Face Down under the Wych Elm (21 page)

She'd let Nick make the journey to Croydon, knowing he might uncover information about her past. There was only one reason he could think of for her to have taken such a risk. She'd wanted him out of the way so she could get at Susanna. He could not guess what she had planned, but if Norden was involved, he feared for Susanna's safety.

Once again, Nick rode hard, throughout the rest of the day and into the evening, through Keston and Halstead and Otford and Wrotham and Larkfield. He had but one goal—to get back to Susanna as quickly as he could.

"Get rid of it,” Jennet advised.

Susanna knew she was right. The vial she'd found in her capcase had not been put there by a benevolent soul. But if someone was determined to brand her a witch, they could make as much of discovering the infusion she took daily, a healthful blend of St. John's wort and ginger root.

"This proves nothing against me,” she said to Jennet.

"It proves someone seeks to cause you trouble."

"Aye. It does that."

"Who left this here? What man dared come into your chamber while we were gone and—"

"Not a man. Winifred Baldwin."

Susanna wondered when she had managed it. With Lucy so ill, Susanna and Jennet had remained at the gaol most of the previous afternoon and evening. Since fresh herbs had been available in the marketplace, Susanna had not needed her capcase, and this morning she'd forgotten to take her tonic because she'd been so anxious to contact Hugo before he left The Ship for the day.

That had been a wasted effort. Once again, he had already departed by the time she got there. And Mildred Edgecumbe, too, had been missing. It was astonishing how completely folk could disappear in a town so much smaller than London. Crowds had already begun to gather for the Assizes. Trials began on Thursday, and that was market day, as well. She supposed it was possible there was nothing mysterious in losing track of two visitors to the place at such a time.

Especially if both were trying to avoid her.

Unable to pursue her investigation in that direction, Susanna and Jennet had returned to the gaol, where Lucy was now recovering rapidly. They'd arrived back at the Queen's Arms only a few minutes earlier.

"If you will not dispose of it, I will.” Jennet seized the vial and flung it into the cold hearth. The glass container shattered, spewing a viscous green liquid across the stones. A pungent and unpleasant smell filled the room.

"Well done, Jennet."

But the act could not erase Susanna's knowledge that someone had planted the vial in her belongings or answer the question of why this had been done. On reflection, she did not believe Nick's mother intended to renounce her as a witch. To do so, she would have to reveal herself to the authorities and testify in court. If it came to that, she'd have no prayer of hiding what she'd done from her son.

An involuntary shudder racked Susanna. Perhaps that no longer mattered to the woman. Did Winifred Baldwin hate her that much? So much that she was willing to risk the loss of her son's love to destroy his mistress?

Nick had not yet returned to Maidstone, but perhaps the vial had been put there for him to find when he did. If so, Winifred had misjudged the strength of their feelings for each other. Susanna felt certain she knew how Nick would react. Even if she did not share her suspicions with him, he'd leave no stone unturned until he discovered who had sought to blacken her name. The trail would lead him straight back to Winifred, driving a wedge between mother and son.

Aware that Jennet was watching her, concern and confusion upon her face, Susanna shook off her unease. It was futile to engage in further speculation. Whatever Mistress Baldwin's plan had been, Jennet had most likely foiled it by destroying the vial.

And they had more important things to worry about. The assize clerks were already in town, arriving ahead of the judges to bring their records and a supply of stationery. The justices themselves would appear in Maidstone on the morrow. They'd come toward evening and open the first session early the following morning.

Susanna picked up the list Jennet had compiled at Mill Hall. “If only Nick would return. Or word would come from Canterbury. I have too many theories and no facts.” She glanced at the first name. “I cannot care for Hugo Garrard but neither can I see how he profits from deaths past or deaths to come."

"Mildred Edgecumbe is more likely to be behind all that has happened.” Jennet covered the bits of broken glass with kindling and dusted her hands on the sides of her apron. “She profits."

"Aye.” A widow's position had great advantages over that of a wife. And Mildred had long disliked Lucy Milborne. But was jealousy of a woman Clement Edgecumbe had loved long ago reason enough to commit two murders and place the blame on two innocent women?

