Face Down under the Wych Elm (19 page)

So intent was Winifred on her own thoughts that she did not notice until too late that a man was close behind her. She'd just reached for the latch on Nick's gate when a heavy hand clamped down on her arm.

Annoyed at such presumption, she turned with a glare that should have turned him to stone. “By St. Frideswide's girdle! Unhand me, sirrah."

He loomed over her, scarecrow thin, eyes bright with satisfaction as he murmured, “Got you."

"What means this effrontery?” And why did no one come to her rescue? The street was uncommon deserted. Winifred began to regret that she'd chosen secrecy over safety and taken no servant with her on the morning's errand.

"I will release you, madam, when you have made a decision."

"What decision?” Winifred was too annoyed to feel truly afraid, especially when the fellow stumbled over his threatening words.

"You have two choices. You can invite me in to discuss Lady Appleton's future, or I can call the constable and have him arrest you. You purchased a love potion, madam. The use of enchantments to procure love is against the law."

Winifred felt her jaw tighten. She selected a third option—to bluff. “You talk nonsense, young man."

"Do I? Let us go within and discuss how you can persuade me to keep silent.” He stuttered the last word.

This evidence of further nervousness no longer did much to ease Winifred's mind. Her heart beat too fast and the vial seemed to have doubled in weight. She had the brief, irrational thought that this rude fellow could see it through the heavy fabric of her kirtle.

"I mean what I say. I will give evidence against you."

There was doubtless some excuse she could make for her purchase. A reluctant dog she wished to breed, mayhap. But if claims were made against her in a public forum, that would ruin her plan to discredit Susanna Appleton. Worse, such talk might cause Nick's fellow merchants to turn against him, and if business fell off, economic ruin would surely follow.

This was not the time, Winifred decided, to quibble over whether she had committed any crime by buying the potion. Thanks to Nick's current preoccupation with the statute on witchcraft, she understood all too well that the line was passing thin between what was criminal and what was not.

"Best come in,” she told the stranger, taking comfort in the fact that, once they were inside, she'd have stout servants to call upon for help.

Nick's men could subdue her unwanted guest if that became necessary. Unfortunately, Winifred could also think of a great many disadvantages to asking for their assistance. She could scarce order them to kill this impertinent fellow, and if she had him thrown out, Nick would be sure to hear of the to-do. Even if the stranger did not carry through with his threat to accuse her, that could undo her scheme.

The house had been built on a terrace, raised above the garden by a low wall and steps. Winifred entered through the main door on the long side of the two-and-a-half-story building, which opened into a small entryway. The hall, and beyond that the kitchen, were off to one side. The parlor was on the other. They could be more private in the latter.

"What do you want of me?” she demanded when they were alone with the door barred.

"My name is Chediok Norden. I have reason to know of the connection between your son and Lady Appleton, and I have been keeping an eye on the old woman you visited this morning."

Winifred listened in growing alarm as he described how he had peered in through the window of the cunning woman's hovel and seen her exchange a gold coin for the love philtre.

"Lies! I shall call Nick's henchmen and have you thrown into the street if you do not leave at once."

"If you were to call in your servants, Mistress Baldwin, they would do naught but bear witness to what I can find on your person. Do you want to spend a year in gaol for possessing what is in that vial? Something you bought from a witch?"

"No witch. A cunning woman only, skilled with herbs."

"She's more than that."

"What has this to do with Lady Appleton?” Winifred demanded, once more going on the offensive. It was intolerable to her that this scrawny young man should seek to master her.

"Lady Appleton is also much more than a skilled herbalist. I believe she had a hand in the murders with which those two gentlewomen in Maidstone gaol are charged."

Startled, Winifred abruptly sat, dropping her bulk into the bobbin-frame chair with such force that it creaked alarmingly. “How can you think so? Lady Appleton was miles away, in her own home, when those men died."

"Distance makes no difference to a witch. Did you know that she and Mistress Crane once shared a lover?"

Winifred gasped. “I thought the woman immoral, but your claim exceeds my darkest suspicions."

