And if she could not?

Well, Susanna decided, finding more amus.e.m.e.nt than she'd expected in the defiant thought, she would face her execution with dignity... and shake the truth out of Robert when she met him again in the hereafter.

With that idea in her mind, she drifted into exhausted sleep and dreamed that she and Robert had agreed to work together once more, this time with none of the acrimony that had always existed between them in life. They left the heavenly realm to return to earth and haunt Robert's murderer.

Although Susanna could not quite make out that person's ident.i.ty, her slumbering form relaxed. Her lips curved into the shadow of a smile.

Chapter 39.

Sessions House, Old Bailey Street May 9, 1565 The simple, unadorned building containing the Justice Hall where Lady Appleton would be tried was surrounded by secluded, enclosed gardens.

"Sir Walter tells me they were added for the comfort and amus.e.m.e.nt of the justices," Lady Appleton said as she and Jennet paused a moment before going in.

Fulke and Bates stood a little apart, having escorted the two women through London at Lady Appleton's request. She had insisted upon walking all the way from the Crowne, saying it might be her last chance to experience the joyous bustle and confusion of that great city.

Jennet looked into the garden with little enthusiasm. Then her gaze shifted to the steep hill running down toward Fleet Ditch and Holborn Bridge. She sighed. It was too late now to convince her mistress to run.

As soon as Lady Appleton entered the hall, she surrendered herself to the sheriff. Even though she had returned of her own volition, she was shackled and turned over to a gaoler, as if she were the worst sort of felon.

Jennet's protests were cut short just before she was herself arrested. Sir Walter seized her firmly by the arm and escorted her behind the wooden barrier he called the bar of the court. It was situated below the judges' bench and opposite a long green-baize table. Lady Appleton remained at the back with the gaoler and the other prisoners the sheriff had delivered to court from Newgate.

"Stand here," Sir Walter ordered, "and be silent."

The rest of their party had already arrived and made places for themselves in the midst of counsels, attorneys, and observers from the general population.

Jennet's heart pounded in her ears and she wanted to scream with frustration, but she forced herself to be calm. She had to think. Had to plan. Had to look for escape routes.

Notice everything. That was what Lady Appleton always advised. Jennet took a deep breath and looked around her.

Noise and confusion greater than anything they'd encountered on the walk through London abounded in this cramped s.p.a.ce. The smell of humanity packed too close together added to the bad feeling Jennet had about this place. Her fingers went to the sprig of celandine she'd pinned at her waist. Wearing that plant to court was supposed to win favor from judge and jury. To work properly, it should have been Lady Appleton who wore the herb on her person but she had refused, just as she had rejected Jennet's alternate suggestion that she carry gillyflowers. Jennet's gaze fell on Alys Putney, dressed very fine for an innkeeper's wife and clinging to her husband's arm. When she caught Jennet staring at her, she sneered. She was gloating, the stupid sow! Jennet's fists clenched at her sides. No matter the outcome of this trial, she vowed, she would find a way to make Alys sorry for that.

The next person Jennet recognized was Master Baldwin, just entering the sessions house in company with a woman older than he was. His mother? She got a sour look on her face when she realized her son was watching Lady Appleton, an expression of despair in his eyes. Jennet blinked. Master Baldwin cared about her, as a man cared for a woman. She sighed. His feelings signified nothing if he had not discovered a way to set Lady Appleton free.

A sudden stirring in the crowd warned Jennet that the judges were about to come into the court. Fanfare and solemn procession marked their progress to the raised bench. Jennet's eyes widened at the display of brilliant colors. The judges were in robes which varied in hue from scarlet to violet, and the serjeants-at-law were even more brilliantly attired in parti-colored robes, blue on one side and green on the other. The junior counsels and clerks blended into the woodwork in comparison to their superiors.

As soon as the judges and their entourage were seated, the voice of a crier filled the hall. Jennet tugged on Sir Walter's sleeve. "What is he saying. I cannot understand a word of it."

"No one does. The language of law is a doggerel mixture of Latin, Norman French, and English." His words were clipped, his tone cold, though Jennet noticed he had moved closer to Eleanor Lowell, who stood on the other side of him. As Jennet watched them out of the corner of her eye, Sir Walter took Eleanor's hand.

