Part 16 (2/2)
And if not? Or if the story got out anyway?
Bandied about by the wrong people, his hasty words could be exaggerated and twisted, used by his enemies to ruin his chances of becoming an influential diplomat. His future depended upon keeping everyone convinced that his loyalty was now and had always been to the New Religion, his only lapse the politically expedient conversion while Mary reigned. The revelation of long-ago events in Lancas.h.i.+re could be as much of a detriment to his career as any present failure to s.h.i.+ne at court.
If the queen learned he'd once wanted to become a priest, she might believe he remained a devout Catholic, that he still harbored a secret allegiance to Rome. She might also think he supported Mary Stewart's claim to her throne. She might even believe he would conspire against her.
Conversely, Elizabeth might accept his word that he'd long since converted to the New Religion, that he was completely loyal to her. She was as unpredictable as her father and her half sister had been. That was the real trouble, the uncertainty. One day he might be her trusted emissary to France and other foreign points. The next he might find himself in the Tower of London, about to be executed for treason.
Best to take no chances, he decided, and urged his horse to greater speed as he traveled ever northward. With luck and cunning, his youthful indiscretion might yet remain buried in Lancas.h.i.+re.
Chapter Thirty-Four.
The morning after Twelfth Night, a full month after the fall in which she'd been injured, Susanna Appleton insisted upon resuming her normal routine. Her leg still pained her, and she suspected she would always carry a scar and perhaps continue to limp somewhat when the weather was damp, but since the alternative had been death, she was well enough content. She felt nearly as st.u.r.dy as she'd been before the fall.
There had been no sign of Appleton Manor's ghost since that night in the chapel. Susanna was uncertain whether to be pleased or upset about that. She wanted another chance to unmask the specter and she'd never get it if it did not pay a return visit. Had it been Catherine? Had she scared her off? If there was one thing Susanna Appleton hated, it was unanswered questions.
The continuing shortage of servants was also distressing, but the lack was not unsurmountable. The workmen, fortunately, had already finished the most necessary repairs on the manor house before they'd been frightened away. The improvements gave Susanna immense satisfaction. The place was less drafty now and provided a modic.u.m of comfort even when the cold breezes of January blew. There was nothing she could do about the central fire in the hall until spring, but even that burned with less smoke now that she had supplies of seasoned wood.
In better spirits than she'd enjoyed for some weeks, Susanna entered the kitchen. The first thing that struck her was the absence of heat. It was scarcely cold, since the cooking fires never went entirely out, but it was obvious to her that no one had yet begun to prepare the morning meal. Most peculiar, she thought. It was nigh onto eight of the clock. Had the household possessed a full complement of servants, someone would have been demanding breakfast long ere now.
Cautiously, she searched the large room, looking for any sign that Mabel had been up and about. She found nothing. With growing trepidation, she approached the room her cook and housekeeper had claimed as her own. It was a narrow little nook, just off the pantry, containing no more than a bed and a chest for storage.
There was no sign of Mabel.
Frowning now, Susanna widened her search. The premises were not so large that it took long. By the time she'd gone through all the service rooms, she was calling for Mark and Fulke and Lionel.
”I fear some harm has come to her,” she explained after she told them that Mabel was missing. ”Search all the outbuildings and everywhere in the house.”
”No doubt she simply fled,” Jennet muttered.
”In the middle of the night? Why?”
”I never trusted the woman.”
”Again, why?”
But Jennet could offer no solid reason for her feelings, only the revelation that Mabel had been fully dressed the night Susanna fell. Susanna gave her tiring maid a sharp look and ordered her to join the search.
They found Mabel an hour later, unconscious and very cold, in the cellar behind the dais in the great hall. This large storage room had not been empty since Susanna's first trip to Manchester, but neither was it a place Mabel often needed to go. The stores kept there were building supplies and seed for spring planting and other items not in everyday use.
”She'd no business in here,” Jennet said. ”This is a trick of some kind.”
”She did not hit herself on the head.” Feeling carefully, Susanna located the lump that had rendered the cook senseless. She did not seem to have any other injuries, but she'd been lying on the cold stones for some time. Her limp hands were icy. ”Move her into the hall, near the fire. We must warm her.”
”She fell and struck her head while up to no good. Perhaps she meant to rob you.”
”Give up your foolishness, Jennet. Mabel is as loyal to me as you are.”
Susanna half expected her maidservant to suggest that Mabel was their ghost or, alternately, that she'd been attacked by it. If Jennet's white face was any indication, she was frightened by this latest turn of events. To forestall any further speculation, Susanna issued orders for the care of the stricken woman. Jennet seemed grateful to have something to take her mind off her worries. She hastened to obey, leaving her mistress alone in the cellar with the cook.
Mabel moaned.
”Can you hear me?” Susanna whispered.
”Madam?”
Good. She had her senses. ”Who struck you, Mabel? Did you see . . . anyone?”
In spite of her pain, the big woman managed a weak smile. ”No ghost, madam. This were real enough. Felt like a cudgel, it did, on the back of me skull.” She tried to reach up and touch the spot, but Susanna caught her hand.
”Leave your care to me.” She considered the cook's size, and the difficulty in moving her. ”Can you get to your feet with my help?”
Instead of answering, Mabel began to struggle upward.
”Careful.” Together they managed it, though Susanna's leg had begun to throb well before she had the cook on her feet. Mabel swayed, then gave a start and stared. ”Where be we, madam?”
”In the cellar, Mabel. Among the supplies and seeds. Do you remember why you came in here?”
A frown creased her countenance as she struggled to recall. It was possible she'd be unable to, Susanna knew. She had a few blank spots in her own memory from hitting her head in the vault.
”I got up to start the baking,” Mabel said after a moment longer. ”'Tis a thing I do often, in the wee hours. I do not sleep as well as I once did and it does give me an early start on the day.” She frowned and lightly fingered the sore spot on her head. ”I were scarce dressed when I heard a noise. I went to look. Meant to give any intruder a piece of my mind, I did, ghost or no, but there weren't no ghost. No one at all that I saw.”
”Someone saw you first,” Susanna reasoned. Fully dressed, she added to herself, relieved to have at least one small question answered.
Mabel managed a faint smile. ”Good thing I've a hard head.”
In spite of the mysteries which remained unsolved, Susanna grinned back at her. ”Aye. A good thing indeed.”
Chapter Thirty-Five.
”I mean to leave here,” Jennet said. She'd made her decision the moment Lady Appleton announced that she wanted a guard posted from sunset to dawn. Jennet hadn't slept a wink all night and now, in the early morning, when she was obliged to take up Mabel's duties in the kitchen until the cook recovered, she was not in any mood to hold back her feelings.
Mark heaved an exasperated sigh. ”You cannot go now, no matter how much you may wish to. 'Tis the middle of winter.” He helped himself to a heel of black bread. ”'Twould be sheer folly to try to travel all the way back to Kent on your own.”
”I'd not be on my own if you went with me.”
”And leave Lady Appleton here with none but Fulke and Lionel to guard her?”
”We could all go.”
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