"Is it such a difficult choice to make, Mistress Baldwin? Help me to convict a witch."

"Help you how?"

"Go ahead with your plan—oh, yes, I have guessed what you plan to do with that potion. ‘Twas not difficult to put together the pieces. You mean to hide that love philtre in her chamber."

"I did not intend to accuse her of a crime for which she could be executed!” Nick would never forgive her if she did that.

"She deserves death. They all do."

"But she had naught to do with—"

"Even if she did not, she attempts to free those who did and cast blame elsewhere. I cannot allow that."

The man was mad, Winifred thought. How could he think she would help him?

But how could she not do as he wished? It was a choice between Susanna and herself.

It was true that Susanna dabbled in potions, she assured herself, wanting to be convinced. Norden might be right. She could be a witch.

Her original plan
had
been to notify a constable and persuade him to search Susanna's room. When the authorities found the vial, Susanna would not be implicated in murder. She would face only a year in gaol. She was young and healthy enough to survive the sentence.

Winifred herself was not.

Imprisonment would kill her, and that would be her fate if Norden carried out his threat. Better to risk upsetting Nick, she decided. He'd get over it soon enough. Once he'd been faced with the proof of his mistress's evil ways, he'd realize he was well rid of her.

"I will hide the vial,” she told Norden, “but naught else."

"It is enough. Send me word when the deed is done."

"No. No messages or messengers.” She did not trust him. “I will be on the church porch at dusk if I succeed in doing as I've promised."

"As you wish. That will be my signal to alert the authorities. She'll be in gaol alongside her friends by tomorrow."

And she, Winifred realized with a surge of relief, might thus escape all blame. Nick did not have to know what she had done.

That hope faded when, only moments after Norden's departure, Nick came into the parlor.

"Who was that just leaving?” he asked.

Of a sudden, Winifred felt old, too aged and infirm even to attempt to rise from her chair. Nick had seen Norden. When Susanna was arrested, he might make the connection.

Her only course seemed to be to tell him as much of the truth as she dared. “His name is Norden. He came from London to write about the witch trials."

"What did he want here?"

Winifred hesitated. “He is aware of Susanna Appleton's interest in the matter and he found out that she is our neighbor. He sought me out to learn more about her."

Nick swore.

"Send her away.” The impulsive suggestion was out before Winifred could stop it, for deep down she knew that hurting Susanna would hurt Nick, too.

"She'll not leave Maidstone without good reason."

"I feel it in my bones that this Norden intends to make trouble for her."

"You may be right, but Susanna will never agree to abandon the women in gaol. Besides, where could she go that will be any safer?"

Winifred opened her mouth and closed it again. Nick was right. There was no sanctuary. Short of encouraging her son to spirit Susanna Appleton off to Hamburg with him, she could not protect her from what was to come.

"I have decided to assist Susanna in finding out the truth.” Nick gave Winifred a sharp look. “Do you care about the truth, Mother?"

Offended, she bristled, but she did not reply.

"If you do, you may be able to help me."

"How?"

"Lucy Milborne was once a nun. It would be helpful to locate someone who knew her in those days.” He made a vague gesture. “She is of an age with you. Did any of your childhood friends enter nunneries?"

Winifred disliked remembering her childhood and she had no strong desire to help Susanna Appleton assist the women accused of being witches, but she could not deny her only child. “There were three that I remember."

"All from Croydon?"

His look of surprise amused her. “Back then, the religious life was a popular choice, more appealing than marriage for many girls. A gently or nobly born nun might hope to rise to a position of power, to become prioress or abbess."

"What nunneries did they enter?"

Pursing her lips as she sought distant memories, Winifred was surprised by how much she did recall. “One went to Syon. One was in the house of the Minoresses without Aldgate."

"And the third?"

"The Benedictine priory of St. Sepulchre in Canterbury.” Winifred frowned as another scrap of her past came back to her. “That was the place that embraced the teachings of the Nun of Kent."

