Jennet's husband, Mark, arrived at the Crowne on Pa.s.sion Sunday, bringing their children with him and accompanied by Lionel, Fulke, and Jennet's sister-by-marriage, who had been looking after the three young Jaffreys in Jennet's absence.

Lady Appleton, who had sent Fulke to Leigh Abbey merely to inform Mark that they were now in London, needed only one quick glance at the little group to realize that Jennet had sent a message of her own. "In my chamber," she ordered. "Now."

"Do you think she is angry?" Mark asked.

Jennet did not bother to answer.

The inn's rooms were large and well furnished, with hardwood floors and plaster walls. Lady Appleton's chamber contained a bed, a chair, a window seat and a table set out with green, lead-glazed earthenware mugs and an earthenware jug filled with the best ale. Lady Appleton did not offer her steward a drink. She waved Mark and Jennet in, closed the door, and stood with her back against it.

"Well, Mark?"

"Madam?"

"Why have you brought your children to London?"

"Mistress Rosamond needs other little ones to play with," Jennet suggested, in the faint hope that Lady Appleton had not guessed their true intent-to gather the family together in preparation to flee the country.

"Indeed, she does," Lady Appleton agreed, "but I had planned to send her to Leigh Abbey, not import playmates for her."

This was news to Jennet. She frowned, unsure how to respond.

"Rosamond is my heir," Lady Appleton informed Mark.

Jennet made a sound of protest, but Lady Appleton did not give her time to speak.

"I have lawyers working to a.s.sure her right to inherit even if I am executed for killing her father. Matters will, however, be much simpler if I can avoid that fate. In either case, her mother and I have agreed that Rosamond should live at Leigh Abbey."

Mark looked worried.

"Are there problems?" Lady Appleton asked.

"No more than there were when you left."

"Ah. People believe I am guilty."

"They would not be so certain of it if Alys Putney had kept her mouth shut. She and her husband have gone out of their way to spread rumors. They even claim you have done other murders, madam, using poisons from that book you wrote."

Lady Appleton closed her eyes as if she fought a wave of pain. Jennet knew what she was thinking. Lady Appleton had never poisoned anyone. She'd written her cautionary herbal in an attempt to save lives, but other less scrupulous people had realized that they could find recipes for death within its pages. For that, Jennet's mistress held herself accountable.

"Go on," Lady Appleton said to Mark. "What else do the Putneys say?"

"They talk of making a special trip to London to attend your trial and witness your execution. Alys seems to relish that prospect in particular."

"How delightful." Lady Appleton sounded more amused than annoyed. "You give me greater incentive, Mark, to discover the ident.i.ty of the real murderer. I am loath to provide so much entertainment for my husband's former mistress. But, tell me, what other news from Leigh Abbey?"

"Jennet's cow is thriving." Mark grinned.

Jennet did not see the humor in his remark, but she shared his relief at being able to turn the conversation away from the coming trial.

"Excellent," Lady Appleton declared. "And the other livestock?"

Mark made his report. It evolved into a discussion of spring planting and from there the talk moved on to the subject of the increased cost of fish in Lent. Jennet stopped listening. Instead, she brooded.

Little had been accomplished since their arrival in London. They'd found nothing helpful in Sir Robert's lodgings. Questioning residents of that area of London had yielded no useful information. Even a meeting with Nicholas Baldwin had been futile.

Leigh Abbey's nearest neighbor was a merchant of the staple, as his father had been. His primary business was the export of wool, but he also owned several ships. In his younger days, he had gone as a stipendiary to Muscovy and traveled much in exotic lands. After finding the maps Sir Robert had left behind, Lady Appleton had hoped Master Baldwin might help her trace Sir Robert's movements in the days before his death.

"Jennet?"

Recalled to the present, Jennet started and stared. Lady Appleton's brows lifted. "Woolgathering? Making more plans to a.s.sure my well-being?"

The sarcastic question pushed Jennet into impulsive speech. "You cannot expect us to allow you to forfeit your life."

