Face Down under the Wych Elm (7 page)

That meant he now took the most extreme view of religion, that he opposed every trace of Papist tradition left in England's church, and that he'd be apt to find evil everywhere, even in places where it did not dwell.

"Sir Adrian is the chaplain at Mill Hall.” From her tone, Constance begrudged him the title, though priests as well as knights were by custom accorded the same form of address.

"Hugo Garrard sent me to Maidstone to help his cousins."

"Liar!” Constance shrieked the word and flung herself toward him, stopped from assaulting him only by the chains that held her to the wall. “Your kind of help will send us straight to the gallows!"

He stepped toward her in spite of the risk of having his eyes scratched out and murmured something Susanna could not catch. The tone, however, seemed soothing, which surprised her.

Constance spat in his face. “You asked who has questioned me, Lady Appleton. This man has."

"I do not want your death, Constance.” Ridley wiped away the spittle but did not retreat. “Nor that of your cousin."

A disbelieving snort issued from Lucy's huddled figure.

"You want us to confess to things we have not done."

"Confess and be saved.” Adrian Ridley was nose to nose with her now and all but shouting back.

Unnoticed by either of them, Susanna signaled to Jennet that it was time to depart. They would accomplish nothing further as long as Sir Adrian remained, and he gave no indication he meant to leave any time soon.

The solid thunk of the heavy door closing behind Susanna Appleton and her companion broke the spell of Adrian Ridley's angry green eyes. Constance blinked rapidly, feeling as if she'd just come out of a trance, then realized with a sinking heart what had happened.

"You drove them away!"

"I did nothing of the kind. Constance, you—"

"Get out! Stop badgering me!"

"Trust me to help you."

"Why should I? You have already betrayed what trust I once placed in you."

"If you will but humble yourself—"

"I will never say that I am a witch."

"Not even to save your life?"

"Hah!” She rattled her chains at him.

"To hear confession is forbidden,” Lucy muttered.

They both turned to stare at her but she was not looking at them. She kept her head down, clasped her knees, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, until Constance began to fear for her sanity.

"Will you not try to save your cousin?” Adrian asked. “Even if she is no witch, she is damned for her failure to give up the old ways."

"How can you expect her to? Would you give up your calling?"

"She must embrace the New Religion. And you must both tell the truth. Only then can you hope your lives will be spared."

"We have told the truth! You refuse to believe it.” As tears threatened, she turned her head away from him, unwilling to let him see her weep. “Go away. Leave us in peace."

Instead, he addressed Lucy. “Repent, Mother Milborne. I can save you if you will but admit your heresy."

"Which heresy, preacher? Witchcraft, or being a good daughter of Rome?” Of a sudden she sounded almost cheerful.

In astonishment, Constance realized that Lucy took perverse delight in baiting the clergymen. It was a dangerous practice just now, but Constance did nothing to thwart her cousin's small pleasure.

Most likely nothing either of them did or said would make any difference in the end.

Lady Appleton had said she would do all she could to help prove their innocence, but Constance did not dare hope for much. If Robert's widow had truly meant to come to their aid, she would not have waited so long to act on the request in Constance's letter.

Nick Baldwin did not like what he learned during the time Susanna spent with the prisoners. When Susanna and Jennet returned to the house and he heard Constance Crane's story, he made one more attempt to convince them not to meddle.

"Jennet is right to be concerned,” he told Susanna. “While you were at the gaol, I talked to Richard Emery. He is assistant to John Glascock, clerk of assizes for Kent. There are four women being held on charges of witchcraft, the other two in the common cell since they are not gently born. Emery tells me at least one of the clergymen involved in questioning Constance has been trying to establish some connection among them all."

"Is there a connection?"

"If there is, it has not yet been discovered. One woman is from Boughton Monchelsea, the other from Bethersden."

"Scarce neighbors of Mill Hall."

"Nor friends, and yet there is a common thread. The widow of Boughton Monchelsea is accused of bewitching to death a child by means of enchantment and potion. The charge against her claims she was incited by the instigation of the devil."

