Face Down among the Winchester Geese (2 page)

"Put the leek bed there, Lionel,” she said in a brief respite from the clamor.

It would lie between the new-built trellis and the raised beds of her physic garden, in which she had already planted a few of the selected seeds she'd sent for from Leigh Abbey, the Appleton family seat in Kent. It was a gentlewoman's first duty to keep her household healthy and for that reason Susanna needed fresh supplies of a variety of medicinal herbs.

Lionel went to work with a will, using first a shovel and then his little four-pronged fork and a trowel. At seventeen, he was all angles and sharp corners beneath his heavy canvas apron. Susanna devoutly hoped he was through growing. She got a crick in her neck looking up at him now, and she was uncommon tall herself.

While he worked, Susanna surveyed the remainder of the garden she was restoring in the small yard behind the house her husband had leased. Both garden and house, a long, narrow, three-story building with a garret above, had been neglected after the death of their owner. His widow had retired to the country.

Fortunately, Robert had given Susanna enough warning of their impending move to London for her to send servants ahead. Three men and one woman had worked diligently for a fortnight to sweep out all the old rushes, wash the floors and walls, air the house, and put in supplies. Faggots and billets of wood and a cauldron of coal had been safely stored in the cellar by the time Susanna arrived with three more servants, one cat, and enough furniture to fill the house.

From Leigh Abbey had come everything from tapestry hangings and curtains to beds, chairs, and tables, to candles and candlesticks. In addition, Susanna had loaded two wagons with chests and boxes containing clothing, books, and her own herbs and potions. One look at this garden and she'd sent back at once for seeds and for Lionel, who had started as a gardener's boy some years before and worked his way up to the post of second gardener at Leigh Abbey.

Already the two of them had unearthed the remains of open beds, raised above the level of the path on oak boards. Rosemary still grew in among the bricks in the garden wall and there were signs that a central walk had once been bordered by low-growing lavender. If Susanna had her way, both plants would once again flourish here.

A frown darkened her features. There was not as much width as she'd like in this garden plan. Lionel would scarce have room to kneel on the path and reach into the beds and weed. She would have to pay him something extra, she decided, for the ache he was sure to have in his back when he was done. And provide him with a soothing poultice. One of catnip, perhaps. Or lady's slipper.

Susanna drew on a pair of three-fingered gloves to protect her hands from cuts and scrapes and reached for a digging tool. She did not mind getting dirty, but she had seen too many small injuries become infected through carelessness. She did not plan to die before her time.

As she unearthed weeds from an overgrown patch of ground, Susanna found signs that a few primroses, periwinkles, and violets had flowered the previous month. A single bluebell was just about to open and she saw that, with care, she might yet have a few cowslips and some broom. One of the surviving rosebushes was also hardy enough to flower, together with honeysuckle. There could be nothing sweeter, she thought, than the combination of scents of those two flowers on an early morning in June. Perfect to help dispel the appalling miasma that seemed to hang over London, a pervasive stench made up of many parts, none of which she was inclined to try to identify.

For all her delight in a pretty, pleasant-smelling garden, however, Susanna put usefulness first. Some of the herbs she would plant had odors fully as appalling as that coming from the kennels in front of each householder's door. Other plants, though they were aromatic when crushed, did naught to scent the air in their natural state.

She frowned at the raised bed, where boards would divide each plant from the next in separate squares. Space was limited. She ran through the list of those herbs she customarily grew for medicines and sighed. There would be no room for them all. She would have to send for supplies from home, and buy other medicines from the apothecaries. That there were so many apothecaries, offering a wide variety of both herbal and chemical remedies, was one of the few advantages she could think of to living in London.

Borage, she decided, could be sown this afternoon. In June she would make conserves of the candied petals, but before the plant flowered she would gather leaves, using the green herb to make medicines. Borage was an ingredient in several soothing compounds. One eased sore throats, another inflammations of the eyes, and a third was good for itching. She would have to send some of the latter to her friend Magdalen, who was much troubled with skin rashes.

