Face Down In The Marrow-Bone Pie Part 8

"You think Jennet would be jealous?" The hope in his voice was almost painful to hear.

"I think you deserve a good wife. If not Jennet, then some other."

They walked the rest of the distance back to the inn in thoughtful silence.

Chapter Fourteen.

"I have seen three queens," Jennet bragged to her new friends. That she was lying troubled her not at all.

The other maidservants drew a little closer in the maids' attic dormitory, avid interest lighting their faces. Jennet was almost as exotic a creature to them as her mistress. She was a stranger . . . from the south . . . a lucky wench who'd been to London to look at the queen.

"Three? Oh, wonderful," one of the younger maids marveled. She sidled closer, eager to hear the tale, and all her companions but one followed suit.

"Join us, Grizel," Jennet invited.

The plainest of the plain-faced maids, she seemed afraid of her own scrawny shadow. Jennet had to watch her closely to see any reaction, any indication that Grizel was as interested in hearing the tale as the others were.

Jennet patted the sweet-smelling bedtick she was perched upon, her legs tucked under her. "Come and sit down and I'll tell you everything," she promised.

The bait was too tempting to resist. Cautiously, Grizel crept closer, finally settling herself on a footstool right in front of Jennet. Her pinched cheeks were bright with excitement or embarra.s.sment. Jennet could not tell which. Another maid giggled and was quickly shushed.

"The first queen was poor, young Jane," Jennet said, "and just my age she was when she sailed down the Thames through London on her way to the Tower. Thought she was going to be crowned, she did, but they chopped off her head instead."

A shiver of appreciation shuddered through her audience as Jennet elaborated, using details she'd had from Lady Appleton, who'd been in London at the time. She saw no reason to admit to these simple north country girls that she had herself never been away from Leigh Abbey in Kent until this very journey into Lancashire.

A hidden cache of sweet, hard sugar candies came out and was pa.s.sed from hand to hand. Jennet got a lemon flavored one and wondered who had dared invade the mistress's larder. Surely this treat was too good for mere servants.

"The second queen was Mary," she continued, sliding the sweet to the inside of one cheek so she could speak. For this story she repeated all of the oft-told tale of how Sir Robert had first seen that queen. Mary had been rallying the populace of London to defend her against some rebels. It had been a stirring scene and Jennet recounted it well enough to bring tears to Grizel's eyes.

"Then there is Elizabeth, her that folks do call Good Queen Bess. A rare beauty, she is." Jennet had a store of tales to tell about the present monarch, since Sir Robert had spent a great deal of time at her court. Lady Appleton had yet to make her personal acquaintance, but Jennet was never one to let honesty stand in the way of a good story. "The Queen's maids of honor include several of Lady Appleton's dear friends," she added for good measure. That much was even true. "And the queen herself does owe a debt of grat.i.tude to my mistress for helping her supporters get out of England, back when men were forced into exile for their faith."

At first Jennet failed to notice the little silence that fell at those words, but before long she realized that, somehow, she had made the others suspicious. A moment's consideration gave her a reason. They were still Papists in these parts, for all that the old faith had once more been banished from the land.

A bit huffily, Jennet drew herself up. "Lady Appleton's husband was knighted for his services to Queen Mary," she reminded them.

"But if she helped heretics escape," one of the girls whispered, "then she were a traitor."

"My mistress has never been anything but loyal to the Crown, but she was raised in the New Religion, for that was the law of the land when she was young. And when you were, as well. She worshiped as her father did, and her husband after him. She did but obey them, each in turn, as G.o.d does command."

Jennet knew she was being less than truthful once more, but she discounted that as unimportant. If her listeners got the impression that Lady Appleton had been a loyal Catholic during Queen Mary's reign, save for helping a few poor souls escape execution, then Jennet let them think it. She smiled a little, though, at the thought. Unlike Sir Robert, Jennet's mistress had never pretended to embrace Rome, nor ever would have even if Queen Mary had lived to be a hundred.

