Face Down under the Wych Elm (25 page)

Nick interrupted the defense to explain to her, in a few blunt sentences, exactly what her sweet young daughter
was
capable of doing. Shocked, Mildred lost all power of speech. Sputtering incoherently, her face purple, she appeared to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit.

Winifred drew Mildred aside, attempting to calm her. She talked to her in quiet tones while Nick scoured the chamber for any clue Susanna might have left behind. He found nothing. No sign she had ever been there.

Damascin and Hugo had her. He was certain of it now. And he had to assume that they had taken her because they still believed they could get away with their crimes. They must think that by disposing of Susanna and Jennet they would eliminate all threat of exposure.

With horrible clarity he could imagine what they planned to do. They'd kill again, then return to Maidstone as if nothing had happened. Thinking Norden was the only one they had to worry about, they'd count on the authorities accepting Hugo's word, as a gentleman, against that of a former servant. No doubt they'd also assume they could persuade Mildred, the doting parent, to support whatever story they told.

They were wrong. Others knew the truth. When Damascin and Hugo showed their faces again, they would be arrested.

That would be small comfort if Susanna was dead. Nick had never felt so powerless.

A hand touched his arm.

"I warrant Hugo's taken them to the ship,” his mother said.

"This is The Ship. Do you mean they are being held in another room, as Norden was?"

"Not The Ship, Nick. A ship. His ship. Mistress Edgecumbe says that Hugo Garrard arranged for a pinnace of thirty tons to anchor nearby, at Newhithe where the river is deep. What better place to drown someone and make it seem an accident?"

Pressed down by the weight of water and her own saturated clothing, Susanna struggled to rise, to breathe again the pure, sweet air she knew was somewhere above her. She could make no headway. In spite of her best efforts, she was being pulled under by the current, away from the surface, away from the sunlight.

Something bumped against her, clawing at her skirts, and when she turned to look she saw it was her father. She was too late to save him. He had drowned.

But as tears blurred her vision and she whimpered, the face of the corpse changed. It was no longer Sir Amyas Leigh, but Robert Appleton, Susanna's husband.

As from a great distance, she heard her own voice whisper.
But Robert was poisoned.
She knew then that she must be dreaming.

The nightmare had a familiar quality. Still trapped by it and yet somehow able to view it from afar, Susanna knew that this was the same dream she'd had so often in the past, the recurring vision that had haunted her until she'd at last seen undeniable proof that Robert had not died by drowning.

She came out of the sleeping nightmare into a waking one. She was not in the sea, but she was on it. She could see nothing through an impenetrable darkness but the smells were unmistakable—tar, the brine provisions were stored in, the vinegar used to scour ships between voyages. Through the pounding in her head, the ache of her limbs, and the churning of her stomach, she perceived that she was lying on a hard, wooden surface. A floor that moved. She was in the hold of a ship.

Panic struck, fast and overwhelming, pinning her in place. She struggled to bring her hands up and discovered they were bound. Not by hempen rope, but by something softer. Velvet? Her feet were tied, too, with strips of fabric strong enough to keep her immobile even as a sharp pain lanced her chest and her breathing became irregular. She was going to die. At that moment, she had not the slightest doubt of it.

Once again something bumped against her, jarring her, momentarily penetrating the mists of her fear. A voice croaked out a single word, as if the speaker had to force it through a parched throat.

"Madam?"

Jennet. Jennet was here with her. In spite of her ever-increasing anxiety, Susanna managed to regain a modicum of control. When she'd last seen Jennet, her friend had been unconscious and bound and lying on the floor of Damascin Edgecumbe's chamber at The Ship Inn.

The Ship to a ship. A delicious pun. Hysteria threatened, then receded as Jennet spoke again.

"Madam?"

Susanna's laugh was a hollow, humorless sound. How could she not be amused? After all they had been through together, all they must now face, it struck her as absurd that Jennet should continue to address her so formally, that she would never presume to call her mistress by her Christian name.

Although her body still rebelled, Susanna's mind had regained a measure of its accustomed sharpness. She was able to assess their situation without a renewal of the overwhelming, mind-numbing panic she'd felt when she first revived. She sent a quick prayer of thanksgiving heavenward, along with a plea for continued strength of will. She was far from feeling her normal self, but neither was she held in thrall by the symptoms of her affliction.

Susanna forced herself to take calm, even breaths. She needed to think clearly, to plan, to discover some way to get out of this situation alive.

She had not been poisoned. Even as Damascin had forced the liquid into her mouth, she'd recognized the strange, sickeningly sweet smell of mandrake juice. Brain thief, some called it. Just inhaling it was enough to cause drowsiness and the few drops Damascin had managed to make her swallow had rendered her senseless within minutes. At a guess, that much of the narcotic, which had also been responsible for those vivid dreams, had kept her deeply asleep for some three or four hours, long enough to smuggle her out of the inn and aboard this vessel.

What irony, Susanna thought, her mind becoming clearer by the minute. Had her captors only known, they'd have done better not to drug her. Without the potion Damascin had given her, she'd have been completely incapacitated by now. The mandrake had actually helped to soothe the worst of Susanna's fears.

Cautiously she began to pay closer heed to her surroundings. She could hear water sloshing in the bilges and dripping steadily as it leaked through decks and topsides. They must be on the pinnace Hugo had hired to take cargo to London. He'd told her at supper, that evening at Mill Hall, that he'd arranged for it to stop at Maidstone for a cargo of fuller's earth.

"Madam,” Jennet whispered again. “Are you awake?"

Susanna rolled toward the sound of her friend's voice. “Speak low,” she warned. “Are you still bound?"

"Aye. Hand and foot."

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride.” There was a hesitation before she spoke again. “And you, madam? You have been most ... agitated."

