Face Down In The Marrow-Bone Pie Part 11

Sir Robert's attention was drawn at once to King Francis's wife, the young woman who was queen of Scots in her own right. She was sixteen and enchanting, a tall, slender creature with delicate bone structure, a swanlike neck, and long hands. Her air of fragility enhanced her beauty.

The poets who sung her praises had failed utterly to capture the essence of Mary Stewart. Sir Robert studied her closely as she put aside the black velvet mask lined with white satin that every lady at court seemed to wear. Her small mouth was perfection.

Noting that she ate sparingly, he watched her sample cheese from Milan and apricots imported from Armenia. Soon she put aside those foods in favor of candied cuc.u.mbers and two pates, one made of larks and the other from artichokes.

Some might say she was too pale, but that pallor was offset by a perfect complexion in a perfect face, oval in shape and small in proportion to her height. Almond-shaped, amber-colored eyes were topped by delicately arched brows the same color as her hair, which was a bright, golden red. The color, a shade just lighter than auburn, was not unlike that of her English cousin Elizabeth.

When he realized he was beginning to fall under Mary's spell, Sir Robert exerted himself to seek flaws. It was a difficult task, but in the end he managed to find three. Her ears were too large. Her nose was a little too long and slightly aquiline. And then there was the canopy over her head. Queen Mary and King Francis each had one. His was made of purple damask and had the arms of France emblazoned on it. Hers was crimson and she had quartered the arms of England with those of France and Scotland. She'd had the same usurped arms engraved on the silver plate being used at table.

Sir Robert caught himself speculating. Would there be any profit in presenting himself not as an Englishman loyal to the present queen, but as one anxious to recruit French and Scots a.s.sistance in overthrowing the heretic Elizabeth and replacing her with another Catholic Mary?

It would not be a difficult role to play in one respect. His father had been a papist all his life. Many of the people of Lancashire still were, in spite of decrees issued in faraway London. And Sir Robert himself had once been a devout Catholic. He had fallen easily back into Papist ways when the other Mary reigned in England. Had she lived, he'd be a model Catholic courtier still. Oh, it would be easy enough to once more adopt the appearance of that faith, but the necessity of acting as if he wanted a second Mary, born of a Scots father and a French mother, to mount the throne of England in Elizabeth's place would soon have him grinding his teeth.

In truth, he'd prefer almost any man of any faith to any queen regnant. Unfortunately, there were no male heirs left. If not Mary of Scotland, descended from King Henry's elder sister, then the choice was between Mary's father's half sister, Margaret Douglas, countess of Lennox, and Frances Brandon, d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk, the daughter of King Henry's younger sister. The best solution, flawed though it was, remained forcing Queen Elizabeth to marry, turn the reins of government over to her consort, and bear him sons.

On his second day in Blois, Sir Robert was allowed to present Queen Elizabeth's present and his own to the Queen of France. She thanked him prettily and dismissed him. That night, when he'd climbed the stairs from the inner courtyard to the southwest wing, he tried to take rea.s.surance that this mission had not been a waste of time from the sheer splendor of his lodgings. The walls were so heavily carved they looked like brocade and the bed hangings were brilliant with gold and fine embroidery. He had tiled floors, coffers for his belongings, of which he'd brought but few, a comfortably padded chair, and a prie-deau.

Sir Robert smiled at his own conceit. This meant nothing. The French were not making any special effort to impress him. This was simply their way. Overdone. Ostentatious. He'd heard it said that here a courtier was expected to have at least thirty changes of raiment.

His own appearance had not compared well to the standard he saw at every meal. In spite of the fact that the court was still officially in mourning for the late King Henri, most garments were colorful and elaborate. Sir Robert's doublet, the best he had brought with him, was very plain by comparison, mere velvet, decorated with only a starched collar and a bit of lace. His hose were not silk. And he had no beard.

Then again, neither did the young king. Francis II was a poor specimen of manhood, but what came after? An even younger boy, another of Queen Catherine's sons.

A knock sounded and, as if he'd conjured her, the queen mother of France swept into his chamber. She was masked, but he had no trouble recognizing her. The royal chins were unmistakable. Queen Catherine was a great, gross figure of a woman. He'd noticed at table that she ate with a glutton's fervor.

"Madam," he said, and sketched a bow. "I am honored."

Her voice was disguised by the fact that she had to hold the mask in place by a little k.n.o.b caught between her teeth, but what she said was perfectly comprehensible. "Were you sent here to poison my son?" she asked in French. She held the small pot of salve he'd given Queen Mary.

Sir Robert took heart from the fact that the queen mother had come in person and alone. Unless she had left guardsmen waiting in the pa.s.sageway, it seemed unlikely she meant to have him thrown into prison. His reply was in French as fluent as her own, and without her betraying Italian accent.