"Mistress Edgecumbe could be a witch."

"She is not a witch. No one we have met is a witch."

Susanna had strong doubts that anyone possessed the supernatural powers attributed to witches, and yet she was loath to insist witches could not exist. Much that had no explanation did happen. She compromised by refusing to blame every odd event on curses and spells.

"Mistress Damascin, then. What of her?” Jennet peered at the list over Susanna's shoulder. “I warrant she is no innocent miss."

"Being wanton, if she
is
wanton, does not make her a murderess.” Kennison's claims were suspect by virtue of his drunken state and obvious resentment against Hugo. Such a one could say anything when he was in his cups.

"Lucy,” Susanna continued, reading the next name on the list. “That she was once a nun seems to be the only mark against her. She may have resented Clement's gain at the church's loss and refused to marry him because of it, but there has to have been more reason than that for her to have killed him. She'd have acted years ago if that was the cause. Constance speaks of their quarrels as an ongoing source of enjoyment to Lucy. Why would she put an end to her favorite pastime? And there is nothing in Lucy's past to explain Marsh's murder."

"Unless he found out she'd killed Master Edgecumbe and threatened to expose her."

Because Jennet might be correct, Susanna made a note next to Lucy's name and went on to Constance. “Peter Marsh,” she said aloud. “Who was he? What did he want? Was there a connection between his courtship of Damascin and his subsequent interest in Constance? Or was he simply the sort of man who tried to seduce every woman he met?"

"Constance might be lying. She could have killed Marsh to keep any other woman from having him."

"But why kill Clement? Oh, I know Lucy is the one accused in his death, but the crimes are linked. They must be."

"Mayhap Constance meant to kill Damascin and made a mistake."

"You are too good at playing devil's advocate,” Susanna complained. “What reason can you think of, then, to say Norden is our murderer?"

Jennet chewed on her lower lip as she pondered. “He once worked at Edgecumbe Manor and thought himself in love with Mistress Damascin. Mayhap he still cares for her. Mayhap he believes that by writing his pamphlet he will earn fame and fortune and the hand of the fair maiden."

"If he does, he will be disappointed. But how does that make him our murderer? It would be Hugo he'd have to kill to get Damascin."

"But Norden is the one most likely to have known what was in the earlier pamphlet. Mayhap it gave him the idea to create a subject for his own."

"A devious plot, Jennet. Too devious."

"He is a devious fellow. Master Baldwin's man, Simon, told me that Master Norden paid a call on Mistress Baldwin."

"When?"

"Early yesterday morning."

Susanna was uncertain how to interpret this information, but she did not like the sound of it. Norden clearly thought she was a witch. Was that why he had sought out Winifred? Or had she sent for him? Suddenly, she was very glad Jennet had broken the vial.

"What of Arthur Kennison?” Jennet asked.

Susanna drew a line through his name. It felt good to be able to eliminate someone from the list of suspects. She was considering also crossing off Sir Adrian when someone knocked at her chamber door.

Nick did not wait to be invited in. Dust-covered and travel-stained, his exhaustion plain on his beloved face, he burst into the room. “Praise God,” he whispered when his eyes found her. An instant later, she was in his arms.

"I am very glad to see you, too,” she told him long moments later.

"I feared for your safety. Mine own mother may be involved in some foul scheme with Chediok Norden."

Susanna did not tell him about the vial. “I've not seen your mother since she learned of your plans to travel to Hamburg. Indeed, no one from your household has come near us."

"I sent Toby with a letter before I left. Do you mean to say you did not receive it."

At the negative shake of her head, Nick scowled, warming Susanna's heart. “Toby would not disobey you, Nick. There must be another explanation."

"Oh, yes. Of that I am certain. My mother.” He told her then what he knew of Norden's meeting with Winifred and also all he had learned about her in Sussex.

"She practices petty mischief, attempting to put us in disfavor with each other."

"She'll not succeed."

"No."

"But Norden ... I cannot like his role in this."

"Perhaps your mother told you the truth about him. That he sought her out to learn more about me, her neighbor. Certes, if they meant to act in your absence, he has missed his cue. I am here, safe, and no one has troubled me.” Over Nick's shoulder she shot Jennet a warning glance.

