Face Down In The Marrow-Bone Pie Part 18

"Last night?"

"Did I not tell you? I availed myself of our neighbors' hospitality because of the storm. They were most gracious."

She turned pale at his words, proof she believed her own theory. Her obvious concern for his safety was pleasing to him, but he also sensed that they were venturing onto dangerous ground. So far, Susanna did not seem to have gotten any hint of his early papist leanings. Accuse Randall Denholm of murder, however, and they would quickly become common knowledge.

"Leave it be, Susanna," he said quietly.

"And if he lured you here to kill you, too, Robert? You ignore this matter at your own peril."

"Think, Susanna. Even if Randall Denholm did kill my father and John Bexwith, would he force his own daughter to be part of this? 'Twas plain to me last night that he dotes upon the girl." And it had been plain, too, that the man did not have all his wits about him. His mind seemed to wander off without warning.

"He is mad. That is the only answer. Mad but devious. For some reason, he does not believe his revenge will be complete until he murders you, ending the Appleton line forever."

Susanna would drive him mad if she persisted in this. Impatiently, Robert left the table and prowled the kitchen. "From what you told me earlier, you had many suspects, Susanna. Too many to prove any one of them is the killer. No, Susanna," he said sharply when she looked as if she meant to speak, "you must heed me in this. Let the matter go. We will leave for Kent as soon as the roads are pa.s.sable."

She came to her feet in as much of a rush as she could manage with her game leg. "Two men have died under unusual circ.u.mstances. Both Mabel and I have been injured. You-"

"I mean to leave Lancashire as soon as the weather clears. And you will go with me."

"Concern for my well-being, Robert?" She hobbled up to him, thrusting out that stubborn jaw she'd inherited from her father, challenging him with her glare as well as her words.

He sensed she was barely hanging on to her temper, but did not care. He'd brook no disobedience in this matter. He dared not. "Sarcasm does not become you, my dear."

"Robert, I-"

"No more." With every appearance of being as angry as she was, he glowered down at his wife. "There is no need for further discussion. You will never prove that murder was done. Therefore you will cease your meddling at once. Devote your energies to packing and making arrangements to move back to Leigh Abbey."

"What if I am right about Randall? What if he did lure you here with intent to harm you?"

"Since I am the intended victim, then it behooves you to allow me to decide what is best to do. I say we deal with this threat, real or imagined, by leaving here as soon as it is possible to travel south." He'd rather seem a coward than let this investigation continue. And he did not greatly care if Denholm had killed his father and Bexwith. Neither man's pa.s.sing was cause for regret.

Rebellion lurked in Susanna's eyes but something in his manner must have convinced her he would not change his mind. Though it plainly pained her, she paid lip service to his position as head of the household.

"It is your decision," she agreed, "but, Robert, I do beg you to be very careful as long as we remain here."

"Concern for my well-being?" he mocked her.

He left the kitchen without giving her an opportunity to reply.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

Jennet stayed hidden in the pantry until Sir Robert had stormed past on his way toward the great hall. What she had overheard had been illuminating. Elated by the prospect of leaving Appleton Manor soon, her first thought was to find Mark and tell him the good news. Then she remembered that Sir Robert had also given tacit approval to Mark's appointment as steward. Good news indeed, but for whom? Mark would stay behind. Doubtless he'd marry that girl from Manchester. And then where would Jennet be?

Back home in Kent, she told herself. Where she'd wanted to stay all along. But for the first time she realized that if she left, she might never see Mark again. He would marry, if not Temperance Strelley, then some other woman. And she'd have only herself to blame.

Chewing industriously on her lower lip, Jennet considered her choices. She remembered how arrogant Mark had been the last time he'd gotten her alone. He'd caught her in his arms and pulled her close, covering her mouth with his. The kiss had made her forget, if only for a moment, both her fears about Appleton Manor and her reservations about marriage.

"Your choice, Jennet," he'd whispered bluntly. "Marry me or I will find someone who will. I have lived long enough without a wife."

"Get away with you," she'd cried, suddenly angry. "I am not of a mind to marry."

"You kiss as if you were."

Jennet had retreated a few more steps, confused by her own response to him. He deserved a clout on the head, but what she'd wanted most was to go on kissing him and see where that led.

"I may kiss whatever man I like," she'd said, annoyed to discover that her voice sounded breathless.

He'd had the gall to laugh at her. Advancing slowly, a determined gleam in his eyes, he'd stalked her. "You do not know what you want, woman. That is doubtless why men have been given dominion over all those of your s.e.x."

