“Go to bed, Husband,” Catherine said, and William made his slow way back up. They watched until he was gone. “Now, what more can I tell you?”
“You can tell me why your husband’s master of horse is fled of a sudden and all the groomsmen and stable lads got bridles on their tongues. There’s something they know, and I’ll be damned if I won’t know it too.”
“Wait,” said Catherine. “I must fetch my maid. She and one of the groomsmen are sweethearts.” She ran back upstairs to her chamber, expecting to find Margaret rocking the baby, but the chair was empty. She walked through, calling, “Eleanor!”
The maid came out with her embroidery dangling from one hand. “Is he gone?”
“No. I need you downstairs. Where is Margaret?”
“I heard someone go out. I thought it was you.”
The constable squinted at Eleanor as she came down the stairs. “You the groomsman’s lady?”
Eleanor curtsied with downcast eyes. “I am no lady, sir, but Joseph Adwolfe and I are friends.”
“Friends, eh? I figure you are, girl, yes, I suppose you are. So tell me. What do the groomsmen know of these killings? They got the ladies’ money and valuables stashed amongst themselves out someplace on the property? Which one of ‘em done it, eh? I figure it’s got to be one that has strong arms. That isn’t your lad. He’s a long stick of a boy yet. But I figure he knows which of them is strong-armed. That right, girl?”
Eleanor was shaking all over, and she thrust her hands into her pockets. “I don’t . . . no one said a thing . . . .Geoffrey keeps his own counsel, sir. I don’t know what he told you.”
The constable leaned into her and his face was tight. “But your man does know, don’t he? And this Geoffrey is an angry man, I’m figuring. That right?”
Eleanor’s eyelids dropped and Catherine pushed her forward again. “Just say what you know,” said Catherine. “Tell the truth.”
“Joseph’s always said Geoff’s a good man. They do as they’re told. We’re not owners, sir, and we don’t have a choice.” Eleanor gulped and her knees buckled, but she recovered herself.
“No choice? You got no choice in the matter of breaking a woman’s neck?”
Now Eleanor buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “I don’t know a thing about women’s necks.”
“Enough,” said Benjamin. He had been leaning against the wall by the stairs, and he moved forward into the constable’s space, one hand out between the man and the maid. “She’s answered your questions. You’re torturing the poor girl. Let her be. She’s been with her mistress through this entire business.”
“Poor girls often know more than they say,” said Peter Grubb. “Dainty features can hide gross minds. But I reckon you can go on now, girl. Stay out of the stables for now, though, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.” Eleanor curtsied again. “May I go, Madam?” she asked Catherine.
“I will go with you,” said Catherine. She put her arm around the smaller woman’s shoulders and steered her around. Margaret was standing at the top of the stairs, holding Veronica.
“What is happening down there?” she demanded. “Peter Grubb, are you browbeating our house servants still?”
“I figure I’m done in the house for now,” said the constable, bowing. “I will be riding back home for now and asking my questions there. If I have leave to depart, Lady.”
Margaret pushed at the air with one neat hand. “Go, go on. Get out of here. Come back when you have a reason to be here.”
“Ladies. Sir.” The constable bowed twice and backed to the front door. Benjamin opened it for him, and he made his way out backward, as though he were leaving the royal presence. But as soon as the sunshine found him, he turned in the gravel on one heel and hurried to his servant, who was holding his horse in the front courtyard. The other men had vanished.
Benjamin closed the door, and behind it a twist of fresh green air swirled through the entryway. Catherine and Eleanor exhaled. “I said nothing, Madam,” said Eleanor. “Does he know that the master and Geoffrey quarreled?”
“I’m sure he’s had plenty of conversation with Geoffrey about all kinds of things,” said Catherine. She wondered where the other men had gone. Whether Adam Hastings was leading them.
Benjamin was frowning. “That man’s going to be back. And you had better be prepared for him to take some one of you with him.”
“Will he take Joseph away, do you think, Madam?” piped Eleanor as they went upstairs. “You must speak for him, you cannot let him be locked up.”
