Face Down under the Wych Elm (17 page)

"She must be of an age with Lucy Milborne. And in her youth she may have had friends who entered convents. Do you think—"

Remembering what Susanna had already told him of the results of her visit to Canterbury, Nick supposed it was possible. “I can ask,” he said, “but I must broach the subject with care."

"Because she will not acknowledge old friends who may still have Papist sympathies?"

"Because she will realize the question came from you."

Now it was her turn to touch him. Her hand on his arm, she gazed deeply into his eyes. “I do not want to cause more dissension between you. It is unlikely she knows anyone who would remember Lucy as a nun. Indeed, I am not certain Lucy's past has anything to do with her present troubles.” Her expression turned rueful. “Thus far, I have not had much success in discovering who poisoned Marsh and Edgecumbe. It may be that Lucy
is
the guilty party."

"When I talk to Mother again I will inquire about old friends. What harm in it?"

"Thank you, my dear.” She seemed to gather herself. Nick was about to slip his arm around her shoulders when she withdrew her hand and backed up a step. “Now, about your mother and me."

"Susanna, it matters not at all what she thinks.” He kept pace with her retreat.

"But it does ... when she has the right of it.” She continued to back away from him.

Bewildered, he ended his pursuit. “The right of what?"

"Your ... affection for me is keeping you from making a marriage and having a family. I will never remarry, Nick. And I am doubtless barren. You need sons to inherit all you have built."

"I'll leave it to Rosamond!"

"Robert's daughter?” Her eyes widened at the suggestion.

"Your daughter in all that matters. For your sake—"

"No, Nick.” For some reason what seemed to him to be a generous offer appeared to upset her more than anything else he'd said. “Indeed, Rosamond is one more reason I cannot go with you to Hamburg, as wife or as mistress. I have an obligation to her."

"Bring her along."

Nick could have kicked himself as soon as he uttered the invitation. He did not, in truth, much care for Robert Appleton's bastard daughter. She reminded him too much of her father.

Releasing Susanna, he helped himself to some of the wine set out on a table by the window. As he drank, he glanced at her again. At the look in her eyes, he set the goblet down with a thunk. She was comparing him to Robert! He did not know which was worse, that or her determination to be noble.

In a futile attempt to rein in his temper, he kept some distance between them. “So, you mean to give up what we have because you think I will be better off without you. Dragon water!"

She flinched at the expletive, then had to fight a smile. “Nick, I—"

"Do not entertain any had-I-wist that after knowing you I could be content with some simpleminded girl of my mother's choosing. And where either you or my mother get the idea that I am incapable of making my own decisions is..."

Words failed him. In exasperation, he crossed the chamber and pulled her into his arms. Gratified by her instant response to his kisses, he continued in that vein for some time, until she at last pushed lightly at his chest to shove him away. He released her at once.

"Come with me to Hamburg, Susanna. Without you I will never be complete."

"Oh, Nick. I am tempted. So tempted.” Sincerity rang in her voice and was reflected in the depths of her azure eyes. “But even if I could overcome all other reservations there still remains one unsurmountable barrier. I am afraid to go to sea."

Frustration rapidly turned back into irritation. He knew her too well to believe she was lying to him and yet the idea of this woman fearing something so ordinary as to travel by water made no sense to him at all. She was the bravest person he knew, the most fearless when it came to doing what she thought was right.

"It is not just the first part of the journey that requires travel by water,” she said. “I know from Walter's letters that even to reach Hamburg by an overland route, one must use the Dutch canal system as far as Leewarden before going on by road to Hamburg."

Nick's eyes narrowed. Walter Pendennis? Was he at the root of the problem? He, too, had once asked Susanna to marry him. But they had been friends. Not lovers. Never as close as he and Susanna were. Nick consoled himself with that knowledge as jealousy ate at him.

By Great Harry, should not a woman cross the sea if a man meant enough to her? In the next instant he mocked himself for his own foolishness. If she was afraid, there had to be a reason for it.

"Have you always feared water?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I have always felt queasy when the water is rough."