"You are right. My fears seem to be proven groundless. And here I am, back well before anyone would expect my return."

"And starved, no doubt, for food and for news.” Sending Jennet for refreshments, she gave him an account of her activities during the time he had been gone. She was frowning when she was done. “In truth, I have made no progress at all."

"But you have,” he protested, reaching for a wedge of the cheese Jennet had just brought in. “Everything you learn has a place in the whole. When you have enough pieces, the pattern will become evident."

"Then let us add the pieces you've discovered. Did you learn anything about Lucy in Croydon?"

Over wine and bread and more cheese, Nick told Susanna and Jennet what Mistress Comstock had told him. “In spite of her opinion, it seems to me that a tendency toward weeping and wailing might easily turn into madness, even violence."

"You think Lucy could be guilty?"

"Not of witchcraft, perhaps, but of poisoning those two men. Yes, I do think it possible."

"And yet, I have seen no sign she is the sort to become easily distraught, or to act from high emotion. The fervor she felt in her youth seems to have been tempered by age, not increased by it.” She wondered if the same could be said of Winifred Baldwin.

"You know her better than I,” Nick conceded, “but I am too tired to think of any other explanation."

Motioning for Jennet to leave them alone, Susanna went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Come to bed then,” she invited. “Let us leave off thinking altogether until morning."

Wednesday, July 9, 1567

Margery, the tiring maid Mistress Edgecumbe and her daughter had brought with them to Maidstone, did not have enough experience at skulking to spy on Lady Appleton's entourage without being seen. She should have been able to fade into the background with ease. There was nothing about her physical appearance to make her stand out in the early morning bustle at the Queen's Arms, but she was so ill at ease, so nervous of being discovered, that her fidgeting drew all eyes to her. More amused than outraged, Jennet bided her time, then accosted the woman when she abruptly abandoned the premises of the hostelry and fled into the innyard.

"Why not just ask what you want to know?” she inquired. “Lady Appleton has nothing to hide.” Master Baldwin had left before dawn so as not to taint her reputation.

"Nor does my mistress,” Margery declared, but the slide of her eyes away from Jennet's intense gaze betrayed her.

"Mildred Edgecumbe has the best motive of anyone for doing away with her husband, and her own daughter told us how she did much dislike Peter Marsh.” ‘Twould be wonderful to solve both murders, Jennet thought, to impress Lady Appleton with her sleuthing skills. “Why, I'll wager she even caused the bucking tub to be upset on my mistress the day we visited Edgecumbe Manor."

"Oh, no, Jennet!” Margery protested. “That was Mistress Damascin's fault."

Unable to believe her ears, Jennet gripped Margery's arm tight enough to elicit a gasp of pain. “What did you say?"

"Mistress Damascin upset the tub."

"That is not possible. She was in the house. And why would she do such a thing?"

"'Twas not deliberate. Oh, you must not think that.” Margery looked about to burst into tears.

Calming herself with an effort, Jennet drew the other woman into the shelter of the inn's stable. They were attracting too much attention standing in the open. “Tell me what did happen, then. How could Mistress Damascin have tipped over the bucking tub without my noticing she had returned to the yard?"

Sulking a bit, Margery cast a baleful look in Jennet's direction before she answered. “I told you before that Mistress Damascin likes to dress up."

The widow's weeds at the church. Jennet frowned. “Do you mean to tell me your mistress went back into the house, disguised herself as a servant, and returned to tip boiling water onto my mistress?"

"She never done it on purpose."

Damascin in disguise. Jennet shook her head to clear it. She tried to envision the scene at Edgecumbe Manor. In a plain kirtle and with her crown of fair hair covered by a servant's wimple, perhaps even a straw hat—the day had been hot and sunny—her presence might have gone unremarked among the other women.

"Why would she do such a thing? Dress up, I mean."

Margery looked relieved that Jennet seemed to accept her word that the spill of water had been an accident. “Oh, that is simple enough to explain. She disguised herself as a servant for the fun of it. ‘Tis something she has done before and she always rewards us well for keeping her secrets."