Face Down In The Marrow-Bone Pie Part 3

Susanna continued to watch them as they ate. Jennet cast wary glances over her shoulder every few minutes, obviously expecting to see some supernatural manifestation. Susanna could understand her uneasiness. She had to guard against becoming fanciful herself, for the atmosphere in this abandoned house was undeniably eerie.

"There is nothing here to fear, Jennet," she said to rea.s.sure her maid. Then, having noticed the speculative look on Mark's face, she informed Jennet that she would share the chamber above while they were at Appleton. Both the warmth and the company would be welcome in the bed left behind by Robert's father, but in truth Susanna's real motivation was the sense of responsibility she felt toward her servants. Left alone, Jennet's fears would doubtless drive her to seek the illusory protection of Mark's arms. No conscientious chatelaine could knowingly permit such goings on. If Jennet wanted to marry Mark, Susanna would wish them well with all her heart, but she would not condone the sort of careless coupling that led to unwanted children and loveless marriages.

"This is a perilous cold place," Jennet said, rubbing her hands together as she held them closer to the fire. "I vow there is less draft out of doors than in."

"Nothing so unusual in that." Susanna studied the thick stones surrounding them. "These walls were meant to keep the inhabitants cool in the heat of summer."

"I do not believe summer comes to these parts," Jennet declared. "And I do much wonder that any survive the winter."

"And yet they must. Do not forget, Jennet, that Sir Robert lived here as a boy. The climate had no ill effect on him."

A sudden sound from the dais end of the hall undid in a moment all that reasonable words had achieved. Every face turned in that direction, wide-eyed with antic.i.p.ation. The noise was not repeated, but in the breathless silence that followed, they all saw the same thing. The filthy cloth that covered the refectory table fluttered once, twice, three times, and then was still.

Jennet screamed. An answering wail, long and loud and mournful, issued from beneath the table.

"The ghost!" Jennet cried.

Susanna's heart was beating as fast as her maid's but she had to stifle a smile as she rose from her stool. She moved cautiously toward the table, not because she was afraid of what she would find but because she did not want to startle the only living creature, aside from a few mice and that one spider, who'd chosen to remain at Appleton when the servants fled.

"Good evening, Master Cat," she said as she lifted one corner of the grimy linen tablecloth and peered beneath.

Unblinking topaz eyes stared back at her.

"Will you join us?" she asked the cat.

With regal dignity, a large, ginger-colored feline emerged. Susanna hastily amended her words of greeting.

"Your pardon, for it is surely Mistress Cat, or perhaps even Dame Cat."

The creature was obviously female, so heavily pregnant that her belly was nearly dragging on the floor. And yet, with all the dignity of a queen on progress, she made her way to the hearth, circled it once to a.s.sure herself that she'd selected exactly the right spot, and then curled into a ball just as close to the warmth as she could get without having her tail catch on fire.

Chapter Eight.

Jennet squinted at the morning sun and shifted restlessly, trying to get comfortable on the leather cushion. "I do not like this Lancashire at all," she grumbled.

Neither did she like riding apillion, even behind a man as courteous as Mark. The cushion did little to pad the hard wooden frame beneath, not when it was strapped to the back of a horse that took perverse pleasure in bouncing and jouncing over every uneven roadway in the kingdom. Jennet's backside had been taking a beating all the way north from Leigh Abbey. Already bruised and sore, she was not happy to have to travel yet another bad road, even if it had been built by the Romans and ran nearly straight from Stockport to Manchester. Given a choice, Jennet would have preferred to walk all the way to the nearest village.

In front of her, using a saddle that appeared to be no more comfortable than her own perch, Mark was turning his head from side to side, alert for danger. He did not reply, but Jennet knew he'd heard her complaint. He was aware of her in other ways, too. Although her feet rested modestly on a footboard hung from the offside, she was obliged to cling to Mark's waist to keep from tumbling off the horse. She'd been gently torturing him for nigh onto one hundred and eighty miles.

"Not much farther now," Lady Appleton called back to them. "I can see a few houses from here."

She was the one who had insisted they ride to Gorebury, the nearest hamlet. Jennet wondered if her mistress was trying to impress the villagers, or if she'd simply been uncertain of the distance they would have to travel. Either way, Lady Appleton's arrival would start tongues wagging. That much was certain. She sat sideways on her horse, just as Jennet did, but Lady Appleton rode alone, resting both feet on a velvet sling and supporting one knee in a hollow cut in the pommeled saddle.

Jennet frowned. The fact that Lady Appleton had dressed for her own comfort argued against any calculated effort to impress the yeomen and husbandmen of Gorebury. She'd brought better gowns with her, but this morning she'd instructed Jennet to help her put on her old russet-colored riding dress, the one with the wool worn thin from frequent laundering. Both the little round face ruff that fastened with aglets and the ruffled cuffs had long since yellowed, and Lady Appleton had not even bothered with a safeguard to protect her skirts. So, Jennet decided, she was not interested in impressing anyone. She simply preferred to ride rather than walk.