"We are not speaking of simple seasickness."

"No. And it is not water I fear. Do you know how to swim, Nick?"

He nodded.

"So do I."

She'd managed to surprise him yet again. Most folk lacked that skill. Sailors made it a point of faith not to learn, convincing themselves that their ship would not sink but resigned to going down with her if she did.

"When I was not yet six years old, I was sent to visit my mother's family. She'd died when I was barely two. A boy cousin taught me how to stay afloat, and more, in a shallow part of the stream that flowed through Dodderidge land. I can also remember, as a child, making short journeys by boat. I was not afraid then. Indeed, I loved being out on the water when the day was fine."

"What happened to change that?"

"When I was twelve, I took ship with my father. He'd engaged a sturdy little craft to transport us from Gravesend along the coast of Norfolk."

Nick could sense the intense struggle she waged with herself to confide these details in him. Her face pale, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, she stared right through him. ‘Twas clear she saw other times, other places, in her mind's eye.

"Even now, so many years later, it is difficult to think about what happened. My mother, sister, and grandparents had all died before I was ten, but my father was fit and strong. I did not expect to lose him, too. He should have lived many more years. Decades longer. Instead, the sea took him."

"You survived."

"I could swim."

Nick poured out a cup of strong wine and pressed it upon her. She took a sip, then set it aside.

"For a long time, I had nightmares about the shipwreck, but I was not aware there was anything else wrong with me. I avoided water before my marriage. I used the excuse of seasickness to continue to do so after I wed."

A fine trembling began in her limbs. Nick pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. “You saw Robert drown, too."

"But he did not—"

"You thought he had.” For some two years, she'd feared he had died when his small rowing boat capsized. That the truth was otherwise did not alter this telling fact.

"I can see why you would not relish the prospect of going to sea after such experiences. But perhaps the time has come to overcome your qualms. You are a strong-willed woman, Susanna."

"Will alone is not enough to overcome the panic.” Her eyes had a desperation in them when she met his gaze. “Is there nothing you fear, Nick? Nothing that makes you break out in a sweat, even though you know in your heart that there is no need to be afraid?"

"I am not overfond of snakes, but—"

"There. You see. And some people have an irrational dread of thunderstorms. Or great heights. Or—"

"Leaving the house."

"What?"

Nick suddenly remembered a story he'd heard, years ago, in Persia. “There once was a man who was terrified to leave his own home. He had been a successful merchant, traveling far and wide to buy and sell. Without warning, he began to experience terrible fear did he so much as venture into the courtyard of his house. The marketplace was out of the question. Trembling and nausea and even pain assaulted him. Only by staying inside could he remain free of such symptoms."

From the expression on Susanna's face, she comprehended the significance of these similarities.

"This merchant was rich enough that he might have stayed within doors and let others do his bidding. For a time, he retreated to his bed, remaining there for days on end. But he was unaccustomed to inaction and soon decided he must overcome his fears. Every day he would venture a bit farther from his door until, after many months, he was once more in the marketplace. But no matter how much he wanted to cross to the other side of the village, he could not make himself go on."

"He gave up?” Susanna's disappointment was so intense that Nick took heart.

"He might have, but one day there was a fire. A building beyond the merchant's limitations was ablaze. Trapped inside was a young woman for whom this man felt deep affection. Forgetting his fear, he ran to her rescue. Only after she was safe did he realize what he had done. As simply as that, he was freed forever from the spell that had held him prisoner."

After Nick left, Susanna sat unmoving for a long time. Her reluctance to go to sea was not the result of any enchantment. Nor was it likely to be ended by an act of heroism.

But the possibility of learning by degrees to overcome terror did seem a sensible suggestion. If she could cross rivers, even travel downstream for a bit as long as there were riverbanks in sight on either side, then could she not do much more with ... practice?

Susanna hated having this weakness. It seemed to her a great irony that she, who was so rational when it came to seeing through superstitions, should be laid low by a completely irrational reaction.

