Face Down under the Wych Elm (15 page)

The creaking of the door announced they had a visitor. She expected to see the man she'd been thinking of, as if thinking of him could conjure him up. Adrian Ridley
had
come at least once a day to visit them. To torment Constance.

Instead, Susanna Appleton entered the cell.

Constance stared at her with an odd mixture of gratitude and resentment. Given their encounter after Sir Robert Appleton's death, it was remarkable that his widow had decided to come to Constance's assistance, even belatedly. That she now seemed determined to help her husband's former mistress of a sudden struck Constance as peculiar. She knew she would be passing foolish to refuse any offer of assistance, no matter the source, but she could not quite dismiss her uneasiness. Did this woman, like Adrian Ridley, have ulterior motives for involving herself in the case?

"Are you well?” Lady Appleton inquired.

"As you can see, we received your generous gifts.” The water to bathe in had been surpassing welcome.

"No thanks are necessary."

Another woman, the same female who had accompanied Lady Appleton on her last visit, bustled into the room behind her mistress. She carried a capcase, one Constance recognized. The small traveling bag was her own.

"You did go to Mill Hall."

"I sent word to you that such was my intention. I always keep my word. Jennet here asked a young servant girl named Emma to pack a few of your personal belongings."

'Twas true, Constance thought. Lady Appleton did keep her word. Not always in a timely manner, but Constance told herself she must be grateful for whatever aid she got. It did her no credit to resent this, and to demand an explanation for Lady Appleton's long delay in responding to her letter would only harm her cause.

As Constance argued with herself, Lady Appleton turned her attention to Lucy. “I have also been to your cottage, Mistress Milborne. And to Canterbury."

Constance's hand clenched on the clean shift she'd just removed from the capcase. Lady Appleton knew about Lucy. Would it make any difference? Would she now refuse to help them further?

Remembering things she'd heard long ago, Constance feared she might. Sir Amyas Leigh, Lady Appleton's father, had been a staunch supporter of the New Religion. He'd been long dead by the reign of Queen Mary, but many of his friends had gone into exile then, rather than pretend to convert to Catholicism.

As Adrian Ridley had.

Constance had herself been raised in King Henry's church and had served those high in power at the court of his son, Edward VI. And yet religion had never been a matter of great personal concern to her. Loyalty to her mistress had kept her at the marchioness's side during the bad times. Loyalty to Lucy, with whom she'd formed a bond of kinship and friendship during the last year, now obliged her to defend her cousin, no matter the consequences of Lucy's faith.

Lucy ignored Lady Appleton's comments. After a moment, she began to rock back and forth, back and forth, humming to herself. She gave an excellent impression of a madwoman.

With a shake of her head, Lady Appleton turned to face Constance. “There was once a Benedictine priory in Canterbury. Your cousin was a nun there until the dissolution of the monasteries."

"So I have been told. Has this any relevance?"

"I cannot think of any reason why having been a nun so many years ago, of itself, should lead to false charges of witchcraft now. Can you?"

"Most people do not think the charges are false."

"Most people have not read the published account of the witchcraft trials at Chelmsford last summer. Many of the things claimed against you two have been gleaned direct from those pages."

"How does that signify? One of the clergymen who examined me was present at that trial."

"Excellent. Then he will see—"

"He sees only what he wants to see. As, no doubt, the justices will, too. They will look at similarities and decide they exist because all witches behave in similar ways. Indeed, they seem to think all witches are in league with one another."

"Then we must make them realize that someone who read the pamphlet set out to incriminate the two of you. Logic dictates that this same person was the real culprit in the murders of two men."

Shocked out of her accustomed stillness, Constance took a step toward her. “But why? What does this person gain?"

It had occurred to Constance that someone had lied in order to cast suspicion on them, but what Lady Appleton suggested was far more evil, nothing less than a plot to bring Lucy's death and Constance's, too. “What is to be gained? That is my question, also. If my theory is correct, your execution, or Lucy's, must benefit someone."

"And the two men who died?"

"Their deaths were but a means to an end."