As the night wore on, Jennet steered the conversation toward local gossip. The more she told tales of the Leighs, for whom her family had worked for generations, the more she learned about the Denholms. She was well pleased with the results of this ploy by the time she finally closed her eyes and slept. There would be no need to make up lies to tell Lady Appleton, after all.

The following day pa.s.sed slowly, and another evening was almost upon Jennet before Mark returned with Lady Appleton to her husband's manor. Jennet's betraying heart beat a little faster at her first glimpse of his familiar mole brown hair. 'Twas just that she'd been getting nervous of spending a night here alone, she told herself. She had no particular need for Mark's company.

Jennet's eyes narrowed as she watched the arrival of several packhorses and other animals. In the train were two new menservants and a puny female who'd lost what looks she might have had to the swine pox. Jennet's face fell as she inspected the newcomers. She'd hoped several women would be joining the household, including at least one wench strong enough to do the heavy work. Then Jennet's hands would be freed for other, more amenable ch.o.r.es. After all, she was supposed to be Lady Appleton's tiring maid, even if her tasks did usually extend well beyond dressing her mistress and arranging her hair.

"Where did you find that thin stick?" she hissed at Mark as soon as he dismounted. Her disdainful gaze raked over the maidservant and her nose wrinkled. The newcomer looked clean enough but the faint odor of garlic clung to her.

"Her name is Bess," Mark said, "and Lawyer Grimshaw brought her. He was waiting with her when we returned to the inn last evening."

Jennet snorted derisively. "Are any of these pitiful creatures the cook we were promised?"

"Grimshaw claimed he knew where the cook was, the one who was here before. Mabel, she's called. But then he said he could not find her, that she's no longer in Manchester. I think he brought Bess as a peace offering for Lady Appleton." Mark allowed himself a brief smile. "He is much in awe of our lady mistress."

"And these others?" The dregs of humanity, in Jennet's opinion, and they looked scared of their own shadows, too.

"Not a promising lot, and well I know it, but the best we could manage. We've brought ample provisions, though. And more coming."

Jennet waited. There was something in Mark's manner, in the way he toyed with his cap and fiddled with the reins, that promised further revelations, but not the welcome kind.

"You might want to continue to do the cooking yourself," he suggested.

Jennet sighed, hating the knowledge that the only way they'd eat well was if she prepared all the food. She did not care to work that hard, sweating over the hearth, turning spits, trying to guess what herbs to add to the sauce. Then she brightened. Bess would earn her keep, after all, and the new menservants, too. No reason they could not behave as underlings should. There were many tasks even an ignorant northern clod could perform . . . under Jennet's diligent supervision.

It was a miracle, Jennet decided several hours later, that the fool girl hadn't burned the house down right along with the roast capons. Still and all, the meal had been served, all had been fed, and Lady Appleton had seemed pleased with the result.

Jennet and her mistress retired together to the solar they had turned into a bedchamber. As a result of the trip to Manchester, Jennet now had a trundle bed of her own. She pulled it out and prepared it for the night while she waited for the questions she knew were coming.

Lady Appleton would be pleased when she'd heard Jennet's report. It was one Jennet could take pride in. Following up the night's success, she'd pursued Grizel in the morning. Before leaving Denholm to return to Appleton, she'd made promises of friendship, hinted at confidences, and offered the ultimate lure, the hope of escape from servitude in this dull and barren place, this Lancashire. The poor silly creature had been powerless to resist temptation.

"What have you learned?" Lady Appleton asked as Jennet started to help her with her laces.

For the journey to Manchester she'd worn her most elaborate bodice and kirtle and gown, not quite court dress but complicated enough to require a maid's a.s.sistance. Bess must have helped her last night and this morning, Jennet decided. The knots were all in a tangle.

"Grizel," Jennet said as she struggled to undo the laces that held a bright yellow sleeve to a darker-colored bodice, "is terrified of her mistress."

"Afraid? Why?"

Because Mistress Denholm is built like a battering ram, Jennet thought. One blow from her fist and a poor, b.u.mbling serving wench would end up with a broken arm . . . or worse. Aloud she said only, "Her lady has a forceful way about her."