Jennet fidgeted throughout the preliminary business conducted by the court. She wished she had someone to hold her hand and offer her comfort. Mark was still at Leigh Abbey.

"Susanna Appleton," the clerk called out in a remarkable nasal voice. "Come to the bar."

Sir Walter went stiff as a pikestaff, his free hand clenching and unclenching convulsively. Lady Appleton, her face pale as a winding sheet, came and stood where the clerk indicated.

"The jurors and our lady the queen do present that Susanna Appleton of Leigh Abbey in the county of Kent, widow of Sir Robert Appleton, knight, on three January . . ."

Jennet blocked out the rest of the d.a.m.ning words. Lies. All lies. But they had not found Sir Robert's real murderer and thus had no way to halt these proceedings.

A brief silence in the courtroom jerked Jennet's attention back to the clerk, a short man with a heavy pelt of hair, an aggressive set to his shoulders, and an air of self-importance about him. He had finished reading the indictment. "How sayest thou, Susanna Appleton?" he asked. "Art thou guilty of this felony, as it is laid in the indictment whereof thou standest indicted, or not guilty?"

"Not guilty." Lady Appleton's clear, steady voice carried to every corner of the courtroom. The clerk was not impressed. "Culprit, how wilt thou be tried?"

"By G.o.d and the country."

"G.o.d send thee a good deliverance." With a chilling absence of outward emotion, the clerk scribbled a few words on the indictment papers.

Lady Appleton's irons and shackles were removed, and she was permitted to sit and allowed pen and paper. It would have been a blessing, Jennet thought, if they might start the trial right then. Instead, the clerk arraigned another prisoner on the next indictment and then another, continuing on until there were sufficient for a jury to try.

Jury selection did not take much time. Although all the accused were informed that they might challenge any of the jurors, none did. Each unchallenged juror was sworn with the same words: "You shall well and truly try and true deliverance make between our sovereign lady the queen and the prisoners at the bar whom you shall have in charge, and a true verdict give according to your evidence. So help you G.o.d." As each took the oath, the clerk marked down his name. When twelve men had been so marked, he issued another command. "Countez."

The crier, the man possessed of that wonderfully resonant voice, counted the jurors as the clerk once again read over their names. Once they had heard their charge, they were told to stand to the right of the clerk's table, behind the accused. They heard two cases, each in less than ten minutes, before they came to Lady Appleton.

"Look upon the prisoner, you that be sworn," the clerk commanded, "and hearken to her cause. You shall understand that she is here indicted."

He continued speaking for some minutes, again reciting the indictment against Lady Appleton and adding that she had entered the plea of not guilty. The jurors were then charged to inquire whether she was guilty or not, and the trial commenced. The deposition the examining justice had taken was read out first. Then the Crown's witnesses entered the court.

Jennet leaned forward as Ned Higgins, owner of the Black Jack Tavern, swore the evidence he gave was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She felt relief when he said he'd not seen Lady Appleton put poison in her husband's meal, but it was clear he thought her guilty.

So did the crowner who'd examined the body and the constable who had questioned those in the crowd around the Eleanor Cross.

"A man told you he saw the accused with the deceased at the Black Jack?" the trial judge, a burly man with a bulbous nose, asked the constable.

"Aye."

"What man?"

"I know not, m'lord. 'E did not stay to be questioned further, but 'e swore 'twas true, right enough. Said 'e knew 'er by the way she walked and the color of 'er 'air."

There could not have been much to see of either, Jennet thought, in the dimness of the tavern or in the darkness of the evening outside. She glanced at the jurors but could not tell what they thought of the evidence. They listened with every indication of interest, intrigued, no doubt, by the novelty of trying a gentlewoman.

A woman testified next, saying she'd been in the crowd around the Eleanor Cross and heard Lady Appleton claim her husband had been poisoned.

"She admitted her guilt?" The queen's counsel pounced on that tidbit.

The woman looked confused and repeated what she'd already said. Jennet breathed a sigh of relief, but the emotion was short lived. Far more damaging testimony came next, in the form of a deposition given by the earl of Leicester.