"Dominion, is it?" Truly incensed, she'd shouted at him, saying things she'd later wished she could take back. "You could be the last man left on the face of the earth," she'd vowed, "and I would not marry you. Nay, nor kiss you again, neither."

A shutter flew open, caught by the wind, bringing Jennet's reverie to an abrupt end. Glad of something to do, she ordered Lionel to fix it. Only then did she realize that she'd not seen Mark since Sir Robert arrived. Fulke had been busy elsewhere, so Mark had taken charge of Vanguard, the master's horse.

Odd he'd not yet returned to the house from the stable, she thought. 'Twas pa.s.sing cold outside. More worried than she'd admit, even to herself, Jennet put on a warm wool cloak and stepped out into the kitchen garden.

The storm that had delayed Sir Robert's arrival at Appleton Manor had pa.s.sed, but in its aftermath a frigid, howling wind gusted, creating of the newly fallen snow such deep drifts that Jennet knew she must abandon all hope of an immediate departure for Kent. They would be obliged to wait until at least some of that snow melted.

She hesitated, but the outbuildings were not far from the house and she felt an overwhelming need to find Mark. She had news to convey, she told herself. It was not that she was concerned about him.

There was no light burning in the stable, a circ.u.mstance odd in itself on a day so dark. And as soon as Jennet entered the building she heard the sounds of a restless animal. She fumbled in the dimness until she found the lantern she knew was always kept by the door. Once she'd lit it, she advanced cautiously deeper into the shadowy interior.

"Mark?"

A low moan fixed his location. Jennet turned, holding the light high, then almost dropped it when she caught sight of her beloved lying on the ground in front of one of the stalls. His head was bloodied and his clothing torn.

Jennet had no memory of crossing the stable, but when she knelt beside Mark everything was suddenly vivid. She felt the straw p.r.i.c.kling her knees through cloak and skirt and petticoat. She smelled horse and sweat and blood and another scent she knew but could not identify. Sir Robert's stallion had backed off, seemingly content with the amount of damage he had already done. He snorted, but did not attack.

Beneath her trembling fingers, Jennet tried to discern the flutter of Mark's pulse, but it was not until she pressed her ear to his chest and listened hard that she could make out the faint beating of his heart. A moment later she saw the shallow rise and fall of his chest and her own breath, which she hadn't realized she was holding, came out in a great sob. For one horrible moment, she had feared that moan had been his last, that he was dead.

Tears streamed down Jennet's face as she shifted position so that she could cradle Mark's head in her lap and cling to his limp hand. She could not control them, not even when she saw him open his eyes. He smiled weakly as he recognized her.

"Oh, Mark," was all she could manage to say.

In a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper, he asked, "Does this mean you love me after all?"

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

The Appletons hurried into the stable together, summoned by a distraught Fulke, who'd heard Jennet's cries for help. Robert rushed straight to Vanguard. Susanna knelt by her manservant's side.

None of Mark's injuries looked serious, though they might well have been. He'd been kicked at least once, but most of the damage had been done when he fell.

"Another accident?" She sent Robert a pointed look.

"What happened?" he demanded. "What did you do to my horse?"

"Naught." Mark defended himself. "Fair maddened he was from the start. I had scarce begun to remove his saddle when he reared up, eyes rolling."

"He seems calm enough now," Susanna noted. The saddle and saddle pad had been bucked off. One side of a stall had been kicked in. Mark was fortunate indeed to have sustained no worse injuries.

With Jennet's help, Susanna got to her feet and left Mark's side to peer more closely at both horse and tack. She inhaled the normal scents of hay and dung. Another aroma, out of place in the stable, teased her nostrils.

"Bodykins!" Careful to stay clear of Vanguard's hooves, she flipped the fallen saddle pad over and sniffed delicately. "Here's your answer. Someone has rubbed lye into this cloth. As soon as Vanguard worked up a sweat, it began to burn him."

If the saddle had not already been loosened, the horse would have done far more damage to both Mark and the stable. If he'd felt the pain sooner, he'd likely have tossed his rider into a s...o...b..nk. If Robert hadn't broken his neck in a fall, he might well have frozen to death before anyone found him.

It was a most inefficient way to kill someone. And yet there was no doubt in Susanna's mind that someone from Denholm Hall had hoped the stallion would bolt and injure his rider during the ride to Appleton. Only the excessively cold weather had prevented the plan from working. Vanguard had not begun to sweat until the journey's end. In fact, had Mark removed the saddle even seconds sooner, the horse might not have suffered at all.

