Face Down Before Rebel Hooves Part 11

His words echoed through the great hall. The battle cry was taken up by a few in the crowd, but enthusiasm was lacking until Lady Westmorland produced the banner of the Five Wounds of Christ. It had been the symbol of the Pilgrimage of Grace, a rebellion that, some thirty years before, had attempted to prevent King Henry from closing the monasteries. It still had the power to stir Yorkshiremen's hearts.

In order to raise the hordes of followers needed to overthrow Queen Elizabeth, Lady Westmorland had embraced a more universal cause than personal gain. A holy cause.

"This time we shall succeed!" The countess of Westmorland's ringing declaration brought soldiers to their feet in the great hall of the castle, cheering and chanting.

"Take up the banner!" they'd cried.

A kind of madness seemed to take possession of all those present. Susanna feared it drove them still. In sunlight, in open air, the continuing sounds of wanton destruction were painful to her ears.

"I believe I will explore the churchyard," she murmured to no one in particular. "There appear to be many old tombs here."

She set a course away from riot and chaos, driven by a need to be alone to think about what she could do to subvert the terrible events Lady Westmorland had unleashed.

Marion followed her. "Some people say that one came from the consecrated churchyard on the island of Lindisfarne." She gestured toward the tallest of the crosses.

Susanna did not reply, but she recognized the name. She'd picked up quite a few bits of religious lore since her arrival in Yorkshire. Lindisfarne was in Northumberland, near the earl's castles of Alnwick and Warkworth. It was the site of an old monastery dedicated to St. Cuthbert, the same St. Cuthbert who had once been revered here in Durham.

They stopped at the Lindisfarne cross. Susanna touched her gloved fingers to the indentations that were all that were left of what had once been an inscription.

"We've scarce spoken since your interview with Lady Westmorland, Nell. Are you wroth with me?"

"Why should I be? I can scarce blame you because she thought me responsible for the duke's arrest."

"Is that what she accused you of? I did not know." Marion's troubled expression spoke volumes about her own doubts and fears. "She mistrusts most people." After a moment, she added, "She found the setback caused by his arrest most frustrating, the more so because she already blamed him for failing her. When she was told that a message had come from Norfolk, before he was sent to the Tower, advising Westmorland to abandon all plans for an uprising, she flew into a rage. She said her brother was a fool to begin a matter and not go through with it."

They walked on in silence. Lady Westmorland, Susanna thought, was accustomed to having everything her own way. She'd seen ample evidence the previous evening that the countess had a talent for finding and manipulating the weaknesses of others to achieve her own goals.

If the countess had one weakness of her own, Susanna decided, it was overconfidence. In her study, she kept an ornate casket overflowing with letters. Was there, among them, one that proved the queen of Scots had conspired with the rebels to bring about the overthrow of Queen Elizabeth?

Susanna's hand rested on the surface of yet another monument to the dead. There had been too many deaths, too many wars. She was uncomfortable with the thought that, if she was correct in her a.s.sumption, and capable of making off with the prize, she'd be condemning at least one woman to a terrible death. And yet, Walter's logic was irrefutable. As long as Mary of Scotland lived, English papists would keep on devising plots to overthrow Elizabeth. Susanna opposed unnecessary loss of life, but.the only way to slay this dragon was to cut off its head.

They would return to Brancepeth for the night. When they did, she resolved to find a way to search Lady Westmorland's study.

A slight movement caught Susanna's eye, the flutter of a dark cloak. Someone stood in the shadow of a tomb, waiting. She could guess the watcher's ident.i.ty. Not Nick. That would be too likely to arouse suspicion. Jennet. Walter had sent Jennet to a.s.sist her, and while she deplored the risk her old friend would be exposed to here, Susanna was heartened at not being alone anymore. She continued to wander among the monuments until Marion lost interest and rejoined the others. Only then did a cloaked and hooded figure step into view.