“We will watch from the window,” said Catherine. “I will go for him myself if they try to take Joseph.”
Margaret said, “This baby is still unwell,” and offered the small bundle. The baby was pale and limp in her aunt’s arms.
Catherine’s belly seized up. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She hasn’t cried,” said Margaret.
Catherine laid Veronica on the rushes and pulled off the clouts. She rubbed the chubby arms and legs, chafing the skin until the child squealed. Eleanor was bending at her side and Margaret did not move. The baby began to heave, and Catherine flipped her onto her stomach and patted her back until she retched onto the open cloth. The vomit looked sinister, dark and clotted, and Veronica shrilled in agony as the stuff came up. There was no time for privacy this time. Catherine drove her little finger down the tiny throat until her daughter emptied her stomach.
“Madam! You will choke her!” Eleanor knelt beside her.
Margaret said, “Don’t throttle the poor child!”
“I’m not throttling her,” said Catherine. “I’m getting whatever is making her sick out of her.” The baby threw up again, and Catherine gathered a bit of the stuff between her fingers and mashed it flat.
“What is going on here?” Benjamin had come up and he was on his knees next to Catherine. “What are you doing?”
“She is white as death. She is not breathing as she should. She needs to be emptied.”
“Should I send for a physician?” Benjamin put his hand on Catherine’s arm, and his touch was hot. “I will ride right now if you say yea.”
The baby shat loudly, wetly, and cried. Catherine pulled off the rest of the filthy clout and laid it aside. “These are precisely her symptoms from yesterday. She recovered quickly after her body evacuated itself.” Catherine picked up the naked baby and held her to her breast. She pressed her lips to the top of Veronica’s head. It was salty and damp. “Good. She sweats. It will clear her skin.” Catherine let her eyes slide over to Benjamin’s. He was very close to her. “I will see to Veronica if you will see to the groomsmen and stable boys. Make sure they’re ready for Grubb next time.”
Benjamin bowed. “As you order.”
She heard his boots clatter down the stone stairs and out the front door. “Well, you have made a conquest there,” said Margaret acidly. “I am glad my brother isn’t here to witness this.”
Catherine’s heart rose into her throat and she had no reply. “Come with me, Eleanor.” She started for her chamber, then turned. “Eleanor, would you gather up that mass and bring it? I would like to examine it.”
Eleanor scooped up the rushes and linens and came trotting along. Margaret called after her, “You must behave like an Overton, Catherine. Stand your ground. Will you hear me?”
Catherine kept walking. Walking like a Havens, she said to herself. Not an Overton.
58
Catherine wiped Veronica’s mouth out with water on a soft cloth, and she gagged and cried.
“O, baby, O little love,” said Eleanor, watching at her mistress’s elbow.
Catherine cleaned the small body of its waste and her daughter’s eyes drifted closed.
“Will she be all right?” asked Eleanor.
Catherine laid her hand softly on the Veronica’s chest, feeling the rhythm of the rise and fall. “She is breathing normally. Let her recover some and we will see if she eats.” She crawled into bed and settled Veron
ica next to her. “Come in with us.”
Eleanor eased herself onto the other side of the mattress and stroked the baby’s head. They lay there together, listening to the tiny sounds the baby made between them. Now and then Catherine moved her hand over the child, from chest to belly to forehead, back to chest. Eleanor’s eyes closed, and the light lost its grip on the high edge of the wall and began to slip downward. The baby squirmed and opened her eyes, and Catherine scooted into a sitting position. Veronica suckled a little and fell asleep again. Eleanor woke suddenly, sitting up as though she had been caught neglecting her post. “What o’clock is it?”
“Early yet. You slept for perhaps an hour. Veronica has taken some milk.”
Eleanor pulled back the blanket and peered at the little white face. “That’s a good sign.” “Very good. Where did you put those clouts? The ones from out by the stairs?”
“Here, Madam.” Eleanor rolled from the bed and laid them out on the small table by the window.