"You must not act rashly," Lady Appleton warned.

"We must act as we see fit. Legal or illegal, it matters not when-"

"Jennet! I cannot allow this." She put one hand on Jennet's shoulder, the other on Mark's forearm. "Think, my dear friends. If you try to rescue me and fail, you will yourselves be put on trial. You have children to think of, your own and Rosamond. Take them to Leigh Abbey. Stay there. If the worst happens and the Crown seizes all I own, I have Catherine's promise that she will look out for you."

Tears stained Jennet's cheeks. It would not come to that. She'd not allow it, no matter what Lady Appleton said.

When Mark left for Leigh Abbey the next morning, he took the children, but Jennet stayed at her mistress's side.

Chapter 36.

"Come, Bates. We've places to go. People to see."

"The stews again?" There was a hopeful note in his voice.

In the three weeks they'd been back in London, Bates had ceased to be either surprised or shocked by the breadth of Susanna's acquaintance. She'd twice visited the Sign of the Smock, the brothel in Southwark where she'd left her horse on the day she'd gone to Westminster to meet Robert.

Vincent Cheyne, who owned the place now, had access to the underworld of London, where rumors flew and secrets proliferated. Just as Walter had investigated the possibility that some foreign power had wanted Robert dead, Vincent was trying to verify that no one connected to the brothels, past or present, had taken a hand in the murder.

"Not today, Bates," she told her guard. "Our destination this time is Whitehall."

An hour later, she was private with the Lady Mary in the same room over the water gate where they had met before. Once again she'd come in response to a letter from the n.o.blewoman.

"I intend to ask the queen to pardon you if you are found guilty," the Lady Mary said.

"I appreciate your kindness, my lady," Susanna replied, "but the queen may not be inclined to grant a pardon. The earl of Leicester has her ear, and he believes me guilty."

"The earl cannot compete with the one thing which it is in my power to trade for this favor. I mean to tell my cousin that I will give up my claim to the throne, renounce it forever, if she will let you go free."

Susanna struggled to hide her surprise and fought, too, with the oppressive sense of impending doom that had of late become her frequent companion. After all this time, they were no closer to finding proof of her innocence than they had been at the beginning.

"I pray it does not come to that, my lady," she said when she had control of her emotions, "and that there will be no need for you to make such a sacrifice."

"It is no great sacrifice," the Lady Mary a.s.sured her, "though Queen Elizabeth will never believe that. I have always longed to disentangle myself from the intrigues of the court. I have no desire to rule this land and little hope, in truth, of surviving my cousin to do so. The royal blood in my veins does naught but threaten my happiness."

"Your... happiness?"

"Aye." She lowered her voice, though there was no one in the room with them to overhear what she said. "Once I am no longer in line for the succession, I will be able to marry the man I love."

Susanna felt her face lose its color. When the Lady Mary's sister, the Lady Catherine, had found herself to be with child, she had confided in Lady St.Loe, and even though that gentlewoman had promptly betrayed her trust, she'd ended up spending an uncomfortable stretch in the Tower of London, imprisoned for the misfortune of knowing what she should not. The Lady Mary had just placed Susanna in the selfsame untenable position.

"Your pardon, my lady, but there is a flaw in your logic."

"What flaw?" It was plain to Susanna that she had not given the Lady Mary the response she had hoped for.

"Any child you bear in wedlock will have a claim to the throne. The queen will not grant you permission to marry for that reason and if you elope, as your sister did, you will doubtless share her fate-separated from your husband and imprisoned for the rest of your life."

"I thought you were my friend!" the Lady Mary shouted. The Tudor blood in her veins became readily apparent when she lost her temper. "I expected you to be happy for me!"

"Friends must be honest with one another," Susanna said in a quiet voice.

"Here's honesty, then! If you do not agree to help me to marry, in secret if need be, I will not lift a finger to prevent your execution."