"Good day to you, Lady Pendennis," Jennet said in a loud voice. "I doubt you remember me, but I was in service in Lady Quarles's household when you were her waiting gentlewoman. Hired me in London, she did, when the tiring woman she'd brought with her fell ill."

All too aware that the countesses and their women were listening to every word, Susanna stepped closer to Jennet. "Your face is familiar to me." She spoke slowly but her mind was racing. Where was Nick? Where was Walter? Was she supposed to go with Jennet or find a way to take Jennet with her?

"I am Jennet Messenger," Jennet continued, "and I would ask a boon of you."

"Name it, my good woman." In spite of the seriousness of their situation, Susanna had to fight a smile. Jennet had a flair for the dramatic. If women were allowed to act in public in England, as Susanna had heard they did in France, she might have had a career as a player.

"I seek employment, Lady Pendennis. Lady Quarles brought me north with her when she left London. I met a man from Durham and married him, but he is dead now, and so is Lady Quarles, and I am near dest.i.tute. Do you need a servant, madam? I am very good at fixing hair and caring for clothes."

"I must have mine own mistress's permission to add another person to her household." She risked a glance at the cl.u.s.ter of women. Marion was the only one looking their way. The countesses were about to leave the churchyard. "Follow me," Susanna told Jennet. In a whisper, she added, "If she refuses to accept you, there's no help for it. You will have to go away again."

Alarm flashed in Jennet's eyes. "I must speak to you in private, madam. Lady Pendennis's death was no accident."

Chapter 21.

In a surly frame of mind made worse by the stale bread and weak ale provided for her supper, Jennet inspected the anteroom attached to the chamber Lady Appleton shared with the other waiting gentlewomen. Here she would spend the night, together with the countess's chamberers. She supposed she should consider herself fortunate to have a pallet and blanket. Most of the newest arrivals had to sleep in the open, or on the floor in the great hall. But what did comfort matter if she did not find a way to rescue Lady Appleton?

There had been no time for Jennet to expand on her terse warning in the churchyard. She wished now she'd simply told Lady Appleton she must come away with her, but she'd been caught up in the role Master Baldwin and Lady Glenelg had created for her. In the blink of an eye, she'd lost control of the situation.

Lady Northumberland had generously allowed her waiting gentlewoman to acquire a personal servant, but there had not been a single moment for private speech between them for the remainder of the day. Toward evening, when the rebel leaders returned to Brancepeth, Jennet had gone with them, but the castle, too, was crowded, making it impossible to exchange any confidence without being overheard.

"I grow too old for all this rushing about," she grumbled as she limped back into the gentlewomen's bedchamber.

Her feet hurt from the three-mile walk and she could feel a blister coming up on one heel. She'd had to leave Poppy, the horse Lady Glenelg had given her, in Master Baldwin's keeping. A poor servant woman, down on her luck, would not own such a fine animal. Who would have thought that she, who had always hated riding, would be missing a horse?

Lady Appleton, Mistress Lascelles, and Mistress Heron had returned in Jennet's absence. They all looked up at her entrance.

"You'd best let me take a look at that ankle, Jennet," Lady Appleton said, hurrying across the room toward her.

"'Tis naught but a-"

"Here, now. Sit by the light and let me see." She all but pushed Jennet onto a stool in one corner of the room. "What did you mean, Eleanor's death was no accident?" she asked in a whisper.

To the head bent over her toes, Jennet explained, keeping her voice low and her account brief. It felt wonderful to have her shoe removed and her foot ma.s.saged with skillful, healing hands.

Telling her to stay put, Lady Appleton released it to fetch water, soap, a clean cloth, and a pot of some vile-smelling salve. Jennet wrinkled her nose but did not object to the doctoring.

"I cannot imagine Northumberland sending such an order," Lady Appleton murmured as she worked.

"That is what Lady Glenelg said. She wondered if it might have been his countess who-"

"Catherine is in Yorkshire, too?"