Sir Walter's face went taut and even Lady Appleton's control slipped for an instant during the reading of this doc.u.ment. Leicester's words left their hearer with the impression that if Lady Appleton knew poison had been used, it must follow that she had been the one to administer it.

"But it was the fall and a blow to the head that actually killed Sir Robert," Jennet protested in a whisper.

"That is irrelevant." Sir Walter did not look at her as he answered. His gaze had fixed on the man making his way toward them around the periphery of the hall-one of his agents.

Jennet's hopes rose again when the fellow delivered a note to Sir Walter, only to be dashed once more by his reaction to its contents.

Sir Walter read the missive, then crumpled it in one hand, and used the other to ma.s.sage his temples.

Chapter 40.

Tension gripped Walter Pendennis. He knew now what the Scotswoman had intended when she fled. Catherine had been right about her. But Annabel's efforts on Susanna's behalf might have unforeseen consequences.

The queen was already disinclined to be lenient with Susanna Appleton. The crime with which she was charged was called "petty treason" because a husband was considered to be the head of the household in the same way a monarch was the head of a country. To the queen's way of thinking, if she allowed petty treason then she encouraged high treason. That Catherine de'Medici was willing to offer Susanna sanctuary in France, proposing exile instead of execution, would only irritate Elizabeth Tudor. The queen of England did not respond well to anything she perceived as interference in the governing of her realm. In particular, she did not like being dictated to by the French.

He could save Susanna by claiming he'd killed Robert, Walter thought. He glanced at Eleanor. He would do so if Susanna cast suspicions her way. He looked back at Susanna. She was so brave. So fierce. He still loved her, but not as a man loved the woman he wanted to marry, not enough to sacrifice his own hope of happiness for her sake.

Susanna began to tell her story in a clear, even voice, revealing that she'd been summoned to London by a letter from the husband she'd been told was dead. As she related the events of the evening of January 3, she made eye contact with each juror in turn. At intervals, she also sent a piercing glance in the direction of the spectators.

Why, Walter wondered, had she insisted he make sure everyone attend her trial? There had been no difficulty arranging it. Her friends came to support her. Her enemies wanted to see her suffer.

Walter surveyed the familiar faces closest at hand. Jennet chewed industriously on her lower lip, unaware that she'd made it bleed. Eleanor looked nervous, but that was only to be expected. She was worried about Susanna. They had become friends. And she knew how much he cared for the other woman.

Next to Eleanor was Catherine, who appeared close to tears. Beyond her stood Matthew Grimshaw, wearing the second new hat he'd acquired since coming to London. The fellow's wardrobe had undergone considerable change, an obvious attempt to compete with Walter's finery. The floppy brim of this fashionable bonnet shaded his face, making it difficult for Walter to make out his expression. He could see only Grimshaw's lips, which were compressed into a thin line as he listened to Susanna's testimony, and his beardless chin.

Walter's gaze skipped over Fulke and Bates to find the Lady Mary, her face hidden by a visor but her height making her instantly recognizable to any who'd met her. The tall man with her was also easy to identify by height-Thomas Keyes, keeper of Whitehall's water gate. Some said he was the tallest man in the kingdom.

Near them stood Constance Crane, a sour expression on her face. If Walter had not called upon her in person and insisted, he doubted she'd have come. Susanna had asked that she be present, he'd told her. Constance had protested that Lady Northampton could not be left alone. Walter had threatened to discuss the matter with Lady Northampton himself. To shield her dying mistress, Constance had given in.

Walter's gaze went next to Nicholas Baldwin and the woman at his side. His mother, Walter a.s.sumed. She hung on every word with avid interest, her eyes glittering, her lips pursed as tightly as Matthew Grimshaw's. It was so apparent to Walter that she did not like Susanna that he began to wonder if there might be another explanation for the attack on her in Billingsgate. A woman whose only son took an interest in someone she deemed unsuitable could be driven to desperate measures. It was pa.s.sing convenient that the villain was dead and unable to tell anyone who had hired him.

Walter shifted his attention to Leonard Putney on that thought. If anyone had the means to recruit ruffians, it was the Dover innkeeper. A sneer curled Putney's lip as he listened to Susanna's version of events. He was enjoying the prospect of witnessing her ruin. Next to him, Alys wore an expression that could only be called smug. It grew more so when the queen's counsel interrupted Susanna with a question.

