Face Down under the Wych Elm (11 page)

The statute went on to say that those who bewitched another to death must be tried as felons and executed, without benefit of sanctuary or clergy. There was one concession made in cases of witchcraft. The estates of other sorts of convicted felons were forfeit but the heirs of an executed witch might still inherit land and titles and other rights, as if no such attainder had been made.

Nick wondered what person stood to gain all Constance Crane possessed. Who was Lucy Milborne's heir? Both women were gently born but Ridley had told him that they lived on the charity of their cousin Hugo. Constance earned her keep by managing the household at Mill Hall. Lucy's cottage stood at the very edge of the land belonging to the demesne farm.

At least, Nick thought, it was unlikely anyone would accuse Susanna of bewitching another person to death. Nor had she much to fear under the second provision in the law, which dealt with causing another, or that person's goods or cattle, to be damaged. Those convicted of this crime were imprisoned for a year for a first offense, without bail or mainprise, and once every quarter were taken to the market on market day and put in the pillory for the space of six hours, during which time they had to openly confess their error and offense.

Those who survived a year in gaol should have learned their lesson, he thought, and to give them further incentive to refrain from casting spells, the punishment for a second offense was death.

No, Susanna had little to fear from either under the new law, but the third provision worried him. It was illegal to use witchcraft for purposes that could also be achieved without supernatural assistance. As he had already warned Susanna, even a healer could stand accused under this provision, as could those who showed a talent for finding lost or stolen objects.

These were “enchantments,” as was using witchcraft to find treasure or to provoke unlawful love. All were punished by imprisonment for a year for a first offense. A second offense resulted in life imprisonment and the forfeiture of all goods and cattle. That might as well be a death sentence, Nick thought. Even a year could be fatal. Disease killed many prisoners. Others went mad.

Nick was pulled from these dismal ponderings by the sound of horses’ hooves on cobblestones. His first thought was that Susanna had returned. He told himself it was just possible, if she'd found the answers she sought at Mill Hall the previous evening and set out at first light this morning.

Rising, he crossed the room to the semioctagonal bay window that took up most of one end of the house. It overlooked his stable. When Nick leaned out, a smile split his face. A woman in widow's weeds led the newly arrived riders.

But a moment later, his expression turned to dismay.

That was not Susanna in his courtyard.

It was his mother.

Hugo Garrard was not at home when Jennet and her mistress returned to Mill Hall. Since he no longer had a housekeeper, Constance Crane having been forcibly removed from that position, Jennet encountered little difficulty with Master Garrard's servants. They would stay a second night, she'd told them in her firmest voice. No one had dared object.

After she had applied more salve to Lady Appleton's poor abused hand, using a feather to anoint the tender, scarlet-hued tissue, and daubed some on her bruised and scraped knees, as well, Jennet tucked her mistress into bed for the rest she sorely needed if she was to recuperate. Lady Appleton resisted at first, insisting there were questions she must have answers to. Only by promising she would ask them did Jennet persuade Lady Appleton to stay put.

As her first stop, Jennet invaded the kitchen, a fine big room with a flagged floor that sloped down to the drains to allow waste water to be carried off. There she found the cook, a robust individual with a stony countenance, supervising two underlings, a kitchen maid and a scullion, in the selection of foodstuffs for supper.

Jennet belatedly realized she had missed dinner by accompanying Lady Appleton on her sojourn to Lucy's cottage and Edgecumbe Manor. The lingering smells of fresh baked bread and roasting meat made her mouth water.

Cook appeared to have a soft spot for wounded creatures. A dog with a broken leg, carefully splinted, slept on a pallet near the hearth. Jennet explained about Lady Appleton's accident.

"How does the poor lady now?” Cook asked.

"Burns are painful."

His rueful laugh told her he knew that from personal experience. “Aye. A pity old Mother Milborne was tooken away. She had a salve—"

"Lady Appleton stopped at the cottage on her way back here to retrieve it."

He nodded his approval.

Jennet awaited further comment. She had not a doubt in the world that every servant at Mill Hall knew Lady Appleton was there on Mistress Crane's behalf.

