Part 16 (1/2)
”You heard me. He wants to know how to reach Sir Robert. Lost his temper with me when I told him I had no notion where my master was.”
Jennet did not wait to hear more. She was already halfway to her mistress's chamber. The sound of the lid of a cookpot lifting told her Mark had not followed her. She'd deal with him later, she vowed. For the nonce she had news to report to Lady Appleton.
Disappointment darkened her expression a few minutes later. Lady Appleton did not seem to be either surprised or distressed by Jennet's revelation.
”I meant to write to him myself,” she declared.
”Master Grimshaw?”
That got a laugh. ”Robert. Let Grimshaw say what he pleases. I will send a letter of mine own to counter his report.”
”Do you know what he will say?”
”I can guess that he urges Robert to call me home, to stop me meddling in the matter of the ghost. Well, I will not go, and indeed, my injury gives me just the excuse I need to stay.”
Jennet privately thought Lady Appleton overconfident, but she said nothing aloud. ”Would you not like to go back to Leigh Abbey? If we left now, we could be there by the time Sir Robert returns from France.”
”And how did you guess, I do wonder, that he had gone to France?”
Jennet looked down at her shoes. Her mistress knew full well she listened at doors. Indeed, she encouraged it at times. There was no call to make her admit it aloud.
A sound that smacked of amus.e.m.e.nt spared her making any confessions. ”I cannot travel, injured as I am, and there's an end to it.” Lady Appleton pulled the covers up to her nose and closed her eyes.
Though she'd expressed her fears before and been rebuked, Jennet blurted out what she was thinking. ”I am afraid for us all. And Mark no longer cares. He has a new love to distract him.”
”Then win him back,” came m.u.f.fled advice from the bed.
”You do not understand,” Jennet wailed. ”I do not want him back if he means to stay here.” Appalled, she clapped her hands over her mouth. She'd never meant to say so much.
Lady Appleton opened one eye. ”Bodykins,” she muttered. ”Such a pother over nothing.” Then she sighed and sat up again, pounding the cus.h.i.+ons into shape to support her back.
Jennet hastened to her mistress's side, eager to help and even more eager to hear what Lady Appleton advised.
”I am aware that Mark wants to be steward here,” Lady Appleton informed her.
”And?”
”Stop mangling your lower lip, Jennet, and think logically about your own prospects. I do mean to appoint him my steward as soon as this matter of the ghost is settled. You could live in fine style at Appleton Manor, Jennet. All you need do is marry him.”
”There will be none of us living here if that ghost has its way.”
Lady Appleton remained stubborn. She refused to admit that she might be courting disaster. ”Give me mine herbal, Jennet. Then go and talk to Mark. Win him away from the attractions of Manchester and think about what I have said.”
Jennet obeyed, at least so far as to fetch the book. She had no choice when Lady Appleton used that particular tone of voice. But her opinion did not change. The ghost would be back. She was certain of it. And she was much afraid that the next time it came to Appleton Manor they would all perish.
Chapter Thirty-Three.
Off East Anglia, fierce gales at Christmas wrecked a French fleet on its way to Scotland. Sir Robert Appleton and his friend Walter Pendennis left Calais for Dover shortly afterward. They had a safe but unpleasant crossing. For them the worse storm came after they'd arrived at the English court.
Two letters were waiting for Sir Robert, both sent on from Leigh Abbey by his steward. The first, from Matthew Grimshaw, would have him believe his wife lay at death's door. The second, from Susanna herself and written at a later date, did no more than hint at trouble at Appleton Manor. It consisted primarily of an account of various servant problems.
The truth, Sir Robert knew, would be somewhere in between. There was no question now but that he'd have to go north to see for himself what was happening there. But first he had to report to the queen and she was not yet ready to receive him. Just as he'd had to wait in France for his summons to Blois, now he cooled his heels at Greenwich. He grumbled at the delay, but no one rushed Her Majesty.
”I have called in every favor I can in an effort to arrange an earlier audience,” he complained to Pendennis. ”One would think that with Northumberland's surviving children now in such high favor here at court I'd have been in to see her and on my way again already.”
”Why such a hurry? And in winter, too. Are there not enough delights here to keep you busy while you wait?”