"She has gone to meet with Sir Walter at Streatlam. Master Baldwin says Sir Walter believes all will be well, because you proved your loyalty to their cause by delivering that letter from the duke of Alba, but the message in the letter you took to Topcliffe is one Sir Walter subst.i.tuted for the original."

"No more than I expected," Lady Appleton murmured.

"Master Baldwin intercepted another copy of the original in Antwerp and worries that there may be a third. He fears your life will be forfeit if it arrives or if there is any suspicion you are disloyal. He wanted you to come away with me. He waits for us at an inn in Durham."

A little silence fell. Jennet wished she could see her mistress's face.

"I believe I am safe enough for the moment." But there was a hint of doubt in Lady Appleton's voice. Before Jennet could take her to task for it, she spoke again. "I had thought to leave here, if a chance presented itself, but there is something I must do first."

The approach of Mistress Lascelles put an end to their privacy. "How does she, Eleanor?"

"Well enough."

"You look pale yourself."

"Something I ate did not agree with me. I fear I will need to make more than one visit to the privy this night." Just before she turned away from Jennet, she winked.

The privy?

Well, 'twould be private there.

Dutifully, Jennet helped her mistress prepare for bed, then slipped out of the anteroom, her cloak wrapped around her for warmth, to await Lady Appleton. A long, cold hour pa.s.sed before she appeared. To Jennet's relief, she led the way past the two-hole privy. The odor from the cesspit reached them even through the closed door. A little farther along the pa.s.sageway, they came to a tapestry that concealed a narrow alcove. It was dark and dusty behind the arras, but they'd be out of sight and able to hear footsteps if anyone came near.

"How did you come into this, Jennet? I left you safe in Kent."

"Master Baldwin sent for me." She repeated his account of murder and conspiracy, then added, "It was my idea to stop in London for Lady Glenelg. Master Baldwin plans to join the rebel army if we do not return to Durham. Toby, too. He's the one Master Baldwin sent to fetch me. Lionel and Fulke have gone with Lady Glenelg to Sir Walter."

There was a catch in Lady Appleton's voice when she spoke again. "'Tis good to have friends." She cleared her throat. "Is all well at home? Has Rosamond been told of her mother's death?"

At the thought of Leigh Abbey and those she'd left behind, Jennet's chest tightened with emotion. "We told Rosamond nothing, but she wanted to come with me all the same."

The child had been set to throw a tantrum to get her own way. She'd tossed her dark brown curls and pouted when Jennet reminded her she had lessons to do. Before Lady Appleton had left for the Continent, she'd hired a tutor and given him special instructions for the girl to begin the study of Latin and Greek.

"Let Mole do them," Rosamond had said. Spoiled brat. She'd been indulged during the four and a half years she'd lived at Leigh Abbey. In addition, she'd inherited all her father's most unpleasant traits-a wild streak, a quick temper, and a stubbornness that defied common sense.

"His name is Rob," Jennet had said through clenched teeth. She despised the ekename Rosamond had given her son. "He has his own studies at the village school." Jennet had insisted he go there to be taught with other boys as soon as he reached his sixth year. He was a big boy now, she thought with a glow of maternal pride. A day scholar and in breeches, too.

As she'd ridden away from Leigh Abbey, Jennet had been unable to resist looking back. She'd seen Rosamond, red faced, hands on her hips, working herself up to a howl of outrage at being left behind. But when Mark's hand had come to rest on her shoulder, she'd abruptly closed her mouth.

"When my wife returns home," Jennet had heard Mark say, "Lady Appleton will be with her."

As they hid in the stifling darkness at Brancepeth, Jennet prayed he'd spoken the truth.

"Your little ones must have objected to their mother's leaving," Lady Appleton said. "I am sorry to have taken you away from them again."

"They have Mark. And Hester." Rosamond's nursery maid also looked after Jennet's three children.