Cook said only, “I will give you a strengthening broth to take to her when she wakes, and make her a flommary caudle, too."

"I'd not mind something to eat myself.” Jennet's stomach growled to emphasize the fact that she'd missed a meal.

Cook was not in as much sympathy with her, since she had no visible wounds, but when he had mixed a goodly quantity of ale with wine and tipped in a few spoonfuls of wheat bran seasoned with sugar and orange-flower water, he added a second helping. Without a word, he divided the caudle into two portions, putting one in a mazer which he handed to Jennet.

While she devoured this offering with ill-concealed greed, he continued with what he'd been doing when she interrupted him, inspecting the contents of several storage barrels to make sure he had adequate supplies. The twice-annual trip to Maidstone for the Assizes was also an opportunity to restock provisions.

One large barrel, Jennet saw, held dried fish, another olives, and a third dried fruit. All were less than half full. When she had polished off the contents of the mazer, Jennet examined some of the smaller storage containers.

"Sweetmeats in that wooden box,” Cook said, relenting yet again. “You may help yourself to one. But no more than that, mind."

Jennet took him up on the offer, then peeked into a straight-sided earthenware jug with a rim, hoping for some sort of preserves. It held only clarified butter for cooking.

"Is there aught else you want?” It was plain Cook did not approve of her wandering to and fro, poking amongst things that were none of her concern.

A great deal, Jennet thought, but she supposed it would do no good to come right out and ask what Lady Appleton wished to know. “You have a goodly household here,” Jennet began, hoping she sounded innocently admiring. She had been delegated to discover what those who had dealt with Mistress Crane on a daily basis had thought of her ... before she'd been charged with being a witch. “A personal chaplain, too, I hear."

"Aye."

"That fellow who was found under the wych elm—did he not work here, too?"

"I'll speak no ill of the dead.” The flat finality in the cook's voice warned Jennet that he did not intend to volunteer any information about Peter Marsh.

Tiring quickly of her effort at subtlety, Jennet gave it up in favor of posing a direct question. “Do you think Mistress Crane killed him?"

As if reciting a lesson, Cook repeated the same stories Jennet had heard before ... in almost the exact same words. The mistress ill-used and abandoned. The kneeling in the garden. The revenge. Every time she heard the tale, Jennet believed it less.

But this time there was one new detail. It had been, Cook said, Arthur Kennison who claimed to have overheard the two witches chanting to their master, the devil.

"In the herb garden, they were,” he repeated. “On their knees. He saw them there hissel."

Arthur Kennison. Jennet remembered what Mistress Crane had said of him. He'd passed by at a distance on the morning of the day on which Peter Marsh had been found dead. The morning she and her cousin had been working in the garden after spending half the night in the woods gathering some heathen herb.

"Why would he make such a claim?"

"Because ‘tis true.” Cook gave her a contemptuous look.

"The obvious answer,” she agreed. This interrogation was not progressing the way she'd hoped. She dawdled over eating the sweetmeat she'd selected.

The dog stirred in its sleep, emitting a sound that was half groan and half snore, reminding Jennet of another matter about which Lady Appleton was curious. She wanted to know if Mistress Crane had kept a cat, or any other creature that might be mistaken for a familiar. She was convinced that Mistress Milborne had not.

"Are there other animals about?” Jennet asked, nodding toward the sleeping hound.

"Another dog or two, for hunting. A ferret to keep the rats down."

He did not mention cats. Or toads. “Lady Appleton's sister-by-marriage kept a ferret as a pet,” Jennet remarked. “Nasty beast. Always biting."

Cook did not respond. Instead he ordered the scullion to get busy chopping turnips and handed a wicker basket to the maidservant, Emma by name, dispatching her to the kitchen garden to pick parsley.

Jennet left the kitchen soon afterward.

Emma looked terrified when Jennet approached her. She was a mouse of a girl, all big teeth and pockmarked skin. Jennet sent a reassuring smile in her direction and began to help with the parsley, adding one or two more sprigs to those already in the basket.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Emma,” she said after a moment. “I am only here in search of a fresh house leek for my mistress's burn."