Pendennis's gaze drifted to a bevy of beauties, young women who served the queen as maids of honor and who were not at all adverse to dalliance with her courtiers. Under other circ.u.mstances, Sir Robert might have agreed with his old friend. This time, however, his irritation and resentment grew with each new delay.
”What is she thinking, to make me wait on her whim, after insisting that I be the one to make the journey to France in the first place?”
”She is the queen. She does not need reasons.” Pendennis gave him a sharp look. ”What is it that really troubles you?”
”My lady wife.” Sir Robert all but snarled the admission. Susanna was creating trouble for him in Lancas.h.i.+re. If he did not get there soon, who knew what might come out?
At last Lady Sidney, the late duke of Northumberland's daughter and a lady-in-waiting to the queen, succeeded in arranging an audience with Her Majesty. Surrounded by close advisers, standing, Elizabeth Tudor sat in regal splendor on a gilded chair. Sir Robert was obliged to kneel. She said nothing at all when he had finished imparting his intelligence about the French rebels. She did not signal for him to rise, either. Indeed, she seemed to have forgotten that he was even there in her presence. Her eyes were unfocused, her mind clearly far away. Robert was not at all sure she was thinking about what he had said. For all he knew, she might be dreaming of Robin Dudley, or some other lover, or of a new gown.
”Madam?” Sir Robert dared speak only after one knee made an audible creak as he s.h.i.+fted his weight.
Impatiently, she motioned for him to stand. Her eyes were sharp once more, but still she put off giving him his freedom. ”We must think carefully about what you have told us,” she said. ”We may have more questions. Stay you here at court and await our pleasure and we promise you that we will speak with you again. Twelfth Night is almost upon us. You will take part in the festivities.”
With that, he was dismissed. Anger darkened Sir Robert's countenance as he made his way back to the small, dank chamber, spa.r.s.ely furnished, which had been a.s.signed to him. With real longing, he remembered the apartment he had occupied at Blois.
Queens! He wished them all to perdition. Elizabeth might take months to decide the French question. In the meantime she expected him to dance attendance on her. Literally.
The queen and his wife had much in common and not just that they were the same age and both well educated. Each had the potential to destroy all he had worked for.
The next day, Sir Robert informed Pendennis he was leaving.
”You risk offending the queen if you go now,” his old friend warned.
The risk was greater if he did not go. ”My wife needs me,” he lied. He produced Grimshaw's last letter. ”This should be enough to convince the queen that Susanna's life is in danger. Entrust this missive to Lady Sidney and let her present it to the queen when Her Majesty seems in a good mood, along with my promise to return as soon as may be.”
An hour later he stopped to look over his shoulder at the spires of Greenwich. It was not too late to turn back, but he'd made his decision and would abide by it. He went to a ”dying” wife. The queen would forgive that. In this world, appearances were everything.
Robert had been telling himself for weeks now that Susanna was unlikely to unearth certain facts that were better kept quiet. Her last letter had forced him to admit the truth. His wife had a dogged sort of determination in any endeavor she undertook. Left to her own devices, searching for other answers, she would eventually find out about the foolish vow he'd made fifteen years earlier when, desperate to avoid a betrothal to Jane Denholm, he had informed both their families that he would never marry. He meant, he'd told them all, to join the priesthood.
The ploy had initially yielded positive results beyond his wildest dreams. Denholm had accepted his decision without a qualm. He'd actually been pleased about it and bored Robert with tales of his own brief sojourn in a Benedictine house. Even though training to be a priest during the reign of Henry VIII meant leaving England, Robert had briefly considered making good on his impulsive threat, drawn by the allure of gaining personal power within the church hierarchy. Then a better opportunity had presented itself, a chance to advance in the secular world of the royal court. Sir George Appleton, eager to preserve his own safe existence as a secret Papist, had proposed to send his son to a n.o.ble household known to fervently embrace the New Religion. Robert had gone willingly to John Dudley, just at the start of that politician's meteoric rise to power.
During the long ride north, Robert tried to view his situation from all angles. What if Susanna had already learned his secret? What would she do? Although she'd never been a Catholic, neither was she one of those radicals who thought all papists were the devil's sp.a.w.n. She might be inclined to protect him.