Susanna fixed on the word
potion
, as Nick expected she would. “She is a healer?"

"So it seems. At the least, she administered the wrong cure and her patient died."

"And the other woman?"

"She is also known to deal in herbal cures."

"As is Lucy Milborne."

"If the justices wish to pursue it, even ‘intent to cure’ is punishable under the current law against witchcraft."

"Punishable how?"

"By a year in prison."

He saw the consternation on her face, but beneath it was the stubbornness that both attracted him and made him fear for her safety. She accepted the risk that she might herself be accused of being a witch.

"Should a second person afterward be killed or destroyed by charm or witchcraft, or even by a cure improperly administered, the witch is tried as a felon."

"And hanged."

"And hanged,” he agreed.

"I cannot let innocent women die.” Susanna met his gaze, unflinching. “Nine full days remain before the Assizes begin. Time enough to journey to Mill Hall and discover for myself what transpired there."

Nick was uncertain such a venture would help Constance Crane or her cousin but it would take Susanna way from Maidstone and those witch-hunting clergymen. As much as he'd wanted this time here with her, he suspected the shiretown was not the safest place for her just now. “Very well,” he said. “I will go with you."

"No, Nick. I need you to stay in Maidstone. Arrange for food and drink and clean clothing to be sent to the prisoners. And bath water. All the female prisoners, not just Constance and Lucy. Also, I wish to know more about this chaplain, Adrian Ridley, sent by Hugo Garrard to help his cousins. Constance feels he has done naught but assist the authorities against them. I would know why."

"You want me to strike up an acquaintance with this fellow?"

"Will you?” Her eagerness both charmed him and filled him with dismay.

Stepping close to her, he took her hands in his, dropping his voice too low for Jennet to hear his words. “I can deny you nothing, but I'd have been happier locking you in the bedchamber we shared last night and keeping you there until the Assizes are over."

Wednesday, July 2, 1567

For Jennet the journey from Maidstone to Mill Hall was pure torture. She disliked travel on horseback in the best of conditions and this route, though it followed the straight course of an old Roman road, was rough, hard, and narrow. Dust rose in huge, choking clouds with every step their mounts took.

"Better suited for sheep than people,” Lionel agreed in a cheerful voice. He delighted in annoying her, and since she rode on a pillion attached to the back of his saddle, she was obliged to endure his close company for the entire trip. “Drovers from Romney Marsh bring their herds this way to market."

He and Fulke fell into a discussion of Welsh cattle. It seemed many people from the area of Mill Hall went to Maidstone to buy the beasts at the October fair, fattened them up on Romney Marsh, then drove them north again, all the way to London, to sell.

Lady Appleton rode ahead, taking obvious pleasure in their surroundings as they passed through the Wealdon Hills. From high, wooded ground, inhabited by deer and foxes and wild pigs, they descended to tree-lined lanes flanked by cultivated fields.

Only when they reached Aldington and were nearly at their destination, did Jennet take much interest in the landscape. Before that, she'd been too busy feeling sorry for herself. And worrying about what Lady Appleton had gotten them into this time. And fearing that they might make detours to Boughton Monchelsea and Bethersden en route.

At Aldington the archbishop of Canterbury's country palace rose on landlocked cliffs overlooking Romney Marsh and the port of Hythe. The manor could not fail to impress. In addition to a magnificent residence, it included nine enormous tithe barns, six stables, and eight dovehouses.

From Aldington the road ran parallel to the River Stour and was soon joined by Stone Street, another old Roman road. “The traveling will be easier the rest of the way,” Lady Appleton said.

"Easier still did we turn east,” Jennet muttered. According to the signpost, Canterbury was twelve miles distant. To reach Leigh Abbey they'd have to ride but another five.

As the long day drew to a close, they at last reached Mill Hall land. Where the fields they'd passed by earlier had been enclosed by shaws of oak, birch, or ash, Master Garrard used post and rail fences to keep his sheep from wandering. These impertinent beasts stared at Jennet through eyes set in wide heads with white faces and coal black noses.