She thought back over four long years, to the hours just before Robert had vanished in that rowing boat. She'd had a good many shocks already by the time she was ferried across the mouth of Southampton Water in pursuit of her husband. She'd felt only the usual queasy stomach produced by a choppy surface. But after, following her return to Leigh Abbey, she'd begun to experience an odd and annoying nausea at the sight of any body of water.

There was no logic to it. When she'd received proof that Robert had not drowned, after all, then that should have been the end of it. Instead, she'd had to start carrying a supply of ginger root for even the shortest trip that involved a river crossing. The problem had gotten worse, not better, until she began to avoid ships, boats, and barges whenever she could.

What had at first been only annoying was now debilitating. If there
was
some way to overcome it, if her mind could be made to prevail over her body, then Susanna knew she must attempt the cure.

Her thoughts on the subject had progressed no further than a vague scheme to accustom herself to water travel in small increments when Jennet at last returned. Susanna welcomed the distraction of Constance's problems. Thinking about her own had made her head ache.

"We have found them,” Jennet announced. “The Edgecumbes lodge at an inn called The Ship. As does Sir Adrian Ridley. And Hugo Garrard is expected on the morrow."

As Susanna had hoped, it had been more productive to send Jennet than to go herself. Jennet was able to blend into a crowd and pass unnoticed where her mistress, being uncommon tall and by her dress a gentlewoman, stood out.

"So, all of our suspects abide together. That is most convenient."

"All but Master Norden. There has been no sign of him in Maidstone."

"There will be,” Susanna predicted. “And I warrant ‘twill be soon."

Damascin Edgecumbe, Jennet decided, was a sly puss.

She wanted to speak alone with Lady Appleton every bit as much as her mother wished to keep them apart. When she'd caught sight of Jennet skulking about outside The Ship, she'd sent Margery, her maidservant, with a message. In response to it, both Jennet and Lady Appleton attended evening church services. So did Lionel and Fulke. Afterward, as they lingered in the nave, a heavily veiled figure, all in mourning black, approached them.

Black, and well she knew it, flattered Mistress Damascin's fair hair and pale skin. The maid who accompanied her also provided contrast, being plain-faced and dull brown in her coloring. Margery smiled shyly at Jennet and waited for her to step aside with her, leaving their mistresses to converse in private.

"I had not noticed such ostentatious mourning at Edgecumbe Manor,” Jennet remarked.

Margery giggled. “Likes to dress up, does our Mistress Damascin. Playing at being the grieving widow, she is. For the nonce. More drama in it than being a girl who's lost her papa. Who can say who she'll be on the morrow?"

Childish games, Jennet thought. As she watched, Margery's mistress lifted her veil. Her eyes were bright, curious, and somehow, although ‘twas most like only a trick of the light, malevolent.

Lady Appleton must have suggested they leave the church, probably because the sexton was showing too much interest in their little party, for the two gentlewomen began to walk toward the inn where the Edgecumbes lodged. Jennet and Margery caught up with them just in time to hear Mistress Damascin ask after Lady Appleton's “poor hand."

She sounded sincere in her concern, but Jennet's protective instincts were roused by the reminder of what had happened at Edgecumbe Manor. Lady Appleton insisted the scalding must have been an accident. Jennet was not so certain.

"It is much improved,” Lady Appleton said, and tugged off her glove to show skin that was peeling but otherwise normal.

"Mother will be ... relieved."

"Will she?” Jennet muttered.

To her surprise, the young woman overheard the remark and responded with a trill of laughter as she turned to look at Jennet. “No. Indeed, she would be pleased to hear your mistress suffers mightily. She cannot approve of anyone who would champion Lucy Milborne."

"Why does she so dislike her neighbor?” Lady Appleton asked.

"Oh, that is easy enough. She has been jealous of old Lucy for years."

"Jealous?"

A yellow curl bounced free of Mistress Damascin's headdress when she nodded. “My father wanted to marry Lucy Milborne when they were both young. She turned him down once to become a nun and again when she was no longer in holy orders."