd borne a child named Rosamond and turned up, with the baby, when Robert was in Spain.

After the first shock, Susanna had felt anger. That betrayal had been impossible to ignore, and compounded by the fact that Robert had behaved badly not only toward his wife but also toward his mistress. He'd left Eleanor without a moment's concern that she might be breeding, making no provision for her. Susanna had quickly remedied that.

Once the proof of Robert's perfidy was out of sight, Susanna had also tried to put Rosamond and her mother from her mind. She'd succeeded almost too well. In all the time Robert had been home, Susanna had yet to tell him of his little girl's existence. True, they did not talk much anymore. She had that excuse for procrastinating. But he would have to be informed eventually. And he had a right to know where to find his daughter if he wanted to.

Such an announcement would not be well received. Susanna was certain of that much, though she could not be sure exactly what her husband's initial reaction would be. So far, a cowardice rare to her had kept Susanna silent every time she'd come close to broaching the subject. For one thing, she did not want to have to explain why she'd taken in both mother and child. She was not sure she could. And no matter what Robert's response, she knew she'd have to deal with emotions she usually managed to avoid—feelings of hurt, of guilt, of inadequacy.

When she returned to London, she decided, she would tell him. Would he object to her meddling, thus revealing an utter disregard for his own flesh and blood? Robert had never seemed to care for children and had shown no great desire to father any. Susanna knew most men would have reviled a wife who failed to produce an heir, but Robert had never expressed either criticism or regret.

Not about that.

He might insist they take young Rosamond into their home and raise her at Leigh Abbey as an Appleton. Susanna would think better of him for that attitude, but at the same time Rosamond's presence would be a constant reminder to Susanna that Robert had found her wanting as a wife.

Disgusted with herself for descending into self-pity, Susanna entered her garden and inhaled the reviving scents of her favorite herbs. She'd do well to remember that she was married to a man with few scruples and the morals of a civet cat. He was driven by one thing—the desire to attain prominence at court in the form of a highly paid government post and a peerage. That goal had always been more important to him than any woman, wife or mistress ... and made it unlikely he would ever risk losing it all by being executed for murder.

Someone else must have killed Lora and Diane and the rest.

Straightening her shoulders, Susanna renewed the vow that had brought her to Leigh Abbey. Somehow, she would discover the murderer's real identity and clear the Appleton name of any shadow of suspicion.

Lady Mary Grey toyed with a little mother-of-pearl scent bottle she wore on a gold chain. No one took any notice of the action. No one took any notice of her.

Except Sir Robert Appleton.

She was aware of his eyes upon her as she moved through the Presence Chamber where Queen Elizabeth gave audiences. Gaudily dressed ladies and courtiers even more fantastically garbed waited to speak to the queen. Everyone wanted something.

As Lady Mary scanned the crowd, she saw a bribe offered to one of the more prominent ladies of the privy chamber. On occasion, the maids of honor also received such solicitations, but it was rare for Lady Mary to be singled out for any purpose. Her influence with her royal cousin was negligible. That she was in line for the throne was merely an accident of birth, much like her stature.

But Sir Robert Appleton was watching her, charting her every move. She wondered why.

Deliberately, she ignored him. When she tired of watching other people, she studied the decor. Every surface at Whitehall was highly embellished. Ornate tapestries depicted scenes as varied as Hector at Troy and the Robin Hood story. Gilded strips divided the ceiling into sections and every inch of each compartment had been carved and painted. Even the floorboards had been plastered over and decorated with intricate designs.

Too ... busy, Lady Mary thought. If she ever had a house of her own, she would strive for less cluttered elegance—floors of Purbeck marble, simple ribbed oak panels on the walls, and perhaps one or two plain wool hangings of the sort made in London, their blue backgrounds embroidered with red roses.

In her peripheral vision, she again caught sight of Sir Robert Appleton. For some reason, just lately, Lady Appleton's husband had taken an interest in her. Had they discussed her? She tried to imagine it, Lady Appleton and Sir Robert, sitting down to sup, he making some remark about Lady Mary's lack of prospects ... and height. And Lady Appleton? A word in defense? A shared laugh? Impossible to tell.

Lady Mary had liked Sir Robert's wife. After their meeting in the garden she had reread
A Cautionary Herbal
, once again finding its contents most interesting.