"Is it not true, Lady Appleton, that the herbal you wrote is naught but a guidebook for murderers?"

For just a moment, a flash of guilt showed in Susanna's eyes. It must have been evident to the jurors that she was aware it had been used in just that way. Walter knew she had not written it with that purpose in mind, but they did not, and he feared they were already biased against her. They were ordinary men who had not much insight into the ways of the gentry and were further cursed with a deep-seated mistrust of educated women.

"That was not its intent," Susanna explained. "It is called 'a cautionary herbal.' It was written in the hope of preventing accidental deaths by poison. Because I had studied a number of poisonous herbs, however, I recognized certain signs that indicated my husband had ingested aconite." She enumerated them for the jury. "I never said I poisoned him, for I did not."

Susanna called no witnesses. She made no accusations against any other person. Instead, she made a plea for common sense.

Walter despaired until, as she referred to the sort of wild speculation that went on in a crowd drawn to the grim spectacle of a man's death, he saw a change come over her face.

Chapter 41.

Susanna knew who had killed Robert.

A tiny inconsistency she'd overlooked explained everything. Robert's death. The timing of the attack in Billingsgate.

She drew in a steadying breath.

Be calm, she ordered herself as the judge began to charge the jury.

She glanced at the crowd of spectators. At least her notoriety had served one purpose. No one had been inclined to leave the hall. They would stay until a verdict had been rendered, even the witnesses for the Crown.

"Good men, ye of the inquest," the judge intoned, "ye have heard what these men say against the prisoner. Ye have also heard what the prisoner can say for herself. Have an eye to your oath and to your duty, and do that which G.o.d shall put in your minds to the discharge of your consciences."

Speak now? Wait? Susanna knew she had a little time yet and she needed to think. It was not enough to know who had killed Robert. She had to be able to prove it.

The jurors would not decide her case until all the trials a.s.signed to them were over, and they retired to consider them all together. Nine more accused felons waited to have their cases heard.

Best to take that long to plan, Susanna decided. She had pen and paper. Ignoring the activity around her, she listed the alternatives Walter had explained to her that day at the Crowne.

Appeal to the Queen's Bench.

Reserved case.

Request for pardon.

Arrest of judgment.

The workings of the law were convoluted and disliked allowing for the possibility that an accused felon might be innocent. Susanna decided that her best chance to bring Robert's killer to justice would come when the jury handed down its verdict. At that point, while everyone was still in the courtroom, she would ask for an arrest of judgment.

Panic threatened for a moment as she contemplated the risk involved. If she was wrong, she'd have done naught but hasten her own death. The judge could p.r.o.nounce judgment at once, and she would be taken without delay to Tyburn.

But if she waited, she would lose the element of surprise. That, Susanna was convinced, was the one advantage she had. Accused without warning, the killer was sure to betray some sign of guilt. A confession was too much to hope for, but few people had complete control their reactions.

When the last case had been heard, a scant half hour after Susanna's, the jurors retired, given into the custody of a jury bailiff. They would not be gone long. They were kept without fire or refreshment until they reached their decisions.

They were back in ten minutes.

"What say you? Is she guilty or not guilty?" asked the clerk when it was Susanna's turn to her the verdict.

"Guilty," the foreman announced.

Although she had expected this, for a moment Susanna felt numb with shock. She scarcely heard the words as the clerk asked the jury to say what property the convict had, so that it could be seized. The convict. Her.

The usual reply was "none to our knowledge," but everyone knew Susanna was a wealthy gentlewoman. Her holdings were duly listed, a considerable number, though fewer than there had been when Robert died. She had managed to transfer ownership of a good many properties to Rosamond.

Then, in rapid succession, the verdicts in the other trials were delivered. Susanna's moment was almost upon her. She readied herself to speak, sending a brief prayer heavenward. For one weak moment, she wished she'd heeded Jennet and carried a nosegay of gillyflowers. They were said to be a preventative against untimely death on the scaffold.

"Well then," the clerk said to the jurors in the oddly-phrased manner proscribed by law, "you say that Susanna Appleton is guilty of the felony in manner and form as she stands indicted. So say you all?"