Susanna smiled to herself, thinking that perhaps Magdalen would not suffer that affliction quite so often now that her first, unsatisfactory husband had shown the good sense to die and leave her free to remarry. Henry, Lord Madderly, would not have been Susanna's choice for a mate, had she found herself in a similar situation, since with him came two wildhead sons, but Magdalen seemed content with her decision.

A sharp voice calling “Lady Appleton” and a jangling sound penetrated Susanna's reverie. She turned, startled, to see the plump and red-cheeked figure of her housekeeper hurrying toward her. From a ring at her waist hung keys to everything from the spice box to the front door. They bounced madly as Jennet advanced.

"Be careful!” Susanna called. The younger woman was about to trip over a gourd-shaped watering pot lying on the path.

Jennet gave a little hop to avoid it and continued on. “Someone has come to see Sir Robert.” She took a moment to catch her breath. “A stranger."

Susanna lifted a questioning brow, knowing there must be a particular reason why Jennet had not simply told this person that Sir Robert Appleton was not at home.

"'Tis a lady, madam. Wearing a visor."

Brows arching higher, Susanna waited for further disclosures. Women might choose to conceal their features for any number of reasons. Some wished to hide the ravages of disease. Poor Lady Sidney, who had nursed Queen Elizabeth through smallpox just last year, now had a face so horribly scarred that she could not bear to have anyone look upon it. Other respectable women, those who wished the freedom to attend an innyard performance of a play without being recognized, also went masked.

"She will not give her name.” Jennet worried her lower lip with her teeth.

Though the words remained unspoken, it was clear Jennet thought their visitor was another of Robert's mistresses, like the woman who had arrived at Leigh Abbey the previous winter with a babe in her arms, claiming the child was Robert's. Susanna's husband had at the time been out of the country, on a mission to Spain for the queen.

There had been a reason for Susanna to acknowledge the baby girl's paternity. She had therefore sent mother and child to live at Appleton Manor in Lancashire. Soon she would have to inform Robert, who had only recently returned to England, that he was a father.

"Show our visitor into my solar,” Susanna instructed. “And offer her a little ale or some wine. I will come directly."

A good scrubbing would be necessary to remove the dirt from her face and beneath her fingernails. Susanna considered taking time to change into more formal attire, but decided that the loose-bodied gown she wore for comfort would have to do for this uninvited, unexpected caller. A fresh apron would cover the worst of the garden dirt.

As she washed at the hand pump in the yard, a single church bell tolled, signaling that death had come in the next parish. This ominous note underscored Susanna's one doubt about confronting the stranger. Would her interference create problems for Robert? Indeed it would if the woman were his mistress!

Susanna did not deceive herself. Robert had never been faithful to her. On the other hand, he'd always been courteous enough not to flaunt these illicit relationships. He did not bring his lemans into her home or even keep them in the same town.

There had been times during the nearly ten and a half years they'd been married when she had talked herself into being grateful to such women. Their services had allowed Susanna to maintain a civil friendship, at times even a partnership, with her husband. If she sometimes wished for more, she'd learned to still that foolish desire and channel her energies into more productive efforts.

Susanna gave herself a shake as she finished her ablutions. Best not to dwell on such things. Robert would never change. And there was a more likely reason why a mysterious visitor had turned up on their doorstep. Robert was one of the best of the queen's intelligence gatherers. On a few past occasions, Susanna had been helpful to him in his endeavors. That she might be so again had, in part, prompted her decision to speak with the masked woman who awaited her above.

If the stranger had come to deliver some secret into Robert's keeping, she might not like being confronted by his wife, but Susanna could see no alternative. This woman had come to Catte Street. Susanna had not sought her out. It was even possible Susanna was supposed to act as Robert's intermediary. That would certainly explain his unprecedented decision to lease a house.

In the past, he'd kept lodgings at court, or taken rooms in a nearby inn when his presence was required near the queen. Not only had Susanna never been asked to join him, she'd been discouraged from leaving Leigh Abbey. He'd seemed to prefer she stay in the country while he danced attendance on royalty.