"A formidable woman," Lady Appleton agreed, "but is there any particular cause for the girl's fear? Does Mistress Denholm beat or otherwise mistreat her retainers?" The first sleeve slipped free and she turned to give Jennet access to the other.

"No more than most."

"Mind what you say, Jennet."

"Must I speak no ill of my betters, madam?" She gave an ironic twist to the word, and Lady Appleton had the grace to wince.

"You must speak the truth, Jennet, but without undue elaboration." Lady Appleton hesitated, then added, "I would much appreciate hearing your opinions, unflattering though they may be to the gentry."

"They are careful what they say there," Jennet told her. "It did seem almost as if Mistress Denholm had heard that her servants were gossiping the last time I was there, that she had ordered an end to such loose tongues. Still, a mistress cannot be in the maids' room in the middle of the night, and I contrived to share a bed with Grizel and one other girl. I told them what we saw here and they were proper terrified, they were."

"Oh, Jennet. I had hoped you'd not give credence to these tales of a ghostly presence. It is difficult enough to find servants without more stories getting started."

"For all the good that girl Bess is, you might have left her where you found her." A point broke in her hand and she muttered further condemnations under her breath.

"Never mind about Bess now. Tell me what else you learned at Denholm."

"Grizel's father is also in service there. He is the tiler hired to redo the chapel floor."

"And the Denholms themselves? Did their servants speak of the family?"

"Not as much as I thought they would. They're . . . protective of that girl. Catherine." Odd, that was, now that Jennet thought of it, but she could not put her finger on the reason why she felt as she did.

"Protective?"

"She's frail, or so they say. Needs looking after, for she's impulsive, too. They say she often does an injury to herself through carelessness. Climbs trees to rescue cats and the like."

"They?"

Jennet knew Lady Appleton had always disliked the attribution of gossip to that vague "they" and had to hide her smile. "Her own mother says, with some regularity, that Catherine wants watching. Ofttimes she says so to the girl herself. This Catherine has never been heard to answer back. Indeed, she speaks so little that one wonders if she is slow-witted."

"What of Master Randall Denholm? What is it that ails him?" The disrobing complete at last, Lady Appleton slipped a night robe on over her shift for warmth and gestured for Jennet to build up the fire.

"Now he's a strange one." A note of disdain came into Jennet's voice as she coaxed the dying embers to life. She wrinkled her nose as smoke drifted out at her. She was accustomed to better fireplaces at home in Kent.

"How is he strange?"

"He spends all his time in the garden, tending herbs and flowers like a goodwife. Mistress Denholm has no use for that, and less for him. He is afflicted with deafness, and swelling of the knees, no doubt from all that kneeling in the garden. And impotence."

Lady Appleton tried unsuccessfully to hide a small smile. "I thought you said the servants were reluctant to gossip about their betters."

Jennet laughed. "That last is old news. He was kicked in the privates by a horse years ago. Managed to get Catherine on his wife afterward, but the effort must have finished him." She tried to picture the frail old man making love to his ma.s.sive wife but in that endeavor even Jennet's rich imagination failed her.

"She must have been a handsome woman once," Lady Appleton mused. "We all thicken with age, Jennet. Even young maidservants. Mark may have told you that we found and talked with Edith yesterday."

Jennet could not contain a little gasp. "Edith, madam?" She recollected that name well. It was Edith who was supposed to be haunting Appleton, or so Mistress Denholm had told Lady Appleton who had told Jennet.

And Mark had not said a word. She'd have something to say to him about that on the morrow.

"Indeed. She's very much alive and well. And she is not our ghost, not even if, as I believe, we saw some human creature pretending to be a spirit. Edith was never any part of that. Once she was a plump and pretty girl, attractive to young men and old alike. After two years and the bearing of two children, she has a girth that makes her seem to be with child even though she is not."

Jennet chewed on her lower lip, distracted. If having children turned women into mountains, that seemed an excellent reason not to marry, almost as sound as the one she'd already expressed, several times, to Mark, that too many children could turn a lissome, comely woman into a lifeless, haggard stick, more worn and twisted with each successive birth. Childbearing had done that to many she knew back home in Kent.