Stifling a sigh, Susanna sketched a curtsey. She owed the Lady Mary a great deal. "I will do all I can for you, no matter the outcome of the trial, but I beg you, my lady, for your own sake, be discreet."

Mollified, the Lady Mary gave a regal nod, told her she would hold her to her promise, and dismissed her.

The quickest way back to the Crowne from Westminster was by water. As she boarded a wherry for the short journey, Susanna caught herself wishing she and Bates had come on horseback. Her stomach lurched in response to every bob of the small boat.

Susanna frowned and considered her symptoms. Could there be another cause? No, she supposed not. She knew this particular feeling all too well. And yet, ever since that incident at Coventry, she had found herself watching her companions closely, noting every morsel each of them ate, alert for any sign of a reaction. A worrying possibility nagged at her-had someone added poison to their food? She did not like to think that her quest for Robert's killer had placed her friends in jeopardy.

As the unsettled feeling grew stronger, Susanna was obliged to abandon her deliberations and fix her gaze on the near sh.o.r.e. If she stared at it and willed herself to ignore the physical discomfort she could combat the sense of panic that accompanied it. She knew now that she was not ill. This was only an unfortunate reaction to being afloat on the Thames.

It galled her that the condition seemed to be growing more acute. If she did not remember to dose herself with ginger or peppermint, and that on top of the ginger root already contained in her daily tonic, she could scarce abide the sight of open water. In the course of the last year, what had once been a simple case of mal de mer on choppy seas had grown into something much more pervasive.

Susanna's relief was near overwhelming when the wherry set them ash.o.r.e just west of London bridge. It was high tide, the boatman said, and he did not wish to risk shooting the arches. Susanna applauded his caution. Stronger stomachs than hers had been overset during such fast and dangerous rides beneath the bridge.

"We are hard by Master Baldwin's place of business," she told Bates after she had surveyed the immediate area. When she'd last been here, it had been in Walter's company. It occurred to her now, somewhat belatedly, that if Baldwin knew Walter was an intelligence gatherer, he might have been loath to share information. But if she returned alone. . .

Billingsgate harbor was the largest inlet east of London Bridge and was located convenient to the Customs House. All manner of wares were unloaded onto its wharves. From the old parish church of St. Botolph, which had been secularized and was now let out as chambers and apartments, she had no difficulty spotting the large stone building that housed Baldwin's business. A cavernous warehouse occupied the entire ground floor. On the upper level were a hall, kitchen, and parlor.

When she and Bates gave their names and were shown into the latter, Susanna expected to find Nick Baldwin waiting. Instead, she faced a formidable female some two decades her senior. From certain similarities about the eyes and chin, Susanna concluded this was Baldwin's mother. His father, she recalled, had died shortly before the younger Baldwin's return to England from a long sojourn in Muscovy and Persia.

Susanna's hostess did not seem pleased to have visitors. She folded plump, beringed hands over her stomacher and regarded both Susanna and Bates with distaste. The hands, too, gave away her ident.i.ty. Like her son, she had short, thick fingers.

Susanna was unsure what to say. With a sense of mild surprise, she realized that although she'd come to ask Baldwin specific questions, she'd also counted on using him as a sounding board. Her old friends were blindly loyal to her. Those under suspicion had their own agendas. She longed to discuss what little she had found out with someone who was not directly involved in the investigation.

"I am Winifred Baldwin," the woman said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Nick is my son."

"Forgive my intrusion, Mistress Baldwin. I am Susanna Appleton. I came in the hope that your son might have uncovered information concerning my late husband's plans to journey to Muscovy."

Mistress Baldwin's nostrils flared. "Muscovy? Cursed place!"

Susanna had noticed the contents of the small parlor when she first entered it. Now her gaze slipped unbidden to the proof that, however much she might dislike her son's interest in trade with the east, she enjoyed its benefits. Every table was covered with Turkey carpet. A chased-silver timepiece sat on the one nearest the hearth. Another held a delicate green gla.s.s vase containing an arrangement of dried flowers. Even Mistress Baldwin herself displayed the advantages of trade with exotic ports. She wore an underdress of silk, doubtless from Persia, and a gown trimmed with lettice fur from Muscovy. Her hands were adorned with a small fortune in opals.