At last Sir Robert made his move, wriggling through the crowd in her direction, his intent crystallized. Reading the determined look on his face, Lady Mary no longer avoided him. Instead her assessing gaze swept over him as he approached.

Sir Robert was tall and broad shouldered, his doublet tailored to enhance the second attribute. His court dress was very fine, grander than his position warranted. The doublet and trunk hose were slashed and adorned with gold braid. The underlying fabric was white, but so heavily embroidered, primarily in scarlet silks, that very little of it showed. Lady Mary's gaze swept down, noticing that murrey-colored netherstocks showed off well-formed legs, then up to concentrate on his face.

His beard was neatly trimmed, as was his short, thick, dark hair partially concealed by a small red velvet bonnet. The only thing ostentatious about the headgear was the jewelry holding its single white plume in place. This brooch was in the shape of a gold flower set with two rubies, two emeralds, and three pearls. Convenient collateral, Lady Mary could not help thinking, should he find himself in urgent need of money.

"Well met, my lady,” Sir Robert greeted her.

She smiled slightly and continued to scrutinize him.

He wanted something from her, but what?

"Of late, you met my wife."

Lady Mary acknowledged that truth with a regal nod.

"Is it possible you would come and sup with us in our humble abode, that we might in some small measure repay your kindness?"

What kindness? Lady Mary knew she'd helped Susanna Appleton very little, and she suspected Sir Robert realized that. On the other hand, it was out of the ordinary for her to receive invitations of any kind. And she had liked the woman.

"When?” she asked.

Clearly unprepared for an easy victory, Sir Robert had to clear his throat before he could recover his aplomb. “Lady Appleton has left London for a brief visit to our country seat in Kent. I am uncertain when she will return."

"She might be wise to remain there,” Lady Mary remarked. “There are rumors of plague spreading through France. ‘Twill be but a matter of time before it reaches our shores."

The court would move to a less populous area in the hope of avoiding infection, and any London resident who had property in the country would also evacuate. In an epidemic, a city was the most dangerous place to be.

"My lady wife fears nothing,” Sir Robert said. “Least of all some vague threat from across the Narrow Seas. She will return betimes, and I am certain she will be most pleased to entertain you."

"I await her invitation with great anticipation.” Lady Mary meant her words, but a few minutes later, as she watched Sir Robert walk away, she felt a growing disquiet.

He did want something from her, and she could not convince herself ‘twas anything so innocent as a friend for his wife.

The County of Essex did not lie on any direct route between Kent and London, but a visit to Peregrine Marsdon's estate added only two days to Susanna's journey. A fine May morning found her entering the courtyard at Spur Hall. A man, of middling height and unremarkable features, but a gentleman by his dress, came out from the mews to greet their small party. A faint tinkling sound followed him from the small bells tied to the feet of some of the birds within.

"Master Marsdon?” Susanna asked. “I am Lady Appleton. Sir Robert's wife."

The man beamed at her from behind a bushy beard. He moved quickly past several stone blocks, each one with a falcon chained to it, to reach her side. “We have been expecting you. I am Christopher Beckett, Lady Appleton. Marsdon's steward and friend. Sir Walter Pendennis wrote to tell us of your mission."

"And to warn you I might turn up unexpectedly?"

She took an instant liking to this man while at the same time wondering when Sir Walter had learned to read her so well.

"Aye.” His smile did not falter and his eyes twinkled. “Shall I take you to the suspect at once or may I offer you some refreshment first?"

"To Master Marsdon, by all means. Let us complete this business without delay.” Peregrine Marsdon had been a long shot, at best. Sir Walter's letter and Beckett's behavior seemed to eliminate him from her list, but she had questions to ask, and would meet the man to decide for herself.

Jennet, Fulke, and Lionel all trailed along when Beckett led the way toward a nearby meadow. They knew too much of the story now to allow their mistress to place herself in any danger. Susanna was torn between pleasure that they cared so much and annoyance at the way they hovered, seeking to protect her from some unknown danger.

"Do you know much of falconry?” Master Beckett asked.

"Only a little,” Susanna told him. Among the nobility, hunting with birds and dogs was more sport than quest for food. She did recall that the type of hawk or falcon a man carried on his wrist reflected his rank. A king carried a gyrfalcon, and an earl the peregrine. Beyond that, her knowledge was limited. She had never cared to know more.