Face Down under the Wych Elm (12 page)

Aware of the potential after-effects, she'd debated with herself before swallowing a dose of poppy syrup. She'd decided that Jennet, who had already gone off to find out what she could from the Mill Hall servants, had the right of it. She required rest in order to recover. Now she wondered if she'd made a mistake. She also needed to have her wits about her at supper if she was to discover a way to help Constance and Lucy.

"But we are to sup here in this chamber,” Jennet announced when Susanna sat up and stated her intention. “I am to send for a servant when you feel hungry."

"Send now.” Susanna swung her legs over the side of the bed and waited impatiently for the room to stop spinning. “Why are we quarantined?"

"We keep to this chamber because Master Garrard keeps to his."

"Ah."

When their evening repast had been delivered, Susanna descended from the high bedstead, with Jennet's help, and wrapped herself in the soft velvet folds of a loose-bodied gown. Her mind, at least, had once more begun to function with its usual efficiency.

"What have you been able to find out while I slept?"

Surprised at how hungry she was, she accepted the first course and maneuvered the spoon to her mouth with care. Her movements were made awkward by the tenderness of her hand, but she savored the spicy goodness of a beef broth while Jennet repeated her conversations with the cook and with a maidservant named Emma.

When she'd also polished off a caudle, Susanna looked hopefully for more solid fare. “There is an alarming pattern in what both of us have been told. Someone seems to have gone to a great deal of trouble to place blame on Lucy and Constance. Most of the stories being told about them were copied direct from that pamphlet about the witchcraft trials in Chelmsford."

"I recognized the similarities, too.” Jennet brought a covered dish to the small table at which Susanna sat to eat. “And yet it may be that all witches behave the same way. I am not convinced Mistress Milborne is innocent."

"You believe Mildred Edgecumbe? You think there are marks all over Lucy's body where a cat, or a toad, or mayhap a dog, did suckle blood?"

"I saw no marks such as the ones Mistress Edgecumbe described, but Lucy Milborne is trough-eyed."

Susanna helped herself to a portion of pigeon pie. It had been well cooked in minced parsley and onions with ground garlic and vinegar. “I did not notice any such deformity.” But she'd seen the woman only once, in gaol. The light had been poor, and for the most part Lucy had kept her head bowed, hiding not just her eyes but her entire face.

"She looks like a witch."

Susanna did not bother to reprimand Jennet. People feared what they did not understand, and there were many things that had no explanation. It was even possible there were witches, or at least individuals who had skills or senses most people lacked. But Susanna was certain of one thing—Clement Edgecumbe and Peter Marsh had not died of a witch's curse.

"You say that the charge that Constance kept a cat, her familiar, was a fabrication?"

"Aye."

"When any lie is repeated often enough, there are those who will come to believe it was the truth all along."

Susanna took a bite of sallet, appreciative of the tasty blend of parsley, sage, garlic, onions, leeks, borage, mint, fennel, cresses, rue, rosemary, and purslane, all mingled with oil, vinegar, and salt. The ale the cook had sent with the meal was excellent, too—well brewed, properly aged, and smelling faintly of germander. All in all, this meal was a far cry from the previous night's fare. Either the cook did not like preparing fish, or the poor quality of that food had been meant to discourage them from staying on at Mill Hall.

"I grow fanciful,” she murmured. And she was remarkable tired for someone who had slept all afternoon. She had a suspicion that she might have taken too much of the sleeping draught.

"What will you do next?” Jennet's question jerked Susanna's attention back to the matter at hand.

"We need to compile a list of suspects."

Jennet produced paper and Susanna's own penner and cleared away the remains of the meal, but when Susanna took up the quill, she winched. “You will have to inscribe the names,” she told Jennet.

"You are in pain."

"A little."

"I am out of practice,” Jennet warned. “I was taught to write as well as to read years ago, at the command of your father, but I've had little use for the writing. It is rare I am called upon to do so much as sign my own name."

"Print large, then, and the names will be legible enough. Start with Hugo Garrard."

As Jennet complied, Susanna explained her reasoning. “His grudging manner, curt speech, even all that ostentatious praying are not suspicious in themselves, but it is curious that he was so reluctant to talk with me. As head of the family, should he not be open to any suggestion that Lucy and Constance are innocent?"