The houses, close up, were as disappointing as Appleton had been. A poorer collection of dwellings Jennet had rarely encountered. She and Mark dismounted at the communal village well and looked around. Much alike, all the buildings were timber-framed, their roofs thatched with straw. Through doors customarily left open in the daytime, Jennet could see that the floors were beaten earth covered with rushes. Peat fires burned on raised stone hearths, creating a permanent haze, for like the hearth at Appleton, they were vented only through holes in the roof.

In one cottage a pot of porridge simmered on a trivet. In another Jennet caught a glimpse of stools drawn up to a trestle table. Every house seemed to have herbs, storage bags, and baskets hanging from the rafters, and in one place she spied a ham, but nowhere was there any hint of great prosperity.

The entire village consisted of fewer than two dozen buildings, including the mill. At least three stood empty, with holes in the wattle-and-daub infill and rot in the roof straw. Such places were likely to harbor rats, as well as hornets and wasps, and Jennet kept her distance from them.

At least there were people here, and their livestock. Pens and fences contained chickens, pigs, and cows. From somewhere out of sight, Jennet heard the bleating of sheep and when she inhaled she caught the noisome scent peculiar to puering hides in preparation for tanning.

Two women had looked up from their laundry as the riders pa.s.sed them, but they'd not ceased their labor. Now they removed clothing that had been soaking in lye to beat and scrub the pieces, then hang them over nearby hedges to dry.

A middle-aged man in what appeared to be the uniform of the place, a short, belted tunic worn with long, loose hose and leather shoes with heavy wooden soles, was the first to acknowledge the presence of newcomers. He finished knocking acorns off an oak tree for his pigs, then sauntered toward the well. He did not doff his cloth cap. Neither did he speak a word of greeting, but soon others came, men and women, drawn by curiosity. Gradually, a small crowd gathered.

Still mounted, looking every inch the gentlewoman she was, Jennet's mistress studied the villagers, ignoring their rude stares and waiting for the right moment to address them.

There was no danger. Even Jennet was certain of that. She was equally sure that these people were not going to help them. As Lady Appleton began to speak, introducing herself to her new neighbors and explaining that she wished to hire servants and purchase foodstuffs, Jennet sensed invisible barriers going up, dense as any stone wall and just as impervious to sweet reason.

"We've our own work, and no need for more to do," said one of the women who'd been washing clothes. She and her companion were as simply dressed as their menfolk, in long, loose, dirt brown gowns belted at the waist. The speaker had covered her head and neck with an old-fashioned wimple, but her feet were bare and her face was brown and wrinkled from exposure to the sun. Jennet tried to guess her age and could not. She might be anywhere from twenty to sixty.

The excuse she'd given struck Jennet as an odd one. October was a busy month in the south, even though the harvest season was officially over by Michaelmas. Here in the north the crops would have been in earlier. Only the slack winter season lay ahead. These people should have been glad of the prospect of employment.

"I will pay well," Lady Appleton said. "And there will be more work in the spring, honest work for any able-bodied man who can lift a stone or raise a roofbeam."

The suspicious expressions that had enlivened a few of the stolid country faces were now replaced by looks of dismay, but no one voiced any objection. The village folk remained taciturn and unhelpful, saying more by their silence than they could have with words.

"This Gorebury is a strange place," Lady Appleton told them when she'd tried again to sway them and had once more failed. "It is plain you grow barely enough to live upon, yet you show no interest in a generous offer of gainful employment."

"All the young folk are gone to Manchester," a man muttered, as though that explained his own unwillingness to work. Begrudging every word, he added, "In Manchester there be good jobs in the cloth industry."

"I will offer better working conditions and higher pay."

No one volunteered to send for a son or daughter.

"Have you a curate here?" Lady Appleton asked abruptly.

For a moment it seemed as if no one would answer. Then a new voice sounded. "Be no curate. Naught but a lay reader for the likes of us."

"And who might you be?" she asked.

"I be the new reeve what took office at Michaelmas." He puffed out his chest. "I be ale taster, too."

Jennet poked Mark in the ribs. "That great lout does not look any different from his fellows. Surely he's not clever enough to be a reeve."

"A reeve need not be lettered," Mark whispered back. "It is possible to keep accounts with a tally stick."

Solemn and pompous, the reeve explained that Gorebury's tenants paid their rents to the lord of Manchester and thus had no obligation to anyone at Appleton.

Jennet felt herself grow warm on her mistress's behalf, but if Lady Appleton was taken aback by this rudeness she gave no sign. Instead her voice went all soft and cajoling. "And you, sirrah?" she asked him. "I can see you are a fellow who seeks to better himself. What would you say if I offered you John Bexwith's old place?"