And yet, when Mark was giving her his full attention, when he was blatantly trying to seduce her, it was hard to remember why she did not want to let him come too close. Jennet had known him for years without ever suspecting he'd suddenly gain this power to attract her. Sometime when she wasn't looking, he'd grown into his feet.

Jennet realized that Lady Appleton had been speaking to her and that she hadn't heard a word. She mumbled an apology, then flushed guiltily when she caught sight of her mistress's knowing smile. Though she did not truly believe she was fooling anyone, Jennet pretended she'd just been pondering Lady Appleton's announcement.

"So Edith is not dead," Jennet mused, "and she is fat, besides. Then who is it that is haunting Appleton?" Jennet realized then that she'd made one mistake. She had never asked the maids at Denholm who they thought the ghost was. She'd just a.s.sumed that her mistress already had the right of it, for it was not like Lady Appleton to make mistakes.

Instead of answering, Lady Appleton posed a question of her own. "What did Grizel see the night John Bexwith died?"

"A flash of something white on the stairs."

"No more than that?"

"She admitted she added more details later, after others saw the spirit, too."

"What others?"

"Now there is a most strange thing. When I pressed her, she grew confused and did not seem to know who else claimed to have seen her ghost. She would not explain how she knew any had."

"Is she the sort of girl capable of making up a story to gain attention?"

"She's not clever enough. But she might well think first of a ghost if she were frightened. She's the most superst.i.tious person I've ever met. Carries a stone to bed with her to ward off nightmares, and did so even before Master Bexwith's sudden death."

"Carbuncle, no doubt. There are many people who believe it can drive away devils and overcome sorrow, and keep one safe from shipwreck and drowning, too."

Jennet sniffed disdainfully, completely forgetting that she still had moments when she believed Appleton Manor might have a resident ghost.

"So, what Grizel saw might have been the wind stirring a paper or a piece of fabric. A pity she insists it was white or we might put the blame on Dame Cat. No matter. Now we must find out what persons saw this apparition later, and what, precisely, they did see. It is possible the story grew from nothing at all. Or that others were treated to the same vision we were, designed to build on the wild claim Grizel made. The real question is, who would want to frighten everyone away, leaving Appleton Manor abandoned and empty?"

"Outlaws?" Jennet suggested, seeing visions of Robin Hood and his band making themselves comfortable in the great hall for the winter.

"Someone more closely involved with Bexwith, I do think. Now, tell me, Jennet, what Grizel said about his last moments. Did she see him fall ill?"

"No, madam. Grizel served him his meal and went off to fetch ale from the b.u.t.tery, but someone had taken away the candles, so she had to go and fetch a lamp from the kitchen and there fell into some talk with the cook, who warned her that Bexwith meant to have her warm his bed. Grizel did not believe it. They argued over it and all in all it was near to half an hour before she went back and found him dead."

"And the condition of the body?"

With a grimace, Jennet repeated all she'd learned. Grizel hadn't wanted to talk about that, either, but she had confirmed that Bexwith's eyes, when they'd lifted his head in hope of reviving him, were wide open and staring. "In horror," she added, as Grizel had.

"Making Grizel look for some cause of it. What about smells? Did she notice his breath?"

"Death smells." Jennet did not need to elaborate.

"Had he vomited?"

"Grizel did not approach close enough to tell. It was the cook who touched him."

Lady Appleton nodded, unsurprised that Grizel had been so cowardly. "She'll not have noticed the color of his skin, then, either, but mayhap Mabel Hussey did. We must locate her, and the other servants. What did Grizel tell you of the meal Bexwith ate?"

"Marrow-bone pie is marrow bones, currants, dates, artichokes, sugar, and . . . " Jennet struggled to remember the odd name Grizel had used . . . "eryngo."

"Eryngo?"

Had she got it wrong? "That is what Grizel said, madam. Is it an herb?"

"'Tis the candied root of sea holly."

"A poison, madam?"