"It is a recipe of my wife's and I a.s.sure you, madam, that she is most careful to avoid poisons. It is her great mission in life to compile a book on dangerous herbs."

"And this salve contains what ingredients?"

"All harmless, I do a.s.sure you." He enumerated them, grateful that Susanna had thought to send him the recipe.

When he had done, the queen mother extended the small pottery jar toward him. "Rub some on the back of your own hand, over the veins."

With a silent prayer that this was indeed the same salve he had sent to the young king and not some deadly subst.i.tution, Sir Robert removed his glove and did as she commanded. Queen Catherine would be a powerful ally. Even as the often ignored wife of King Henri II, she had changed life in her adopted country. With her from Italy had come an improved sidesaddle, an interest in astrology, a sweet called iced cream, the art of fencing, and the concept of the hired bravo. She'd make a good friend, but a very dangerous enemy.

"If your queen be content not to meddle in the affairs of France," she said quietly, as she waited to see if there would be any reaction, "there will be no difficulties from my daughter-by-marriage. France does not desire to annex so troublesome a place as England."

Sir Robert said nothing.

"As to your mission here," she continued, "we are well aware you mean to meet with our enemies. Advise your queen well, Sir Robert. She has nothing to gain by involving herself in the affairs of France."

As he maintained his silence, unable to think of anything he might say that would not condemn him, he wondered who had betrayed his mission to the queen mother. Did she have her own spies everywhere? Or was someone he trusted, Pendennis perhaps, a traitor to England? That he'd briefly toyed with changing his own allegiance enabled him to believe the same temptations could entice any man.

"Your wife interests me," Queen Catherine said after a short time had pa.s.sed. "Tell me more about this herbal of hers."

Robert obliged, explaining briefly how the death of Susanna's sister, Joanna, had made her realize that many leaves, berries, and roots were quite deadly, thus inspiring her to begin a book full of warnings for both cook and goodwife. "As yet, she has not progressed very far," he remarked, saying to this audience the same thing he'd said many times before to friends and acquaintances, making light of Susanna's project. "As you may imagine, it is both dangerous and difficult to experiment freely with poison."

The moment the words were out, he wished them back. Had the queen mother cast some sort of spell on him? How else could he explain that he'd completely forgotten that her family, the Medicis, were as notorious in her native Italy as the Borgias. Their enemies had an unfortunate tendency to die of poison.

The queen mother let his words pa.s.s without comment. Apparently satisfied the salve would have no ill effects, she retrieved the pot and started to leave. At the heavy door she looked back at him.

"I believe I would enjoy meeting Lady Appleton," she said. "A pity that will never happen. I do much doubt I will ever visit England and you, Sir Robert, would be well advised not to return to France."

Chapter Twenty-One.

At Appleton on St. Crispin's Day a cart entered the courtyard and a stoop-shouldered woman descended. She was fair-haired, a rather fleshy creature with wide hips and an ample bosom. In her youth she'd have been considered buxom. Now she was just fat.

"I be Mabel Hussey," she announced, "come back to me post."

Susanna received her in the hall, surprised and pleased to have found Sir George's cook at last. Since her first trip to Manchester, she had made some progress on the house, but precious little in solving the mysteries of Appleton Manor.

She studied Mabel's face intently, searching for some clue to her character. Its most prominent feature was a sharp nose, but there were other distinctions. Deep bags under the eyes gave her the aspect of a sorrowful hound and she had a wide, thin-lipped mouth. It was a face that had no claim to charm or beauty and yet in the eyes there was an astuteness that looked promising. Susanna's overall impression was that she and Mabel would deal very well together.

"'Tis well spoke of ye be, madam," Mabel said with cheerful bluntness, "but ye'll have need of me, I warrant. I say it that shouldn't, but here be the best cook in Salford Hundred." She thumped her chest with one meaty hand.

"Indeed." Susanna doubted the claim. The herb garden she'd found gave little evidence of an interest in seasonings. On the other hand, she could understand why Mabel would exaggerate her abilities. She wanted her position back.

"Ye would have known that," Mabel continued, "had ye stayed at the inn on Shude Hill instead of the one in Withy Grove."

"A mistake, I do a.s.sure you, for I was most anxious to find you and retain your services. How is it that Master Grimshaw did not know where you were?"

"Grimshaw? What has he to do with anything? Meddling old fart! 'Twere he what sent me away. I did mean to stay on here, ghost or no ghost, until he did close up the house."

"He never contacted you afterward, in Manchester?"

"Nay. Did he say he had, then?"

"He said you had left by the time he tried to find you."

Mabel laughed aloud, showing a mouth full of large, yellowed teeth. "I do wonder . . . what is it ye could learn from me that he does not want ye to know?"