"Unless he killed Peter Marsh and would use his cousins as scapegoats."

"Why kill Marsh?"

That Jennet had a theory did not surprise Susanna, nor did its far-fetched nature.

"A Papist? Marsh? But that would only be more likely to provide a motive for Marsh to kill Sir Adrian Ridley."

"What if Marsh was about to betray Mistress Milborne to the new chaplain? She bewitched him to save herself. You were right about her having been a nun. She was in a convent near Canterbury. When it was dissolved, she came back here to her childhood home, but instead of living at Mill Hall, she moved into that cottage. A gardener remembered it,” she explained.

Jennet's smug expression told Susanna she'd been saving these revelations in the hope of making an impression.

"Good work, Jennet.” The praise was sincere, but so were Susanna's reservations. “And yet, having once been a nun is not against the law. And the penalty for failing to attend church is naught but a fine."

"There might have been more serious punishments if she had harbored a Roman Catholic priest and heard mass. What if Marsh intended to claim that was the case?"

Would Lucy have killed to stop him? It would have been his word against hers and she was a gentlewoman. To Susanna's mind, murder seemed an extreme reaction.

"What reason would Lucy have had to harm Edgecumbe?” she asked. “What threat did he pose? The two deaths are linked. Of that I feel certain."

"They both died by witchcraft.” Unable to think of a better answer, Jennet frowned and drew squiggly lines on the paper.

"They both died of poison,” Susanna corrected her. “Or so I believe. When I've talked to that stableboy, and to Damascin Edgecumbe, I hope to confirm my suspicion that banewort killed them."

"Banewort?"

"Aye. Huge bushes grew near the wych elm. Did you not notice them? The ones with the large black berries. They contain a most deadly poison."

"But when those men died, there would not yet have been any berries."

"The leaves are as fatal as the fruit. Write the name Mildred Edgecumbe beneath Hugo's. The widow is always a suspect when her husband dies of a sudden.” Susanna had reason to be well aware of that fact. “Underneath, put down Damascin, for she found Marsh's body. Indeed, she is the only one, at present, with a clear connection to both victims."

Jennet obliged, hesitating over the spelling of Damascin. Then, on her own initiative, she added Lucy Milborne's name. “Is it not possible that Mistress Milborne is guilty even if Mistress Crane is not? Mistress Edgecumbe never once mentioned Mistress Crane."

"True enough."

As she mulled that over, Susanna stared through the window at the spire of the chapel they'd passed en route to Lucy's cottage. The sun was about to set, reminding her that she'd slept half the day away.

"Why would Lucy kill two men? And do not tell me she is a witch and needs no reason but to do evil. Give another reason."

"The gardener said she kept to herself. He called her an anchor."

After a moment's thought, Susanna made sense of this. “Anchoress?"

"That was it."

"The term means no more than a sort of religious hermit."

Susanna frowned. Memories were long and anti-Catholic feeling strong in this part of Kent. Was that all that was behind the accusations against Lucy? Hatred of Papists?

"We must delve more deeply into Lucy's past,” she said. “Find out if she had some connection to Clement Edgecumbe other than being neighbors. How did the Edgecumbes acquire their land? If it was confiscated from the Catholic Church, that might be reason for Lucy to resent them."

"A motive for murder?"

"Lucy could have killed one or both men. I admit it.” But she did not think it likely.

Emboldened, Jennet added Constance Crane's name to the list. “She could be lying about Marsh and what he was to her. The servants here saw them together. Close together.” Unspoken was the reminder that Constance had been Robert's mistress, reason enough for Jennet's poor opinion of her character.

Susanna took the list from her and studied it. “Let us consider first why someone else might have wanted to make Lucy and Constance seem guilty. Most, perhaps all of what is being said about them was first bandied about after Marsh's death. Otherwise charges against Lucy would have been made much sooner. The clever planting of rumors following their arrest did as much harm as anything that came before. Someone read that pamphlet and copied its contents."