Mark's fingers tightened on Jennet's arm. She understood his reaction, but she knew, too, that he had no need to worry. She was certain Lady Appleton had no real intention of hiring this reeve to be her steward. She did but test the waters.

The big man was appalled by the suggestion. His jaw literally dropped and his face turned the color of whey.

"He is afraid," Jennet whispered. She scanned the other faces in the crowd. "They are all afraid of Appleton's ghost."

"You are quick to condemn them for that," Mark muttered, "when you are pa.s.sing terrified of the thing yourself."

Jennet jerked her arm free, insulted. Mark knew perfectly well that she felt much more confident now that their first night at Appleton had pa.s.sed without incident.

They left the village a short time later. Lady Appleton had inquired about provisions and had been told that no surplus food was available for sale. Jennet had expected they might have to haggle over prices. She'd never thought they'd be turned away empty handed.

"I vow they mean to starve us into leaving," she grumbled against Mark's back. Any lingering concern about the ghost had been replaced by worries of a much more practical nature. Jennet wanted soft cushions to sit upon, and good food in her belly, and the prospect of finding either suddenly seemed remote.

"What I find curious," Mark said after a moment, "is that no one in that village made mention of the rumors that Appleton is haunted. Why not speak of the ghost? It is obvious they've all heard the tale."

"They barely spoke at all," Jennet reminded him.

"And that, too, is curious. We are strangers. Think, Jennet. At home a newcomer is made welcome. Travelers bring word from other places, and in return the locals share whatever gossip most interests them. These people did not want to hear why we'd come, nor talk to us at all. No one tried to speak with you or me. Why not? Were you in their place, would you not seize any opportunity to catch one of us away from Lady Appleton and plague him with questions?"

Jennet knew she would. She never missed a chance to find out what was going on around her, whether it was any of her business or not. The steward at Leigh Abbey was always complaining that Jennet lurked in the corners, listening to her betters when she should be concentrating on her ch.o.r.es.

They rode on, Lady Appleton once more in the lead. Thick, ancient hedges lined the road, but trees were spa.r.s.e. A few oak and one ash were all Jennet had seen on the eastward journey. To the north, at some distance, she could just make out a flattened range of mountains, broken by deep clefts and valleys. To the south was the fertile Cheshire plain, but farms seemed both poor and far flung in this part of Lancashire.

"Do you think this setback will discourage Lady Appleton?" Jennet asked. "Will we be leaving for home again on the morrow?"

Leigh Abbey had never seemed more luxurious, even if Jennet's own place in it was no more than an attic dormitory shared with the other maidservants. If she married Mark, she thought, they'd likely have their own cottage. The prospect brought a slow smile to Jennet's lips. Lady Appleton would not expect her to share Mark's room above the stables if they wed.

Lost in a bout of homesickness, combined though it was with pa.s.sing pleasant daydreams, Jennet did not for a moment comprehend that Mark had answered her.

"Not likely," he'd said.

"What is not?"

"Leaving. If Lady Appleton cannot find workers closer at hand, she has only to journey into Manchester and open her purse. She will find someone there willing to take a few risks and live at a haunted manor."

"Then why has that lawyer, Grimshaw, not already found servants? He lives there in Manchester."

Mark chuckled. He'd plainly realized that he was in no danger of losing the plum of the steward's post. "No mere lawyer has Lady Appleton's determination. Have you ever known her to give up on a project once she'd embarked upon it?"

Jennet sighed, resigned to staying on at Appleton indefinitely. She did know how stubborn their mistress was. "How far is it to Manchester?"

"Some ten miles, I believe. Why?"

"And from Gorebury back to Appleton?"

"At my best guess, a little more than two miles."

"Faith, it felt more like a dozen!" Jennet rubbed her tender backside. She did not think she could endure the remainder of the return journey, let alone a trip to Manchester. "Help me down, Mark. I mean to walk the rest of the way back."

Before he could comply with Jennet's wishes, Lady Appleton abruptly reined in her horse. A gawky young woman was waiting at the crossroads, a maidservant by her dress. In low tones and with a hesitant manner, as if she suffered from overwhelming shyness, she spoke to Lady Appleton.

Jennet studied the girl with critical eyes. She was a sickly-looking creature with an unhealthy pallor and skin that hung in folds, as if she had recently lost weight. She was also missing a front tooth, and her speech, what Jennet could hear of it, was faltering and heavy with the accent of the north country. She scurried out of the way, eyes fixed on the ground, when Lady Appleton turned her horse and, smiling broadly, spoke to Mark and Jennet.

"We are invited to stop at Denholm Hall before we return to Appleton," she announced. "The Denholms, it seems, are our nearest neighbors, and wish to make us welcome here."