Catherine joined her and pulled back the curtain. The vomit was dry now, and its evil green hue had paled to grey. “This isn’t natural. I have never seen milk curdle to such a color.” She raised the clout and sniffed. “It smells like nothing.” She laid it down again and regarded the evidence before her. “I have never seen such a thing come out of a child that’s not yet weaned. It’s strange. Passing strange.” She put her hand on her own stomach. “Perhaps it is something in the ale I have drunk. Perhaps the wine has gone off.”
A clattering of hooves raised their eyes to the window. The constable had ridden in with a half-dozen men, and they all threw themselves from their saddles and marched forward like soldiers. Joseph met them at the stable door, and Catherine leaned out the open window to hear. She didn’t care if they saw her this time. Joseph was raising his hands, saying no, no, and the constable ordered his men to the house. “Spread out and be at all the doors,” he said, and Joseph was flung back and held at sword’s point when he tried to run for the kitchen.
Eleanor screamed, and a couple of the men looked up, shading their eyes. Catherine pushed her maid back. “Stay here. Come for me at once if Veronica struggles for air or vomits again.”
“Where will you be?” Eleanor’s eyes were bright with tears, and she wiped her face fiercely with the back of her hand, trying to be brave.
“I will not leave the house without informing you.” Catherine ran for the door, and, stopping as she went through, added, “Bolt this behind me.”
The men were already in the main hall and the dining gallery, their swords drawn. The servants had disappeared with alarming efficiency, and no one kept the intruders from the interior doors. Catherine came flying down the main stairs and found Benjamin, leaning against the newel post.
“Did you not even try to stop them?” Catherine cried. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
Benjamin recoiled from the heat of her anger. “I opened the door,” he said simply, but his voice sounded hollow and stunned. “I was having a glass in the gallery and I saw them ride up. No one came to meet them, so I did the service. And they drew on me. Here, in Overton House. Three of them. They are seeking to make arrests.”
“You are to be arrested?” Catherine said hotly. “On what charge? You are a guest here.”
“Not me,” Benjamin said slowly. “Not me.” He finally looked full on her. He was serious indeed.
“Then who?” asked Catherine. “It is not one of our people. Surely not.”
Something shrieked like a hare in a falcon’s talons, and they both looked up. Peter Grubb appeared at the head of the stairs. He must have taken the back way. He had known which chambers he sought. William was at his side, stooping and pallid, but the cry had not come from his mouth. They came down together and the constable bowed, a little stiffly, to Catherine.
“I must take your husband with me, Madam.”
“This is not possible,” whispered Catherine. “William?”
“No shackles, you see, Lady,” said Grubb. “We will treat him as his station demands. But his man has been talking, and I need the master to answer for him.”
“I will go, Catherine,” said William. “Let me have this settled. I will not be hunted down.” He embraced her swiftly. His body felt like a bag of loose twigs.
“I must come,” said Catherine. Two more of the watchmen came out behind Margaret. Her eyes drifted over the group below her, then she straightened. The men followed her down, past Catherine and Benjamin. There was no cry from her now. She was slow as a court lady.
“What do you mean, taking him?” Margaret demanded.
“I’ve got a man in the village,” repeated Peter Grubb. “I figure I need to get ‘em together before the stories go racing ever which way. You got aught to say about him, Madam?”
“I have nothing to say to you or any of yours,” Margaret said through her teeth. Her hair fell in yellow waves from under her coif, and she tucked it up. Her bodice was loose and one of her sleeves was unlaced. “I will come too.” The girl Connie hovered behind her.
“You cannot go into the street like that,” said Catherine. “You must cover your hair and fix your dress.”
“Get the lady a hood and a cape,” said the constable. “No one cares for fashion where we’re going today.”
Catherine started up the stairs, but Benjamin hooked her elbow. “I will ride with them. You stay here and keep your house calm.”
Catherine dared to look into his eyes. He was right. It was the sensible course of action. “Let me get her something to cover herself.”