Who would want both Edgecumbe and Marsh dead? Who would want one of them dead? Who would profit from Lucy's death? From Constance's? Susanna knew there must be connections between the two murders, and between Lucy and Constance and the deaths, and between Lucy and Constance and those who could have arranged matters so that they would be blamed. All she had to do was find them.

"If Edgecumbe's wife and daughter believed Mistress Milborne caused his death, could they have plotted to implicate her in Marsh's death in order to punish her?"

"An interesting theory, Jennet, but it does not explain why Marsh was murdered. Or why Constance should also be blamed. Or even how or why Master Edgecumbe died."

"What about that fellow Norden?"

Susanna brightened. “Yes. I had almost forgotten him. How far is he prepared to go to get material for that pamphlet he is writing?” She handed the paper back. “Add his name to the list."

"Then there is Arthur Kennison.” Jennet wrote him down, too.

"Was he Garrard's messenger to Edgecumbe Manor, as seems likely? And if he was, what messages did he carry?"

Crestfallen, Jennet admitted she had not asked. “Estate matters?"

"Perhaps. We must inquire further."

"Anyone else?” Jennet held the quill poised above the paper.

"Add one more. Write down Sir Adrian Ridley."

"The preacher?"

"Why not?” She yawned and moved toward the bed.

Perhaps she was growing fanciful herself, Susanna thought. Certes, in spite of all the sleep she'd gotten, she was already too tired to think straight.

"If we must consider everyone, why not Sir Adrian? He might have killed in order to further his own career. Suppose Constance confessed to him that she was possessed by the devil. Would he not gain considerable renown among those who were in exile with him? Many of them came back to England convinced that the spread of witchcraft was imminent."

Unable to focus on the puzzle any longer, Susanna crawled beneath the covers. “We will discuss this further in the morning,” she mumbled, and in the next instant surrendered to exhaustion.

Lady Appleton, and therefore Jennet, rose early on the second morning at Mill Hall. Jennet had hoped they'd stay longer, that the burnt hand would have more time to heal and so that she, Jennet, could continue to make inroads with Master Garrard's servants. For that reason, she had added two lettuce cakes to Lady Appleton's food. Her mistress carried these thin brown wafers, made from the white juice of wild lettuce, as a sleeping aid. One was the usual dose.

They'd worked well. Too well. Jennet had not expected them to take effect so rapidly or cause such deep sleep. She'd spent the night pacing the bedchamber, keeping watch over the woman she'd drugged, afraid she'd dispensed too much of the medication.

It appeared she had not. Lady Appleton seemed as alert and vigorous as ever. At first light, she dispatched Lionel to Canterbury with a message addressed to Martin Calthorpe, a scholar of some renown and a friend of Lady Appleton's late father. Soon after, Jennet was riding apillion behind Fulke as they set out on horseback for Edgecumbe Manor.

There they learned that Mistress Damascin and her mother had also been up betimes. They'd left for Maidstone before dawn.

Deprived of any immediate opportunity to speak with the young woman who'd found Marsh's body, Lady Appleton asked instead for Edmund, the stableboy who'd come upon Master Edgecumbe when he lay dying.

She had no authority to question him, nor any excuse to go into Edgecumbe Manor's stables, but she was not above taking advantage of a household in an uproar following the precipitous departure of its mistress.

"Look after the horses, Fulke,” she ordered. “And you, Jennet, see what you can learn from the other servants."

Soon Jennet was comfortably ensconced in the kitchen. Yawning as she sipped a restorative cup of ale, she grumbled companionably about the lack of consideration of employers. This created an immediate bond. It did not take long for her to discover that the servants had much more liking for Clement Edgecumbe than for either his wife or his daughter.

"Mistress Edgecumbe has a temper."

"And a sharp tongue."

"And hard hands,” said the dairy maid, reaching up to rub one ear.

"Did she scold her husband, too?” Jennet asked.

"He knew how to keep her in her place, that old man."

"How old?"

No one seemed to know precisely, but they all agreed Master Edgecumbe had been much older than his wife. Older, even, than Lucy Milborne. And, as Lady Appleton had suspected, although he came from the area, he had not acquired this property until the dissolution of the monasteries. Like so many others of the New Religion, he'd benefited from the confiscation of Church property by the Crown.