As soon as Mark had lifted Jennet onto the pillion behind Fulke, eight-year-old Susan, their eldest, had stared at the pack animals with big, sad eyes and, sensing her mother was about to embark on a long and dangerous journey, had started to sniffle. Kate, a year younger, had copied her sister. Rob had struggled to maintain a manly stoicism. He might have succeeded had not Rosamond whispered something in his ear. After that, he'd had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing as hard as his sisters.

"I am surprised Hester did not insist upon accompanying you," Lady Appleton remarked. Jennet could hear the smile in her voice.

"No doubt she'd have liked to." Hester was enamored of Lionel, who ran the other way whenever he heard she was in the vicinity. The woman had a good heart, but it was lodged in a gangly, unfeminine body.

"Well," said Lady Appleton, "there is no more to be done tonight. Get you to bed, Jennet, and to sleep. We will need all our wits about us on the morrow."

Chapter 22.

The advice Susanna had given Jennet had been sound, but she found herself unable to follow it. She lay stiff with tension beside Joan Lascelles, who slept like a dead person-on her back and unmoving-and stared at the tester overhead.

Scenes and images kept rest at bay. The sack of Durham Cathedral. The evening at Brancepeth that had preceded it. Madness, Susanna thought as she made a futile attempt to get comfortable on the lumpy, wool-stuffed mattress. Lady Westmorland was perilous close to it. Worse, it was the kind of madness that inspired fanatic devotion.

What Jennet had said, about orders sent to Dartnall under the earl of Northumberland's seal, also troubled Susanna. It was true Lady Northumberland had access to her husband's signet ring, but Susanna could not imagine why either the earl of the countess would command Eleanor's death. Tell Dartnall not to trust her, yes. That made sense, although Susanna had seen nothing to indicate that either of them suspected Eleanor of anything. Even if they had, would they not have urged Dartnall to retrieve the parcel he'd given Eleanor rather than kill her? If she'd understood Jennet, and if Jennet had been accurate in reporting what Nick had learned from Dartnall, the clerk's commission had been very specific-arrange an accident that would leave Lady Pendennis dead.

Susanna's head began to ache from trying to sort out whys and wherefores. Shivering in spite of the warmth of the covers and the nearness of her bedmate, Susanna's thoughts turned to Lady Westmorland. The second countess blamed Eleanor for her brother's arrest. Could she have sent those orders to Dartnall? Had the seal Dartnall mentioned belonged to the earl of Westmorland rather than the earl of Northumberland? This theory made a certain amount of sense. Lady Northumberland might have a reckless streak in her nature, but it was mild compared to the inherent violence Susanna sensed from Lady Westmorland.

Thinking back on their encounter, Susanna remembered that Lady Westmorland had said Eleanor contacted Dartnall, not the other way around. How had she known that? And what else had she known? Had she been told Eleanor was with Lady Northumberland? Had she arranged for someone to cut partway through that billet strap, causing it to break?

Susanna tried to tell herself was she was letting her imagination run away with her, but she could not stop thinking about the way her saddle had slipped when Turmeric shied. What if that had not been an accident? No one else seemed to have the slightest motive to harm Eleanor. Anyone else, suspecting Susanna's true ident.i.ty, would simply have exposed her, rather than make an attempt to kill her. And now? Was she still in danger? She thought, by meeting Lady Westmorland face to face, she'd convinced her Eleanor was innocent of betraying the duke of Norfolk's plans to the queen.

Well, then, Susanna decided, slipping out of bed once more, she no longer had to worry about her own safety. Perhaps she never had. But she would be wise to fulfill her mission here as soon as possible. If she could get into Lady Westmorland's study tonight and find an incriminating letter from Queen Mary, then she could plead illness when the rebels set out again. She and Jennet would remain behind, find Nick, and go home. Once the rebellion had been put down, Eleanor's murderers would be punished for that crime, as well as for their treason.

