Part 13 (2/2)
”Then he were relieving himself, or found a more willing woman after I fled.”
No nervousness accompanied this statement. Her eyes did not s.h.i.+ft away. Her hands did not tremble. She believed what she was saying and Susanna believed it, too, even if it did complicate matters.
Had there been another woman there that night?
Mark was waiting for his mistress when she came out of the draper's shop, and took the packages that contained crimson satin at three s.h.i.+llings a yard and yellow kersey at four s.h.i.+llings sevenpence an ell.
”I need also to purchase eight pair of knitted hose,” she told him as they began to walk toward a shop that carried such things.
Three s.h.i.+llings and fourpence changed hands. Once more in the street, Susanna asked Mark for his report.
”The boy knows nothing. He saw no ghost at Appleton. Nor any strangers about. Neither did he know Sir George.”
”Did he watch Mabel prepare the marrow-bone pie?”
”No, madam. He was busy with his own ch.o.r.es.”
Susanna frowned. Did it matter? Mabel hadn't added the poison, if there had been poison. Someone else had slipped that in. Or given Bexwith a poisoned root, convincing him it was candied eryngo. Ince? His wife? d.i.c.kon himself, already promised employment? If any of those three had, the lad would never admit it, not unless she had more than guesses to go on. Grizel's father? One of the Denholms? Grimshaw? Everyone seemed to have disliked Bexwith, but where was a strong enough motive to kill?
The next stop was for spices, and Susanna vented her frustration on the shopkeeper, who dared charge ten s.h.i.+llings and sixpence for a pound of cinnamon. A like amount of ginger was more reasonable, at three s.h.i.+llings and eightpence.
Susanna left their purchases at the inn where she would spend the night. She meant to attend church at St. Mary's on the morrow, then return to Appleton Manor, but first she had another task to perform. In Mark's company, she began the long walk to Collyhurst. It was only midafternoon, giving her ample time to confront Adam Bone.
He turned out to be a surly, sly creature, who answered questions with great reluctance. It soon became plain that the swineherd could tell them no more than young d.i.c.kon had. He did, however, deny he'd seen any ghost. Only a body and an hysterical serving wench.
Discouraged, Susanna returned to Manchester with nothing for her pains but sore feet and a lingering smell of pig. She debated paying an evening visit to Matthew Grimshaw, torn between the urge to confront him with the knowledge that he'd lied to her and an equally strong desire to avoid him altogether until she knew more.
”Where was Grimshaw when Bexwith died?” she murmured aloud.
”With Mistress Denholm,” Mark replied.
At her invitation he was sharing a pot of ale with her in the common room at the inn, a situation that had earned them several curious stares and one look of outrage. She was the only women in the place, and though she was clearly of gentle birth, she was just as clearly treating a servant as an equal. People did not know what to make of either circ.u.mstance.
Mark's words took a moment to sink in, and even then she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. ”What did you say?”
Mark seemed surprised that she did not already know. ”He visited Denholm Hall that day. Grizel told Jennet and she told me.”
Bewildered, Susanna took a long swallow of her ale. ”Why do you suppose he was there?”
Mark frowned. ”Jennet did not say.”
”Which means she did not think to ask.” Susanna sighed as she reluctantly reached that conclusion. She would question Jennet when they returned to Appleton Manor, but she did not think there would be more to learn. Not yet.
”Madam,” Mark said hesitantly. He ran one finger around the rim of his cup. ”What if you are wrong? What if there has been no crime committed, after all? This could be no more than an old man dropping dead and a maid's runaway imagination.”
”You think Grizel invented our ghost?”
”I think she is not so sure of what she saw as it first seemed. Jennet says she is oddly hesitant to speak of it, but that she came to Appleton Manor to visit without a qualm the last time her father wanted to measure the chapel. She was not as afraid as Jennet thought she'd be. I am thinking that the shock of finding John Bexwith dead may have addled her brain.”
”Then how do you explain what we saw?”
”There is that.”
”Yes. There is that.”
Susanna said nothing more, but she was thinking hard. Had someone seen in the girl's fanciful story a means to accomplish some other end? The result of the rumor had been to leave Appleton Manor deserted. Had that been the intent?
Or had someone simply wanted to encourage Sir Robert to come north?
The latter idea alarmed her, but the more she thought about it the more sense it made. How had she altered matters, she wondered, by coming in his stead?
Chapter Twenty-Six.
Early in the morning on the first Sunday of December, Sir Robert Appleton presented himself at a modest country house just outside La Roch.e.l.le. The town was a stronghold of those with Calvinist leanings.
He was shown at once into the princ.i.p.al room, but it was not La Renaudie who waited for him there. A small, delicate female figure stood in a window alcove, shadowed by a burgundy colored velvet curtain that had been looped back just to her right. Behind her the diamond-paned leaded windows overlooked the cobblestone courtyard below. She had obviously been watching his arrival.
”Mademoiselle,” he said with a deep bow.
He thought she smiled, but he could not see her face well enough to tell. Was she La Renaudie's mistress? She was not his wife, of that he was certain. And there was no sign of the elusive rabble rouser himself.
”Come,” the woman said, speaking a charmingly accented English. ”Services are about to begin. I think you will enjoy hearing our new French versions of some of the Psalms.”
As she came into the light, Sir Robert saw that she was young, and very beautiful. Her dark hair and eyes were in stark contrast to pale, flawless skin. ”How shall I call you, ma belle?” he inquired.
A faint smile flickered and was gone. ”Diane,” she said.
Two hours later, Sir Robert was no closer to knowing her ident.i.ty, but he had ascertained that she was a widow, and a wealthy one at that. Her household was run with an efficiency even Susanna would have approved, but with considerably more emphasis on luxury. The mysterious Diane was a hedonist, for all her claims to follow Calvin's teachings.
At long last, La Renaudie arrived for their meeting. He brought with him a secretary and a servant and, to Sir Robert's surprise, he did not dismiss Diane. Observing them together, Sir Robert concluded that his earlier guess had been correct. She was the man's mistress and appeared to be completely devoted to him. A great pity, Sir Robert thought. He had begun to hope the lovely Diane might be willing to provide him with a pleasant diversion during the night ahead.
Recalled to business, he listened with growing alarm as La Renaudie outlined his plans. There was an element of fanaticism in the plot that boded ill for its success. Sir Robert diplomatically declined to point out the flaws, for he had come only to listen and observe.
None of his impressions of La Renaudie were favorable. The fellow thought very highly of himself, refusing to entertain the slightest doubt that he would succeed. He based his certainty not only upon his own abilities but upon those of one he called only le chef muet, the silent leader. At the penultimate moment, he claimed, this powerful n.o.bleman would reveal himself and lead them to victory.
”How can I ask my queen's help without knowing the name of this eminent person?” Sir Robert asked.
La Renaudie was adamant. ”Those who know are willing to face torture, even death, rather than reveal his ident.i.ty too soon.”
Sir Robert could guess who the silent leader might be, but even if he was right, he had no faith in the outcome of the revolution La Renaudie seemed so sure would succeed. All the same, he demanded details. He was somewhat surprised to be given them.
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