Face Down In The Marrow-Bone Pie Part 19

"I must ask you hard questions, Catherine, and for some you may not have answers. Just do the best you can."

Catherine went very still, tensing against the verbal blows to come.

"Let us go back to the beginning," Susanna said gently. "Did your mother know Sir George Appleton well?"

Catherine made a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry of pain. She lifted her head, opening deep brown eyes to meet Susanna's puzzled blue ones. "How else should I look so much like your husband?" she asked.

Startled, Susanna stared hard at the girl before her. Whatever she had expected to learn today, it had not been this. And yet, now that she had been told, the truth was obvious.

"Sir George was my father," Catherine confessed. "I am your husband's half sister." She made another strangled sound. "Look at me. Look at him. How can anyone deny the relationship?"

There was one other way to explain the resemblance, Susanna thought. Catherine might be Robert's child by Jane Denholm. She quickly dismissed that conjecture. Two things argued against it. Given Robert's apparent inability to father any children, he'd have seized on any such proof of his virility. More to the point, had Jane conceived a child, unwed, Robert would have been fetched home from the Dudley household and forced to marry her.

"You are Sir George's daughter," Susanna said aloud. "Did he know?"

"I do not believe so," Catherine said. "I did not realize it myself until Sir Robert stopped at Denholm Hall two nights past."

"But Randall Denholm did know."

"He must have." Silent tears began to fall. Susanna put one hand over Catherine's and squeezed and gave her a moment to collect herself. She could well understand the girl's reluctance to talk about this. She'd grown up thinking Randall was her father and was confused to learn he was not. She loved him, no matter what he had done.

"I am sorry, Catherine, but I must ask more questions. Did . . . mine enemy . . . push Sir George to his death?"

"I do not know."

"Do you know what poison was used to kill John Bexwith?"

Catherine shook her head.

"But it was murder?"

"Both the recipe for the marrow-bone pie and the gift of candied eryngo came from Denholm Hall," Catherine said carefully.

"Was a poisonous root subst.i.tuted for the eryngo?"

"I am not sure. I was not told anything. I did not even suspect until I was told I must pretend to be a ghost to frighten you away."

"Then that was the first time you appeared as a ghost? After I arrived here?"

"Yes. Before that the ghost was but a rumor. I believe all Grizel saw that night was the white tom, come to court your Dame Cat."

"But you played the ghost a second time, to lure me into the chapel. Who opened the vault?"

"My . . . your enemy."

"I know how hard this is for you, my dear, but you must see that the truth is important. No one can be allowed to get away with murder. No one."

Reluctance palpable in the gesture, Catherine nodded once more.

"Good. Now, how did you know I would be the one to investigate? Or would anyone have done?"

"I threw hard-packed snow at your window first, in the hope of waking you. Then I moaned a bit. 'Twas certain no one else would go out in the dead of night. They were too afraid." Catherine managed a fleeting smile. "You are very brave. You chased me the first time, and almost caught me, too."

Brave? Say rather, foolish. Aloud, Susanna asked, "Did you know the vault was open?"

Sobering quickly, Catherine again hung her head in shame. "No. I was horrified when I heard you'd fallen. I never meant you any harm. It was then I realized my playacting was more than a prank. Then I began to think about what I had heard, what I knew about Appleton Manor and the deaths there. I wanted to tell someone, but I was afraid. And I did not understand so much of it. It was not until I met Sir Robert that I began to see what must have happened and why."

"This was all meant to lure Robert north, into danger."

"That is what I believe. No one tells me anything. They just give me orders."

For a moment she sounded like any other fourteen-year old girl despairing her lack of freedom. Susanna remembered the feeling very well. At Catherine's age, she'd been informed by her guardian that she was going to marry Robert Appleton, a man she'd never met. They had not actually wed until four years later, but she'd never forgotten how helpless that bald announcement had made her feel.

"Your ordeal is nearly done, Catherine. I have but a few questions more." And a task to ask the girl to perform, but discussion of that could wait awhile. "Who attacked my cook?"

"I know not."

"Was Matthew Grimshaw involved in all this?"

"Yes, but by his manner he was coerced into doing things he did not want to do. The only act of which I know him to be guilty is paying your servant Bess to steal a letter written to you from Sir Robert. I stole it back and burned it to keep it from falling into another's hands."

She'd deal with Grimshaw later, Susanna decided. Catherine was doubtless correct in thinking he was merely a p.a.w.n, as she had been herself.