Dressing herself in the dark presented a number of challenges, but Susanna deemed it unwise to creep through the sleeping castle barefoot and dressed only in a shift beneath her heavy, dark wool cloak. After a considerable struggle, all her points were tied and she was ready to go. She had marked the way to Lady Westmorland's door and knew there would be enough light from wall sconces to guide her. There were also several shadowed alcoves and concealing tapestries along her route. She could hide herself in a trice if she heard anyone coming.

In the pocket of her cloak was the key she'd taken from the countess of Northumberland's chamber door. She expected Lady Westmorland's study to be locked, but she'd already ascertained that it was secured with a highly decorated plate lock identical to those used for all the princ.i.p.al bedchambers at Brancepeth. She was in hopes a single key would open one and all.

She was denied the opportunity to test that theory. When she reached her goal it was to find light streaming out through the open portal. Wide awake in spite of the hour, the countess of Westmorland sat at her writing table, scribbling furiously on a surface littered with papers. Before slipping quietly away, Susanna caught one more tantalizing glimpse of the casket she had hoped to examine. It had no lock, only a simple latch to hold it closed.

Chapter 23.

While Jennet helped Lady Appleton dress there were too many other people around to allow for private conversation. Things did not improve as the day wore on. Resigned to spending an indefinite length of time with the rebels, Jennet resolved to throw herself into the role of humble maidservant. Unfortunately, since neither the countess of Northumberland nor any of her waiting gentlewomen wished to soil their white hands emptying the n.o.ble chamberpot, that job was the first that fell to her.

The work was hard and there was plenty of it. As long as Jennet did her share, no one questioned her presence at Brancepeth. Even better, the livery she was issued at midday allowed her to blend in with the rest of the retainers. Jennet had to admit a secret liking for the clothes. They were much brighter than those she'd once worn as a tiring maid at Leigh Abbey. Instead of a nondescript blue kirtle, she was given a stammel red frisado skirt fringed with crewel. The bodice, of red kersey, had a fine linen collar. She was also issued several kerchiefs, two coifs, and three bibless ap.r.o.ns.

It was late afternoon before Jennet saw Lady Appleton again. Pa.s.sing a window, Jennet happened to look into the courtyard where all the waiting gentlewomen had gathered. Lady Westmorland's attendants had engaged Lady Northumberland's in an archery contest. As Jennet watched arrow after arrow fly toward the b.u.t.ts she realized that even Mistress Carnaby, whose vision was impaired, shot well. Only Lady Appleton was conspicuous in her lack of skill with a bow.

That night a sense of barely suppressed excitement permeated the castle. After supper, the company sang songs in four, five, and six parts. Later the earl's musicians, who were more accustomed to playing taborette and lute and rebec, outdid themselves on Lincolnshire bagpipes to accompany dancing. Perhaps because everyone knew they intended to set out again in the morning, the celebration had a hectic quality that put Jennet in mind of the story of the tarantella, which Lady Appleton had once read to her servants at Leigh Abbey. Poor souls, bitten by the poisonous wolf spider, danced until they dropped in the futile belief their frenzied movements would expel the poison from their bodies.

"We could slip away in all this confusion," Jennet suggested when she found herself standing close to Lady Appleton in the great hall.

"Meet me behind the arras in a quarter of an hour," Lady Appleton murmured, and walked away.

A quarter of an hour after that, Lady Appleton used a key to unlock what turned out to be Lady Westmorland's private study. "There should be a casket here somewhere," she whispered after she closed the door behind them and lit a candle. "Of a size to hold letters."

"Do you have a key to that, too?"

"It is not locked." Disappointment tinged the words. She'd found what she sought, but the ornate metal box was empty.

"It may be just as well, madam," Jennet said. "If there were letters and you took them, Lady Westmorland would be sure to notice. Do you think she destroyed them?"

"No. I think she has them with her." Lady Appleton extinguished the light. Her voice sounded eerie in the darkness. "She'd get rid of them only if she thought she was in danger of having their contents used against her."