Why, she wondered, did he suddenly wish to appear a devoted husband? A futile effort, most like, when it was no secret that her guardian had arranged their marriage.

A good wife would not question what her husband did, but even though Robert had been twenty-seven when they said their vows and Susanna nine years younger, she'd never been a biddable bride. She had an education to equal any man's and a mind of her own.

Still, she owed Robert loyalty. She knew from experience that he did nothing without a purpose. That purpose, most often, was to serve the queen. As Susanna climbed the narrow back stairs to her bedchamber, she just wished he would deign, once in a while, to share his plans with her.

Ignoring a looking glass, she quickly changed her apron, then ventured through a connecting door to the solar. The woman waiting for her there rose from the cushioned window seat and sketched a curtsey. Her only reaction to the fact that she was being greeted by the mistress of the house and not the master was a flash of surprise in the dark eyes behind the mask.

She was tiny, making Susanna feel like a giantess. Dark hair showed beneath her headdress, and her face was pale beneath the black half mask. Little else was visible. Gloves covered her hands, though she wore an ornate mourning ring on the outside of one. A widow? That seemed likely. Her cloak concealed the cut and condition of her clothing, but Susanna caught a glimpse of black fabric.

"My husband is not at home. May I be of assistance to you?"

"I think not.” The woman's speech was soft, difficult to hear, but just those few words betrayed foreign birth. She was French, or perhaps a Fleming.

Her effort to leave was forestalled by Jennet's arrival with a tray heavy laden with food and drink.

"Come, madam. Let us be at ease together,” Susanna invited. “You wished to speak to my husband, but he is not here. I do not know when he will return, but you are welcome to wait."

Reluctantly, the woman resumed her seat and accepted a cup of ale. Jennet busied herself pouring, offering an array of sweets, anything that would allow her to remain in the solar.

Susanna waved her away. The woman might hesitate to confide her business with a third person in the room. She need not know Jennet would remain just on the other side of the door, her ear pressed to the oak paneling.

The stranger nibbled at a piece of marchpane, but she took nothing else and offered no explanation for her presence. Unnerved by her steady regard, Susanna reacted by staring back, her blue eyes boring into that darker gaze. Two could play at this game. After a few minutes, Susanna's guest betrayed her nervousness by crumbling the last piece of marchpane on her plate. The fine trembling in her hands indicated she might be afraid.

"You are troubled, madam. ‘Susanna was not without sympathy. “Tell me how I may assist you and I will attempt to do so."

Instead of answering, the woman rose abruptly. “You cannot help me.” Her voice was louder now, and husky, as if she might be in the throes of some deep emotional turmoil.

Susanna. spoke to her departing back. “What shall I tell my husband when he returns?"

At the door the stranger turned. She lifted the visor briefly, to reveal an unmarked and very beautiful countenance beneath. “Tell him he will find me at the Falcon Inn near Paris Garden."

"And your name?” Susanna asked.

The visor fell back into place as its owner whispered her reply: “
Je m'appelle
Diane."

Only a matter of weeks, Sir Robert Appleton reminded himself as he dismounted and gave his horse to Fulke the groom to stable.

He glanced up at the house he'd leased from Lady Eastland, feeling a bitter sort of satisfaction that he'd managed to secure it. Although he'd have preferred to be in Milk Street or Bread Street, quiet enclaves of wealthy citizens near to but secluded from Cheapside, this would do. There was a nice irony in its location on the south side of Catte Street, just a stone's throw from the Guildhall, the center of city administration and the place where London's municipal courts met.

Only a matter of weeks, he thought again. Then he'd have everything he'd ever wanted. In the meantime, he had chosen to play the role of devoted husband.

A few minutes later he joined Susanna in the solar.

His wife looked unusually domestic, sitting by the westward-facing window that she might catch the late afternoon sun while hemming a pillow slip. She glanced up when he came through the door, her expression so bland that he was at once suspicious.