"And they had Lucy Milborne among their numbers.” Eyes gleaming, excitement in his voice, Nick came and knelt by her chair. “Tell me all you know about the woman who went to St. Sepulchre's. Where can I find her?"

One hand went to his cheek. “I cannot guess where she is, Nick, or even if she is still alive. It has been over thirty years since the nunneries were closed and even before that I'd lost touch with all my childhood acquaintances."

"I know you do not like to be reminded of your life in the country, but do you think someone in Croydon might be able to tell me where she is?"

"You would go there?” Her hand stilled in the act of brushing a curl away from his face.

"Aye. Why not?"

Because, Winifred thought, she did not relish having him see the place from which she'd fled at such a tender age. And yet, it might be a good thing for him to go away from Maidstone just now. If he was in Croydon when she carried out her part of the bargain with Chediok Norden, he'd be less apt ever to learn of her role in Susanna Appleton's downfall.

"The woman's name was Phyllis Wynnington.” A faint smile played about her lips. An elegant name for a plain girl. Her friends had made sport of it.

Nick rose to go to his writing table and withdraw a sheet of parchment.

"I thought you meant to look for Phyllis in person."

"This note is for Susanna.” He did not look up from his scribbling.

In haste, Winifred schooled her features to hide her reaction. She must be careful not to reveal what she was thinking. Nothing must delay Nick's departure.

A few minutes later, he'd finished composing his missive. Sealing the letter, he summoned young Toby to take it to the Queen's Arms, then bade farewell to Winifred and went off to pack the few things he would need for his journey.

As soon as Nick left the parlor, Winifred hastened after the servant lad. Her agility fully restored, feeling more vigorous than she had in days, she caught up with him on the terrace steps.

"I will take this to Lady Appleton myself.” She snatched the letter from his hand.

This would provide the perfect excuse, should she be caught hiding the love potion in Susanna's chamber.

When Hugo Garrard's arrival in Maidstone was reported to Susanna, she at once sent a message to Nick, hoping he would be able to strike up an acquaintance with Constance's cousin. Lionel returned a short time later, still carrying her unopened letter.

"Master Baldwin has left town."

"Without a word to me?” She could not help but feel hurt. True, Nick was not accountable to her for his whereabouts, but he must know that she would worry when she was unable to reach him. That she'd not appreciate Nick being concerned about her, were their positions reversed, added an element of irony to her reaction. She smiled ruefully at herself.

"I know where he's gone,” Lionel offered. “Master Baldwin's man, Simon, told me. He went to talk to a nun. In Surrey."

This intelligence eased her worry, and she was glad to hear that Nick was acting in aid of her cause, but the hurt feelings, irrational as they were, remained.

She was, she decided, capable of talking to Hugo on her own, but she just missed catching him at The Ship. No one there knew where he'd gone, and Mildred and Damascin were also out.

"His man is in the common room,” Fulke reported. “He has been there some time and has imbibed a good deal of beer. He had a falling out with his master and took a clout on the ear when he went too far with plain speaking."

Susanna considered this. “I believe I will sample The Ship's fare,” she announced. “It is close to time for dinner."

A few minutes later, she was seated with Jennet, Fulke, and Lionel at a table in the common room and had given their order to a blue-coated boy. The food was comparable to that offered at the Queen's Arms. Both inns served assorted meat pies and cheeses along with beer, wine, and ale.

Arthur Kennison, his back to them, occupied a nearby table, but he was not alone. Chediok Norden had joined him during the time it took Fulke to fetch Susanna. Neither man noticed the quiet arrival of the party from Leigh Abbey.

Fulke had been right. Kennison was deep in his cups. With blatant intent to listen, Susanna edged her stool closer and canted her head in that direction.

"At least I am reliable,” Kennison grumbled.

"Master Garrard should not have struck you.” Norden drank deep as he commiserated.

"Garrard's last messenger wanted the prize for hissel. I've no interest in her."

Norden made a small, choked sound. “What say you?"

"Catched her, too, I warrant. At least for a quick futter."