"Put a little bee's leaf ointment on the raw spot when he's had his oats," she told Fulke. As the groom hastened to see to Vanguard's needs, Susanna turned back to the others. "Mark, you need to be put to bed."

"Nay, madam. I'll be right as rain in a minute. Just wait and see."

"No doubt that is why you wince with every movement. Help him, Jennet."

As the maidservant obeyed, Susanna lowered her voice and spoke to her husband. "Who saddled your horse at Denholm?"

"Denholm's groom."

"Did Randall see you on your way?"

"Aye," Robert reluctantly admitted.

Susanna stared at him, wishing she understood why he was loath to pursue this. Even if he did not care to avenge his father, he ought to be looking out for himself. He'd always put his own well-being first in the past. His present att.i.tude made no sense to her.

"The man has lost his reason, Robert. We cannot guess what he will do next."

"We need not. We are leaving here as soon as may be."

"We might call the constable and have Randall questioned about the lye on the saddle pad. It was a deliberate act of violence, and against a valuable beast, too."

"We will call no one. We will leave," Robert repeated. "Here's an end to it, Susanna."

She gave up trying to argue with him. She opened the stable door and limped out into the wind, followed by Mark and Jennet and leaving her exasperating husband to do as he would.

"Did Master Denholm poison the steward?" Jennet hissed.

Susanna sighed. She should have known the wench's sharp ears would miss nothing.

"I do believe so. What simpler than that a man known to grow all manner of herbs would be able to make Bexwith believe a poisonous root was a powerful love potion?"

Jennet nodded, her face serious. "Mayhap he convinced Bexwith that he ate of it himself before he got Mistress Catherine on his wife."

Chapter Forty.

The next day the sun came out and the snow began to melt and Susanna was faced with a dilemma. She believed Randall Denholm was behind all the violence at Appleton Manor and she was determined to bring him to justice. Robert's arbitrary commands made that more difficult, giving her little time in which to act. If the weather remained clear, they'd soon be on their way south. Still, the task was not impossible, not if she sent word to Denholm Manor right away and kept Robert from guessing what she had planned.

Her continuing lameness prevented her from walking over the snow-covered fields herself. Neither Mark nor Mabel was up to making such a journey, either, and if any of them tried to take a horse, Robert was sure to notice. He was quite concerned about the condition of his stallion, paying regular visits to the stable.

That left Jennet.

The first challenge was to get her away from Mark. While Susanna was glad they had resolved their differences, she grew impatient with the change in her maidservant. If Jennet did not have a care, she'd be deferring to her prospective husband in everything.

At the same time Susanna had to decide what message to send. Which would work better, threats or promises? And how, she wondered, did one deal best with the matter of divided loyalties within a family? After several tries, she composed a letter that she hoped would produce the desired result.

There was danger in what she was doing. It was possible her actions would provoke another attempt on Robert's life. But how could she not continue? Was it not worth the risk to end the killing, to bring a murderer to justice?

"We leave tomorrow," Robert announced at midday, only minutes after Susanna had sent Jennet off toward Denholm.

An hour later, the message she had sent yielded its desired result when Catherine arrived. Careful not to let Robert see the girl, Susanna whisked Catherine into the stillroom, where they could be private.

"You know why I sent for you," she said.

Catherine nodded. "Will you have me locked up?" she asked in a small voice.

"Not if you tell me the truth." Susanna took a deep breath and hoped she could be convincing. It was essential that Catherine believe Susanna knew more than she did. "You have been pretending to be a ghost, have you not?"

Again the girl nodded.

"Was it your own idea?"

"No."

The whisper of sound was almost inaudible and Susanna's heart ached. It was important that she confirm Randall's guilt and attempt to learn what had motivated him. The questions she had to ask Catherine probed delicate areas. They were necessary, to protect Robert, but Susanna vowed to spare her young friend in every way she could.

"I know it is a hard thing for a child to speak ill of a parent," she began. Her hand on Catherine's elbow, she guided her to the low bench that ran beneath the window. They both sat.

Catherine's sniffle was answer enough to that question.

"Would it be easier if we spoke of 'mine enemy' instead? We both know who I mean."

Plainly fighting tears, confused, and not a little frightened to be enduring this inquisition at all, Catherine managed another nod. Her hands had been resting in her lap. Now she clasped them together as she bowed her head, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.