Constance struggled to take in all the ramifications. One stood out. If Lady Appleton was right, then she, or Lucy, had indeed been the cause of Peter Marsh's death. Guilt assailed Constance, making her dizzy with remorse. She sagged against the stones. “All this. All Lucy and I have suffered. The deaths of two men. Because someone wanted us dead? I know no one who hates either of us that much."

"It is possible,” Lady Appleton said, “that someone killed both men, then got the idea to cast blame upon the two of you, because either Clement Edgecumbe's death or that of Peter Marsh was what he, or she, desired. And yet, why choose you two?” She shook her head, as if she shared Constance's bewilderment. “Only one fact remains clear. The charges of witchcraft were deliberately created to conceal another crime, one which has naught to do with the supernatural."

"But no one has any reason to want me dead. Or Lucy."

"Are you certain?"

"And why kill Peter Marsh? He was no one. He had no kin. No heirs."

Lady Appleton reached out and touched Constance's forearm. “I believe it is time you told me the whole truth, Constance. There must be a reason why someone would think his death could be used to implicate you."

"He was not my lover!"

"But you knew him. Tell me about him."

Reluctantly, Constance let herself remember. Peter Marsh had been a well-favored fellow, sturdy of leg and arm and fair of face. He'd teased her unmercifully about her insistence upon sweeping out the rushes that covered the floors at Mill Hall every month, without fail, and replacing them with fresh ones. Most people made do with twice a year.

"Peter Marsh fancied himself attractive to women."

"Was he in truth?"

"Passing so,” Constance admitted.

"Did he ... court you?"

"Seduce me, you mean? No.” But he had, she recalled, been different toward her just at the last. Speaking slowly, working it out as she went, she voiced her thoughts. “I always suspected that his talk of conquests was mere bragging, that he spouted nonsense to cover up a real affection for just one woman. Not me,” she added quickly, seeing Lady Appleton's face. “And I felt no jealousy. Peter's greatest interest in me was as someone to whom he could boast about his latest scheme for making money.” The last time she'd spoken with him, she'd thought he was up to no good. She wondered now if that had been what killed him.

"He was the sort of man who thrived on inventing clever little schemes and for some reason, after Hugo dismissed him, he seemed to have more money than before. There was another odd thing, too. The last time we met, he did behave in a different manner toward me."

"In what way?"

Constance felt herself color. She'd dismissed his words as meaningless, but now they came back to haunt her. “He said we'd make a good pair."

"You mean he suggested you marry?"

"I suppose he might have meant that. I did not think him serious. He often teased me and he did not seem any more sincere than he ever was. Even when he tried to kiss me, there was no emotion behind it."

She remembered passionate kisses. Robert's kisses. She knew how to tell the difference.

"You rebuffed him?” asked Robert's widow.

"Yes. He told me he would not give up. That I had, of a sudden, become most attractive to him."

"Why would he say that?"

"A jest?” She'd assumed so at the time.

"Had someone else shown an interest in you? Could he have thought he had a rival for your affections?"

"Adrian Ridley,” Lucy said in a loud voice.

"Doubtless that is why he is now determined to convict me!"

"Did Ridley show an interest in you?” Lady Appleton asked.

"No more than Peter Marsh. I am not the sort of woman to inflame men's passions. Nor am I desperate to wed.” She met Lady Appleton's eyes and lowered her voice. “I loved once. It was enough."

An abrupt nod was all the acknowledgment she got. “Who knew you met with Marsh?"

"No one.” Constance shifted her weight, of a sudden ill at ease. “We met beneath that wych elm,” she admitted. “He chose the spot. He did not want Hugo to see us together after he left my cousin's employ."

"There was bad blood between them?"

"Not that I know of. He simply liked to keep secrets."

"Why did Hugo dismiss him?"

"Sir Adrian came. Hugo pinches pennies. He had no need for a clerk when his chaplain could take on those duties, too."

"And why did he have his own chaplain?"

"I would think you'd have guessed that, Lady Appleton. To convince all the world of how devout he is."

"To hide his true religion?"