And now it was Susanna's turn to make use of Catherine. She despised the necessity, but with Robert's safety at stake, she did not see that she had any other choice.

"Lady Appleton?"

"Yes, Catherine."

"I cannot go back to Denholm Hall. Will you hide me here? Will you take me away with you when you leave?"

"Oh, my dear. You are already part of this family. But we cannot run from our responsibility to see justice done. I sent for you in part to lure a killer here. By now, you'll have been missed. Your parents will be searching for you and, as I intended, they will come here."

Panic-stricken, Catherine jumped up from the bench and tried to run, but Susanna caught her arm. "Nay! You do not have to face them just yet, child. Listen while I tell you my plan."

Chapter Forty-One.

It was just dusk when the frantic knocking came. Mark, now recovered enough to resume some of his duties, went to open the door. A moment later, Euphemia Denholm swept into the hall, followed by her husband and the maid Grizel.

"What have you done with Catherine?" she demanded.

"I have given her a sleeping potion," Lady Appleton said. "She was . . . distraught."

Looking most put out, Euphemia Denholm demanded to be taken to her daughter.

Outside, the winter weather was worsening again. The precipitation was not snow this time, but sleet. One look at that had Lady Appleton smiling. "You must stay the night," she insisted.

Jennet did not think Sir Robert looked happy about the invitation, but country landholders were required to offer hospitality even in good weather.

"We will go and take Catherine with us," Randall said. "'Tis better so."

"If she is exposed to this wind and weather, she'll not survive till dawn," Lady Appleton told him bluntly. "She was near frozen when she arrived here, from walking across the fields with no cloak."

As Lady Appleton described imaginary symptoms in great detail, Mistress Denholm grumbled, but not too loudly. Cloaks came off. Hot possets were sent for.

"Go and help in the kitchen, Grizel," Mistress Denholm ordered.

The maid fled the great hall, arriving ahead of Jennet at the b.u.t.tery. Together they fetched the cider and carried it to the kitchen.

"Why did Mistress Catherine flee her home?" Jennet asked, all innocence. She knew full well why Catherine had come to Appleton Manor. She'd carried the message to summon her hence herself. In addition, listening at a keyhole had been spectacularly profitable this day. Jennet now knew all manner of secrets . . . except the last. When Lady Appleton had begun to tell Catherine her plan, she'd lowered her voice until her words became too faint for Jennet to hear.

"I think she were told she must marry Master Grimshaw," Grizel announced. She tried to sound self-important, but spoiled the effect by looking over her shoulder, as if she feared she'd be caught gossiping by her mistress.

Jennet gaped at her, wondering where had she gotten that idea. Trust Grizel to find the strangest interpretation possible for things. "Why do you think so?"

Mabel, now recovered enough to be cooking again, refused to relinquish command of her kitchen. She relieved the two maidservants of the cider and banished them to a quiet corner to wait for it. Jennet continued her inquisition in low tones while Mabel heated the cider and added cinnamon.

"I did accompany Mistress Denholm to Manchester a week past," Grizel confided at Jennet's prodding. "When she did come out of Master Grimshaw's house, she were talking to herself. 'There's Catherine's future settled,' she said. What else could that mean?" Grizel again glanced apprehensively in the direction of the great hall.

"Your mistress is busy with mine," Jennet a.s.sured her. "And then she'll be taken to see Mistress Catherine in the room above the storage cellar, the one Sir George used to sleep in." Grizel knew more than she was saying, Jennet thought. "You know, Grizel, Lady Appleton would protect you if you chose to leave Denholm Hall."

"Could she?"

"Aye. She is the cleverest woman in all England. And a good mistress, too. Now, Grizel, tell me what it is you fear and I will make sure she helps you."

What worked for Lady Appleton with Catherine Denholm failed completely for Jennet with Grizel. Jennet could not even get her to confess that it might have been a cat she'd seen the night John Bexwith died.

"It were a ghost," Grizel insisted. "Mistress Denholm says if I saw what I saw I should not hide it."

Jennet's conviction wavered. There could have been a real ghost that night. Jane Denholm's come after Master Bexwith. There were spirits, no matter what Lady Appleton wanted to think.

A delicious shiver pa.s.sed through Jennet at the thought that Grizel had seen a ghost, a real ghost . . . the ghost that only appeared when someone at Appleton Manor was about to die.