"Cursed it may be," said a deep voice from the doorway, "but always profitable." Baldwin nodded to Susanna as he crossed the room to kiss his mother's leathery cheek.

"Your father never saw the need to travel farther than Calais," she grumbled.

"Calais no longer belongs to England," he reminded her.

"Antwerp, then."

An apprentice had followed Baldwin into the room, his dark fustian and plain linen a marked contrast to his master's flame-colored satin doublet. Baldwin's surcoat and cap were plain black wool, but his shirt was of lawn and elaborately embroidered.

"Lady Appleton and I have business to discuss in the counting house," he told his mother.

She sputtered a protest, but he whisked Susanna and Bates from the room. The apprentice remained behind to a.s.sure their privacy.

A few minutes later, Bates had been relegated to the street outside the warehouse, and Susanna was alone with Baldwin in the small, cluttered room from which he ran his business. "I have been unable to find anyone who dealt with Sir Robert," he told her. "I am sorry."

Baldwin motioned for her to take the chair pulled up to his writing table. In neat order atop it were a leather-bound ledger st.i.tched with crisscross vellum and buckled with leather straps, two slender pewter inkwells, an a.s.sortment of quills, a box of sand to sprinkle over the wet ink of his letters, and his seal and signet ring.

Susanna felt too restless to sit. She shook her head and went to the small chamber's only window. It looked east along the river.

"Have you found out any more about your husband's plans to go to Muscovy?"

Susanna turned her back on the window. Baldwin stood beside a carved wooden shelf that held several standing boxes made of spruce and pinewood and hasped with steel. She presumed they contained papers he had filed. Tucked in beneath the shelf was a round moneybox. A pomander ball hung down next to it, scenting the air with cloves.

"Sir Walter continues to ask questions," Susanna said. "Answers are rare."

Baldwin's intent gaze discomfited her. She evaded it by pretending an interest in the narrow laths that ran around the paneled walls. They served, she saw, as letter racks.

"I have found nothing to indicate he did intend to journey to Muscovy. Only one annual journey is possible by the northern route England controls. Ships leave London in May and return between August and October."

Susanna considered this. "Then either Robert laid his plans well in advance, or he had some other scheme in mind." It would have been dangerous to wait around London that long after she brought him the gold. On the other hand, he had paid for his lodgings in Silver Street through Easter.

"He might have intended to purchase his own ship. The Muscovy Company is supposed to control all trade between England and Russia, but in practice free agents trade in Narva, on the Baltic. Even merchants who are part of the Muscovy Company sometimes engage in private trade."

He slanted a smile in her direction and reminded her that he had himself made such an expedition to Persia, without official backing. He had acquired considerable wealth as a result. For a little while, Susanna permitted herself to talk of such pleasant things as spices and silk and exotic locales, but in the end, she had to return to her present dilemma.

He made a most excellent sounding board, even if talking to him did not lead her to any new conclusions. "Did Robert ever speak to you of your travels?" she asked when she had gone to stand by the window again. She saw that a large ship had anch.o.r.ed in mid river while they'd talked. A second was maneuvering away from the Customs House. "I do not doubt what you said when I came here in Sir Walter's company, but perhaps there is more you are willing to say outside his hearing?"

"You know Sir Robert and I spoke of my travels on one occasion. We met in my house in Kent a short time before he left on his mission to Spain."

That had been the same trip that had taken him away from England and prevented him from knowing of it when Eleanor gave birth to Rosamond. Susanna also remembered that the meeting between the two men had not been an amicable encounter. Baldwin had taken an instant dislike to his new neighbor. When Susanna had first met him a few days later, the animosity had initially spilled over onto her.

"I thought perhaps you had seen him again," she said softly, "or had some word of him."