“Run,” he said.
Catherine gathered her skirts and bounded upstairs, down the hall, into Margaret’s chamber. She grabbed a couple of hoods and capes, snatching up some gloves that lay discarded on a table, and came running back down as the constable was opening the door.
“Here.” She thrust the bundle at her sister-in-law. “This will do for the hair.”
Margaret twisted her fair hair into a knot and fixed it with its own ends. She threw on a hood, crookedly, and whipped on a cloak. She looked like a dignified scarecrow. She threw the other things at the thick-waisted maid. “Connie, get yourself together.”
Benjamin bowed low to Catherine. “I will fly back when there is news.” He let his eyes run up her front, and her cheeks were burning by the time his gaze met hers. “I will do what I can to help your husband with this mess. I promise it.” He took her hand and she let him have it long enough for a formal touch of the lips upon her knuckles.
Catherine’s legs went heavy as brass, but her mind lifted, light and feathery. Half in hell, half striving for heaven. “Benjamin—”
He pulled on his gloves. “I know,” he said, misunderstanding. He did not look at her but hesitated at the open door. “I will do what I can.”
59
Eleanor was jiggling the baby to keep her quiet when Catherine came back up, asking “Has anyone been here? Any of the watchmen?”
“Not a one, Madam. I heard them go by, and I heard Lady Margaret, then all was still. What is it? Have they taken my Joseph?”
“No. They took William, and Benjamin has followed. Margaret went with them. Stay here. Keep the door shut and locked in case they return.” She pulled at the blanket. “How is Veronica?”
“She sleeps like the angel she is.” Eleanor showed the baby’s pink face. Her lashes lay on her cheeks like brushstrokes. A thin rind of white crust had dried around her perfectly arched nostrils, but it was not fresh.
“Does she breathe like a normal infant?”
“As regular as a clock.” She bounced Veronica a few more times. “You will not let them arrest Joseph?”
“They haven’t taken him, I say. I will return shortly. Call out if you need me.”
“But Madam—”
“No arguments. I will be with you in a few minutes.”
Eleanor, nodding, flitted off down the little hall to her sleeping room. Catherine opened the heavy door and slipped out. She listened for
a few beats, but the house servants were still in hiding. Not even a chamber maid with a pot to be seen. She ran on her toes down the hall to William’s open rooms. If she was discovered, she wanted to be alone.
William’s brother Robert had had these rooms before he died, and they were still lush with the family furnishings. The house maids kept the clothes brushed and folded. The bed had two feather mattresses, and Catherine yanked the curtains aside and put her hand on the spread, thinking she would need a small ladder to climb into the thing. The chests contained nothing of note, no books or writing paper or secret letters. Catherine squatted next to a small cabinet and bethought herself. What did she think she would find in here? She picked at the lavender stems strewing the floor and felt a twinge of guilt in her gut. Benjamin was doing something useful, down in the village, trying to help find the truth. Catherine was stealing about the house, looking for God knew what. She sat, gazing around the sweet-smelling room.
“Madam? Can I be of service?”
Catherine’s heart skidded and she looked up to see Reg Goodall, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. She said, “Why are you here?”
“I live here,” he said simply. Then he sat on a nearby stool and folded his hands into the space between his knees and studied his knuckles. “Is there something I could assist you in finding?”
Suddenly unable to endure her shame, Catherine swept the herbs back into place under her feet and sat on the floor. “What’s happening, Reg? What do you know?”
The man shook his long head. “Not enough to make an accusation.” He unhooked his fingers and flicked them at the bed. “You seem to have pushed some of the girls’ fresh rushes underneath where they do no one any good.”
“What?” Catherine had accidentally shoved a few stems under the bed in kneeling to search the lower drawers. “Will you order me?” But Reg cast his eyes away, and as Catherine dragged the stems out again, her hand touched a linen bag. It came out with the rushes. Catherine gnawed her lip, looking at it. It was nothing. It probably contained dried rose petals. Reg said nothing.
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