Mill Hall had been built of warm red brick. The house stood at one side of the main group of fields, with kitchens, milk house, brew house, and bake house, all under the same roof as the living rooms. Hugo Garrard himself came out to meet them as the party clattered into his courtyard. Lady Appleton had sent word ahead to warn of her arrival.

Jennet saw at once that Master Garrard shared the family affliction. In his case it was only a slight droop in one eyelid, a defect scarce noticeable if one did not look for it. In part its presence was disguised by the heaviness of his eyelids.

A tall man, as thin as his cousin, Master Garrard looked no more than five and twenty, but he had old eyes, a faded blue in color. As he watched Lady Appleton dismount, he tugged with nervous fingers at his little tuft of a beard. It matched his reddish brown hair for color. The deep voice that bade them welcome invited them to stay the night but contained no hint of warmth.

"You are most gracious,” Lady Appleton told him. “We will impose upon you no longer than we must, although I am certain you wish to do all you can to help free your cousins."

Hugo Garrard's smile looked forced as he played the gallant host, taking Lady Appleton's arm to escort her inside his house.

Ignoring her aching backside, Jennet hurried after them. She was in time to hear Master Garrard insist they postpone their proposed visit to Lucy Milborne's cottage until morning.

"It is not a good place to be with night coming on,” he added.

Now that Jennet was off the back of that accursed horse, her energy returned and her natural curiosity revived with a vengeance. Master Garrard's comment intrigued her. Dusk was at least an hour away and if she'd understood Mistress Crane's account, Mistress Milborne lived near at hand.

Master Garrard, however, could not be persuaded. He ended the discussion by ordering a servant to show his gently born guest to her bedchamber.

"Does he believe his cousins guilty?” Jennet asked the moment she and Lady Appleton were left alone there.

"He may. Most people do believe in witches.” She sent a wry smile in Jennet's direction. “I know full well that my views on the subject are shared by few others. Most people would consider them heretical."

Jennet paled. “Madam, it is not a matter for joking."

But instead of listening to Jennet's litany of concerns, Lady Appleton declared herself in need of a nap and suited action to words. Jennet was left with naught to do but unpack and clean her mistress's boots. Time dragged until they were summoned to supper.

When they arrived in the great hall, Master Garrard conducted Lady Appleton to the place of honor next to him at the high table. Jennet thought his hospitality now seemed a trifle less grudging, although he signaled for servants to bring water, basins, and towels for hand washing in the same peremptory manner he'd displayed earlier. Once these had been used and cleared away, he stood to recite the prayer before the meal. His chaplain, Jennet recalled, was still in Maidstone.

"All things depend upon thy providence, O Lord,” he began, “to receive at thy hands due sustenance in time convenient. Thou givest to them and they gather it. Thou openest thy hand and they are satisfied with good things."

Assuming Master Garrard was done, since he fell silent, Jennet reached for the bread. Before she could lay a finger on it, the stream of words resumed. With each phrase he sounded more pompous.

When this soliloquy had continued for some minutes, Jennet began to wonder if the fellow might not be exaggerating his piety for effect. This pretentious prattling struck her as an effort to seem more religious than, in truth, he was.

"O heavenly Father,” Master Garrard intoned, “which art the fountain and full treasure of all goodness, we beseech thee to show thy mercies upon us thy children and sanctify these gifts which we receive of thy merciful liberality, granting us grace to use them soberly and purely, according to thy blessed will."

Again, Jennet's hand crept toward the bread. Again she had to pull back when the droning voice resumed the prayer.

"Hereby we acknowledge thee to be the author and giver of all good things and above all remember continually to seek the spiritual food of thy word, wherewith our souls may be nourished everlastingly, through our Savior Christ, who is the true bread of life, which came down from heaven, of whom whosoever eatest shall live forever and reign with Him in glory, world without end."

Jennet hesitated.

"So be it.” He sat down, draped his napkin over his shoulder, and began to eat.

On the dais, there was little conversation. From her vantage point below, Jennet got the impression that Master Garrard gave only monosyllabic answers to Lady Appleton's remarks.