Face Down among the Winchester Geese (27 page)

"She will get away with murder."

"She already has."

He kept walking, past the brothel that now belonged to him, escorting Susanna and her party all the way to Paris Garden Stairs. He signaled to a passing boat, which immediately veered toward shore to pick them up.

"Lady Appleton,” Vincent said in a firm voice that brooked no argument. “The man who murdered seven women is dead. Killed to prevent him from murdering an eighth. There will be no more St. Mark's Day victims. We know Heloise bears some guilt for these killings, but she has long paid bribes to all the local officials to look the other way no matter what she does. In her own sphere, she has money and power and influence."

"And I am just an ordinary gentlewoman, easy to ignore."

"Leave it be, Lady Appleton. You have done what you set out to do."

Yes, Susanna thought as she stepped in to the wherry and was borne away from Southwark. She had done what she had set out to do. She had cleared Robert of any suspicion of murder. A bitter victory. She had even, through her fortuitous acquaintance with the Lady Mary, kept her husband's name clear of charges of treason. That triumph, she thought, tasted more bitter still, for she must present herself henceforth as a widow, living a lie.

Swallowing bile, she steeled herself to return to Catte Street, pack, and make the journey back to Leigh Abbey. In a month or two, according to the plan the Lady Mary had devised, Sir Walter would visit her there to bring word of Robert's death.

Three Months Later

Accompanying her mistress from the chapel, Jennet walked close to her side in the hope of shielding her from questions. And from an excess of sympathy. Sunday services gathered everyone together. There was no escape from neighbors and friends.

Jennet was surpassing glad they had left London behind. All summer long, stories had filtered out into the Kent countryside to tell of the vicissitudes brought by the spread of the plague. Fires burned in the streets every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, in an attempt to correct the corruption in the air. Any dogs or cats found running loose were slaughtered, for fear they carried the disease. And the Spanish ambassador had died of it in August, though some said worry about his debts, and other matters, had been what really killed him.

Now it was autumn again, the harvest season. In the past, Sir Robert had been accustomed to leave them at this time of year, bound on one mission or another. Jennet was glad he was gone for good.

All but a few trusted members of the household believed he had died abroad, of the plague. A nice touch, that. Sir Walter's doing.

"I wonder if we will ever know what happened to him?” she mused a short time later.

Alone with Lady Appleton, Jennet helped her remove an elaborate black headdress. A widow was expected to wear mourning for the remainder of her life. Unless she remarried. Not likely, Jennet thought. Except for the unrelenting use of black in all her clothing, the death of a husband gave a woman complete freedom of choice.

"I think we will,” Lady Appleton said.

For a moment Jennet stared at her blankly, having forgotten she'd asked a question.

"He'll turn up one day, when we least expect it.” Lady Appleton managed a sad smile and spoke with what sounded suspiciously like fondness. “Knowing Robert,” she said, “he'll even find a way to land on his feet."