Jennet reluctantly remained on the pillion, but her temper improved considerably when she got her first good look at Denholm Hall. It seemed a prosperous place, a place where they were likely to find ample provisioning. They might even be invited to stay there, in lieu of returning to that ruin at Appleton Manor.

Outbuildings abounded, almost as impressive as the house itself. There was a wooden, slate-roofed chapel. The kitchen and bakehouse were separate buildings. There was even a communal privy near at hand. A granary had been built up against the house, and several nearby barns were roofed with thatch and timber-framed. The stable was built of stone, and next to it stood a thatched wooden sheepfold. At a greater distance Jennet spotted a kiln and two large dovecotes. Chickens, geese, peac.o.c.ks, and swans were also much in evidence.

"We will eat well tonight," Jennet murmured as they entered the courtyard.

Mark dismounted first, gazing about him with admiration. "I will turn Appleton Manor into a place every bit as prosperous as this one," he bragged. "Give me but a year."

Jennet stared down at him in mute amazement. She heard no doubt in his voice. When had Mark become so bold?

"Unlike you, Jennet," he said as his strong hands closed around her waist to lift her off the pillion, "I like this Lancashire very well."

Chapter Nine.

Susanna Appleton's first impression of Denholm Hall was also entirely favorable, but she had a deeper aesthetic appreciation of the architecture and design. The whole was enclosed by a wall, as Appleton Manor was, and here, too, there were traces of a moat near the stream, but the manor house was newly built.

It was situated at the center of a four-plot design. The forecourt led to the entrance, there was a kitchen garden on the service end of the house, and on the third visible side were orchards. At the back, unless the Denholms had completely and inexplicably broken with the popular new pattern, Susanna was certain she would find an elaborate ornamental garden.

Everything was carefully laid out and ordered, surprisingly modern for a place so far north of London. A kindred spirit dwelt here, Susanna deduced, someone who might well share her own avid interest in herbs and other growing things. Mistress Denholm, the woman who had sent her maidservant to fetch them thither, seemed the most likely candidate. With a keen sense of antic.i.p.ation, Susanna dismounted and ascended the steps of a slate-roofed porch.

They led to an imposing front door. The woman waiting on the other side was no less ma.s.sive. She dominated the parlor in which she received them and lost no time taking charge of the situation.

"Go you and see to their provisioning, Grizel," she ordered the maid who'd brought them.

With a peremptory gesture, Mistress Denholm signaled that both Jennet and Mark were to follow the girl. Neither of them even thought to disobey.

A forceful woman, Susanna decided as she studied her new neighbor. There had been a second person in the room when they'd first been shown in, a pale wraith of a girl who'd since vanished. Susanna wondered where she'd gone, and why. By the richness of her dress, she was a Denholm herself, rather than merely one of the servants. Susanna was about to inquire as to her ident.i.ty when Mistress Denholm took charge once more, this time sweeping her guest out of the room before her on the pretext that she wanted to show off Denholm's grounds.

Mistress Denholm was nearly as tall as Susanna, a stout matron made to seem even more immense by the addition of all the most ostentatious trappings of mourning. Her farthingale was as wide, and the sleeves that had been added to the bodice as padded, as fashion and common sense would allow. Beneath prodigious double chins, Mistress Denholm had added a white, pleated barbe to the front of her stiff, black silk hood. Susanna had the uneasy sense that she wore it to cover a neck of mammoth proportions. The hood itself had been constructed so that it dipped at the center front edge, forming a widow's peak. Mistress Denholm was wearing mourning jewelry, too, including a finger ring fashioned as a coffin and a brooch that had been designed to contain a lock of the hair of a departed loved one.

Mindful of her own extraordinary height and st.u.r.dy frame, Susanna took note of the depredations time, lack of exercise, and an excess of rich food had wrought in her hostess. In twenty years, she realized, if she were not careful, she might well attain a comparable girth herself. That thought alone was enough to produce an involuntary shudder.

Mistress Denholm's size was matched by her effusiveness. Such hearty expressions of warmth and friendliness would have overpowered a weak-willed person, and even her smile failed to lessen the effect. Unlike the rest of her, Mistress Denholm's lips were very thin, making the effort at friendliness seem both garish and startling. Susanna smiled back, berating herself for intolerance. The other woman's bossiness might be a trial, but she could not help the way she looked.

"You must tell me all the news of London and the court." Mistress Denholm's words sounded more like a command than a request, but beneath the brusque exterior Susanna sensed a desperate need for contact with the outside world. There could not be much in the way of companionship in this remote place. Gossip with the servants would only partially dispel a gentlewoman's loneliness.

"I have little firsthand knowledge of the doings there myself," she replied. "I spend most of my time in parts of Kent that are every bit as rural, and as far removed from the bustle of great cities, as you are here."