"Here, girl," Mabel interrupted. "Ye must take this mulled cider to thy master and mistress. Then get ye back to me, for if I be obliged to feed extra mouths, then I will have extra hands to do the work. I've work for ye, as well, Jennet," she added.

Jennet stuck out her tongue as soon as the cook turned her broad back. When she was acting as mistress here as Mark's wife, Jennet decided, Mabel would have to go.

"I will serve the possets," she declared. Let Grizel stay and turn the spit!

Taking the tray, she flounced off in the direction of the great hall.

Chapter Forty-Two.

Robert hauled his wife into the pa.s.sageway between the great hall and the service rooms and glared at her. "If all you believe is true, how can you be sure it is safe to sup with them?"

A faint smile flashed across Susanna's face at his sarcasm. She suspected it masked a very real fear of poison, but she refrained from pointing that out. Doubtless it made Robert feel more in control to badger her.

"First, Mabel prepared the food and she has promised not to leave the kitchen unguarded. Second, they did not expect to stay. They'll not have come prepared to do murder. Third, the attacks have become progressively more violent and direct. Going back to poison seems unlikely."

"Then you expect Randall to seize up a sword sooner than add something to the meal?"

Susanna gave him an arch smile. "Or stab you while you sleep." She'd have Randall's confession long before they retired for the night. She was sure of it. Then they'd lock him in the storage cellar under guard until he could be taken to the gaol in Manchester.

"Your att.i.tude begins to annoy me, madam."

"If you are worried about poison, eat only what Randall Denholm eats." She pulled free of his grip, impatient to get back to their guests. She did not want either of them slipping back upstairs to visit Catherine and discovering she'd already left her bed, miraculously restored to consciousness.

"This will be an interminable meal," Robert grumbled.

"I am quite looking forward to it." Indeed, had the storm not obliged the Denholms to stay, she'd have contrived some other means to keep them at Appleton Manor. The inclement weather had saved her a good deal of trouble.

As they took their seats at the refectory table on the dais, Robert put on his courtier's mask and became the perfect host, even singing Mabel's praises as Mark, Jennet and Grizel brought in her plain but hearty fare. She'd prepared roast mutton and baked oatmeal bread. There were also baked chewits, the finely chopped meat delicately spiced.

The smells were tempting, but Susanna found that her appet.i.te had completely disappeared, She picked at the bread, eating almost none of it, and touched nothing else. Robert ate with his usual enthusiasm, helping himself to each dish only after Randall had already tasted it.

It might have been an ordinary meal, shared by longtime neighbors. Soon Robert had launched into a spirited discussion of fish days among the French as opposed to English practices. "They have meatless days every Friday and Sunday and on the eves of all feasts, and during Advent and Lent," he told them, speaking loudly for Randall's benefit, "and the French forbid eggs, milk, b.u.t.ter, and cheese as well as meat."

"Are their fish tolerably prepared?" Randall asked. There was no hint of vagueness about him this evening, making Susanna wonder if he was mad in truth or if his bouts of addlepated behavior were all an act. She almost hoped for the latter explanation. The mad were much too unpredictable.

"There is a fish called brochet that is excellent," Robert answered, "though I must confess most French fish dishes are not so good as one might expect. Still, sole, salmon, and sturgeon are plentiful in the estuaries of the Loire and the Seine."

"The French are papists," Randall murmured.

"Not all of them." Susanna said. She noticed that Robert's grip on his goblet tightened, though he gave no other sign of increased agitation.

"Just like Lancashire, then? Some of the old religion and some of the new and many who waver between the two?" Randall's smile looked a trifle sly. "At least in France a man can still be a priest if he has a mind to."

"It is much more sensible to enter the clergy in England," Robert shot back, "for here he may do so and keep a wife, as well."

Susanna was puzzled by the exchange, but before she could comment she heard the sound she'd been waiting for, a faint rustle on the staircase at the opposite end of the hall. Randall sat facing that way and Susanna watched him closely. His eyes grew wide and his skin turned pale at the sight that met his eyes.

Sending his chair tumbling over backward, Randall sprang to his feet. Robert stood, too, and might have taken some precipitous action had Susanna not caught his arm.

"Wait," she cautioned him in a whisper. "To move too soon will prevent us from learning the truth."

Slowly, backlit by a branched candelabra that had been strategically placed, a ghostly figure began its descent. Halfway down the stairs, it stopped and turned toward the company a.s.sembled on the dais.