Knowing it would take a concerted effort to put Emma at her ease, Jennet started talking. If she left the girl with the false impression that she was nothing more than Lady Appleton's tiring maid, why, ‘twas in a good cause. With infinite patience, Jennet persevered. At last, just as she despaired of success, Emma ventured a comment.

"She was a good mistress."

"Mistress Crane?"

"Aye.” And with that, Emma began to talk freely.

Luck ran Lady Appleton's way at last. Emma, Jennet learned, had been taken under Constance Crane's wing when she first came to Mill Hall to work. That gentlewoman had shown a personal interest in the girl, even giving her extra lessons in spinning and candle making.

"Can such a good person be a witch?” Jennet wondered aloud. Though she herself still harbored doubts about Mistress Crane—the woman had been one of Sir Robert's mistresses, after all—Jennet could tell that Emma worshiped her.

"Certes, she never done what they say!” The moment the words were out, Emma slapped both hands over her mouth. Above them, her eyes were wide and terrified.

"What do you fear, Emma? Faith, I do not intend to betray your confidences.” Without batting an eyelid, Jennet told yet another lie. “In truth, I share your high opinion of the gentlewoman."

Relief made Emma weep. In between great gulping sobs, the rest of her story tumbled out. All the Mill Hall servants had liked Mistress Crane's way of running the household and liked her, as well. It had only been after her arrest that some of them had begun to insist she was evil, that she'd sinned with Peter Marsh, that she'd killed him.

"What the cook said—I do not think even he believes it be true. But ‘tis what everyone says now.” Emma sniffled and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, reminding Jennet of the way her own children wept.

According to Emma, the servants now vied with each other to remember and reinterpret past events. A death after using one of Lucy Milborne's herbal remedies. Constance Crane in earnest conversation with Peter Marsh during the time he lived at Mill Hall.

"What can you tell me about Peter Marsh?” Jennet asked.

But Emma had scarce known him. He kept to himself.

"You must have heard something about him."

Even after several minutes of careful consideration, Emma had little more to offer. Only that Master Marsh had lived at Mill Hall for two or three years and that no one knew why he'd left.

"But he went at about the time the chaplain came?"

"Aye.” Emma's face scrunched with the effort of remembering. “Sir Adrian came for to see Master Garrard and the next thing we knew, Master Marsh had tooken hissel off."

Jennet lowered her voice and placed one hand on the handle of Emma's basket. “Might Peter Marsh have fled because he was a secret Papist?"

Emma's eyes widened. She shook her head in fearful denial.

Jennet wondered if she had stumbled onto a clue. If Marsh had been breaking the laws on religion, he might have feared Sir Adrian Ridley would find him out, though how his faith could have led to Marsh's murder, Jennet had no notion.

"Now, Emma,” she began, but her line of questioning had frightened the girl.

"Give it me,” Emma pleaded, pulling at her basket. “I durn't say more."

When Jennet released her hold on the handle, the contents almost tipped out in the servant maid's haste to escape.

"Wait. Please. One more question. I have heard that Mistress Crane kept a familiar. A cat."

So vigorously did Emma shake her head that her cap came loose. “She never done that. She ain't able to abide the creatures. She does sneeze hersel boss-eyed whenever that old she cat that lives in the stable comes near."

That said, Emma hurried away. Jennet did not trouble to follow her. Instead she wandered deeper into Mill Hall's gardens, coming at length to a small knot garden. At the far side, a single gardener toiled.

Finding a convenient bench, Jennet sat to mull over what she had learned. Her head soon began to ache. Faith, she had more questions now than when she'd left Lady Appleton sleeping. A new idea or two was all very well, but she'd hoped to be able to present her mistress with a few answers, too.

At first, Jennet did not pay the gardener much mind. It was only after she realized that he was of an age with Lucy Milborne that she took an interest in him.

Hoisting herself up off the bench, Jennet smoothed her skirts, moistened her lips, and fixed her most engaging smile firmly in place.

Susanna awoke with a drowsy head and a sense of confusion. For a moment, she did not know where she was or why she felt so lethargic. Then she remembered the sleeping draught she'd taken to counteract the painful stinging in her hand.