"Oh, Hugo is as honest a churchgoer as you or I. But he has the mistaken conviction that rewards come from the appearance of excessive piety. He wants to be made a local justice."

"Your arrest cannot have helped his cause."

"No,” Constance agreed.

"Did you know Hugo was courting Damascin Edgecumbe?"

The abrupt change of subject startled Constance, but the question itself took her completely by surprise. Hugo and Damascin? Although such a match made economic sense, she had difficulty imagining them in bed together. “He never spoke of this to me. But you have met him. You know he is uncommon close-mouthed."

Lucy had stopped rocking and was regarding Lady Appleton with great curiosity. “Have you no questions for me? I knew Constance was meeting that fellow under the wych elm. I know other secrets, too."

"Do you know how the Edgecumbes acquired the land upon which Edgecumbe Manor was built?"

"They destroyed the property of mother church.” Lucy's answer was prompt and accompanied by a sneer. “Lady Appleton of Leigh
Abbey.
You would know about such things. Your people were no better than Clement Edgecumbe."

"Lucy,” Constance remonstrated, suddenly afraid that her cousin would go too far and end up driving Lady Appleton away.

That gentlewoman herself lifted a hand to silence Constance. She spoke to Lucy with her accustomed bluntness but no sign of rancor. “I understand why you must think so, but to debate what happened in my grandfather's time will not keep you from dancing the hempen jig on Penenden Heath.” She glanced at Constance. “I learned one thing by visiting Lucy's cottage. Fine healthy banewort bushes grow near that wych elm. Edgecumbe and Marsh were not killed by witchcraft, but by poison."

Lucy chuckled. “I thought so myself, but what profit in mentioning it? The authorities are determined to bring charges against us. Mention poison and they would only say that was the means we used."

"A witch, however, does have an advantage over a common felon. Upon conviction, felons lose their estates to the Crown."

"Do you mean someone stands to gain goods and chattel from our deaths?” Constance interrupted. “But neither of us has much to leave."

"'Tis true,” Lucy agreed. “When I entered the nunnery I gave up all secular claims and worldly goods."

"And when you came out again?"

"Like most of my sisters, I was granted but a pound a year to live upon. I returned to Mill Hall. Where else could I go? ‘Twas my girlhood home, built by my grandfather. My father was still alive then."

"Who was his heir?"

"I had two brothers. One died young. The other had no children. When he died, seven years after our father, then Constance's father and Hugo's father, the sons of my grandfather's daughters, squabbled over the inheritance. I did not care who won, so long as I could continue to live in my cottage."

"My mother and father both died of the sweat three years later,” Constance put in, remembering the pestilence that had swept the land toward the end of King Edward's reign. “So did Hugo's mother. After that, Miles Garrard moved into Mill Hall. He was the one who took me in when Lady Northampton died. Upon Miles's death last year, Hugo inherited."

"It is customary for men to lay claim to land and assume the responsibility for indigent female relations,” Lady Appleton said. “It is unusual for a woman to inherit outright, unless there is a dearth of male heirs. Even then, a woman's husband is usually the one who holds title. And yet ... who is your heir, Lucy? I do not suppose you have a will—"

"You suppose wrongly. I may not own much, but what I have I mean to have disposed of as I see fit. All I possess goes to Constance. Master Marsh helped me draw up the document."

This was news to Constance.

"She'll not be able to inherit if she is executed along with you. Has it occurred to you, Lucy, that Constance's best chance of surviving is to claim you are guilty and plead she was but an innocent bystander?"

The suggestion made Constance furious. “I will never turn against my cousin."

"Not even to save yourself? Then who inherits what you leave, Constance? Who is your heir?"

"I ... I suppose everything will go to Hugo. There are no other relatives left. But you cannot mean to suggest that Hugo wants us both dead so he can inherit? He has sufficient for his needs and the wherewithal to catch a wealthy wife. Lucy has naught to leave but her books and clothing and household goods. Not even any chattel. And I have less than that."

"No one but Peter Marsh knew Constance was my heir,” Lucy said.

"Marsh might have told someone."

"And are we to suppose that was the reason for his death? What you say makes no sense."

"Are you certain?"