"My question exactly." Susanna motioned for her newly acquired cook to sit in the best chair in the hall and filled pewter tankards with perry for them both. "Do you know what happened to the others who once worked here?"

"The girl, Grizel, went to Denholm Hall. Her father insisted. Furious, he were, when he heard she'd been near seduced by the old man. The scullion, a lad called d.i.c.kon, found work as a butcher's boy."

"What butcher?"

"Oliver Ince."

"Well," said Susanna. "Well."

"Even so. The odd-job man, a cottager by the name of Adam Bone, from the other side of Manchester, he's not gone far, either. Since he lost his holding he'll do any work to put a roof over his head. The town took him on as a swineherd to take the pigs to Collyhurst every morning and bring them back at night."

It seemed, Susanna thought, that she'd be making yet another visit to Manchester soon. She leaned toward Mabel and lowered her voice. "There is another matter you might help me with. It is this marrow-bone pie. Can you tell me what ingredients were in it?"

"A lot of fancy nonsense is what," Mabel grumbled, but she rattled off the same list Grizel had.

"And where did you get the recipe?"

"From John Bexwith himself."

"And where did you get the eryngo?"

"From Bexwith, too. He bought all the ingredients, even the artichokes, in Manchester."

But Susanna knew he hadn't gotten the eryngo there.

"Waste of money," Mabel muttered.

"Expensive for a mere steward," Susanna agreed. "How do you suppose he came by the wherewithal to buy such things?"

"I fancied he learned some poor fool's secrets."

"You think he extorted money from someone?"

"Stands to reason he did not earn so much by honest means. And he did tell me he planned to eat well from that night on. Him, not the rest of us."

"Who?"

"I know not. Nor care to, either. Let his secret die with Bexwith."

There was food for thought. Had she not already considered this very possibility when she'd seen the relative luxury of Oliver Ince's house? "Is it possible this unknown person might have preferred to end Bexwith's life rather than continue to pay for silence."

"Murder? The man died of a surfeit of rich food. Old fool."

"Did he? Or was a deadly poison contained in the marrow-bone pie?"

Surprised and insulted by this suggestion, Mabel drew herself up straighter and slammed the empty pewter tankard down on the refectory table. Susanna refilled it.

"His death was pa.s.sing strange," she reminded the affronted cook. "Did you know by sight each item you put into the pie?"

Susanna could see the possibility she had accidentally caused Bexwith's death begin to prey on Mabel's mind. The woman had no skill at hiding her reactions, which was rea.s.suring. That inability and the cook's voluntary return to Appleton Manor strongly suggested she was innocent of any intention to harm Bexwith.

"Should have stuck to plain pottage," she muttered under her breath."

"You added no spices, no herbs beyond what Bexwith provided?"

"Nay, madam. Not a one. And I took his word for it that what he gave me were eryngo and artichokes and the rest."

"What about the kitchen? Could anyone have come in while the pie was there, before or after it was baked, to add something to it?"

"It did sit to cool a bit while no one was about. Any might have entered." Relief flooded her features but was quickly followed by a considering frown. "But how could anyone have come and not been seen at dinnertime? All of us were about the house."

"Unless the poisoner was one of the servants," Susanna pointed out. "But it does also occur to me now that if someone gave Bexwith a poisonous root and told him it was eryngo, he would not know the difference." Nor would Mabel. Subst.i.tuting monkshood or mandrake or some other root for eryngo in that manner would be far easier than sneaking in and sprinkling the powdered leaves of some poisonous plant into the finished pie.

"Would not cooking kill the poison?" Mabel asked.

"Some, like dog's mercury, are rendered harmless by heat, but not all." Briefly, Susanna told Mabel about her herbal and her interest in poisonings, accidental and deliberate. Then she asked about the condition of the body. "This can tell us much," she explained. "Skin color, for example."

"He were covered in pie."

With a grimace, Susanna soldiered on. "Smells?"

Mabel gave her a look.

"I know the dead give up their bodily fluids, but had he been sick before he breathed his last?"

"Aye. When I did lift his head I could see froth and vomit along with bits of the pie."

"Grizel says his eyes were wide and staring."

"Aye. The pupils were big, too."

"And she spent a half an hour's time with you between serving the dish and finding him dead?"

"Aye."

"No more?"

"Nay."

Sipping perry and watching Mabel, Susanna sensed that the cook was a woman both outspoken and forthright. That she was telling the truth as she knew it seemed certain.

"How do you feel about Lawyer Grimshaw?" she asked.

"I've no ax to grind with him now I'm back."

Which did not explain his failure to let her know Appleton was inhabited again. "He said you were afraid to return."

"Never held with a ghost," she declared. "Never saw one with me own eyes."

"And if you had seen something that night?"

Mabel chuckled. "'Twould be doubting it I'd be, even then, I warrant."

"So, no one saw it, aside from Grizel?"