"I was drugged.” In addition to causing vivid dreams and slowing the heart rate, the mandrake was probably as much to blame for the continued roiling of Susanna's stomach as was her natural tendency toward seasickness. She could only hope she would not suffer any of the other side-effects. If she remembered aright, the plant also had emetic and cathartic properties.

"I was conscious when they brought us here from the inn,” Jennet said. “They rolled us up in canvas for the journey. Threw us into a cart with other bolts of fabric and had us delivered to quayside and loaded aboard this ship."

"Could you see anything?"

"Not until they unwrapped us.” Her tone of voice conveyed her feelings about such treatment. “It felt as if we were carried down two levels and dumped, left in a heap until Mistress Damascin Edgecumbe and Hugo Garrard deigned to inspect their cargo."

"They unwrapped us?"

"Yes. And they had a light. Cargo fills the space all around us. Barrels and chests."

"How long ago did we set sail?” The unquietness in Susanna's stomach increased. She concentrated on Jennet's answer, hoping to distract herself.

"I am not certain. Before they came below."

That meant Damascin and Hugo were still aboard. Susanna frowned. What did they intend?.

Still under the influence of the mandrake, Susanna found she had difficulty making sense of anything. When Jennet fell silent, Susanna's mind began to wander. She thought of Nick.

Nick wanted her to go with him to Hamburg. The sweetness of that memory made her smile. Perhaps it would be possible after all. She remembered the story he'd told her about the merchant afraid to leave his house until a crisis forced his hand. She could master her own terror, Susanna told herself, if that was the only way to save her own life and Jennet's. Or she could experiment with the juice of the mandrake, perhaps discover an herbal cure for her panic at the thought of going to sea.

If only mandrake was not as apt to kill as cure.

She did not want to die.

"Madam?"

"Yes, Jennet?"

"I've worked one hand loose."

The announcement snapped Susanna out of a dangerous lethargy. She could not rely on Nick or anyone else to rescue them. By letting her thoughts drift, she'd wasted valuable time lying there, not even trying to escape.

"Excellent, Jennet. See if you can do the same with the other one."

An eternity seemed to pass as Susanna struggled in vain with her own bonds. Then she felt Jennet's fingers, clumsy but determined, tugging at the velvet ropes. A few minutes later, they were both free.

Tentatively Susanna flexed her fingers. Feeling returned in a painful rush, but she welcomed the reminder that she was still alive, still had a chance to get away.

"We've stopped moving,” Jennet whispered.

Rubbing the numbness from her feet and ankles, Susanna considered their situation. Damascin's plan must be to drown them. If they were thrown, unconscious, into deepest water, their bodies weighted down in some way, it was unlikely they'd ever be found.

Born of necessity, a plan came to her.

Approaching footsteps sounded on the deck above, then began to descend some sort of ladder.

"Pretend you are still bound and unconscious,” Susanna whispered to Jennet. “Be ready to follow my lead, even if my actions seem foolhardy.” She hid her hands behind her back and tucked her ankles up under her skirt.

What was unmistakably Damascin's voice broke the ensuing silence. “Quickly. Bring them both up on deck while the crew is distracted."

Susanna felt herself lifted and slung over a bony shoulder. Hugo, she presumed. He was stronger than his thin frame suggested. She risked a peek through her lowered lashes just as he caught Jennet about the waist and tucked her beneath his other arm. The only light came from the lantern Damascin held. Fortunately, the shutter was nearly closed. It did not give off enough illumination to reveal the betraying strips of velvet Jennet had carelessly left lying in plain sight.

They emerged from the ‘tween decks, Hugo staggering a bit under the combined weight of the two women, to the boisterous sounds of a celebration. Whatever the “distraction” Damascin had arranged, it was taking place behind the closed door of the captain's cabin.

The deck appeared to be deserted, what little Susanna could see of it. Night had fallen, a particularly dark night in the time of the new moon. Damascin's lantern bobbed ahead, guiding Hugo toward the front of the vessel.

Susanna braced herself to implement her hastily made plan, the only means of escape she had been able to devise. She had to act quickly, before their captors noticed that the prisoners were no longer tied hand and foot.

Hugo lowered her onto the wet and clammy deck and deposited Jennet in a limp heap at her side. When he stepped back, turning to speak to Damascin, Susanna flung herself up and over the rail.

"Now, Jennet,” she shouted. “Into the river."

There was no time to hesitate, or to panic. In an instant Susanna was free of the ship. Falling. With a mighty splash, water closed over her head. Her heavy skirts clung to her legs, pulling her down, just as they had when she was twelve.

Just as they did in her nightmares.

She fought the memories. Fought the fear. Propelling herself upward, she surfaced in time to hear Jennet enter the water a few yards to her right. Several strong strokes brought Susanna to her friend's side just as Jennet's head popped up again. Sputtering and gasping, Jennet flailed with arms and legs and came close to striking Susanna in the nose.

"Be still!"

Years of obedience had their effect. Jennet stopped struggling.

Susanna grasped her beneath the chin and began to tow her away from the wooden hull. Above them they could hear Damascin's shrill voice and Hugo's deep one, but Susanna felt confident that they would not dare raise an alarm.

Careful to keep Jennet's face out of the water, Susanna increased her speed. The light from the lantern faded away. Only then did it belatedly occur to her that they might have come farther from Maidstone than she'd thought. She'd assumed they were somewhere on the Medway, that swimming a short distance in either direction would bring them to a riverbank. But what if they had reached the Thames estuary at Rochester or beyond? She might be heading out to sea.

A faltering stroke filled her mouth with water. It tasted foul, but not salty. River water.

She swam more strongly, but it was difficult to make much headway when she was weighed down not only by Jennet but by the increasing heaviness of her own skirts.

"Kick your feet, Jennet,” she ordered.

Sound carried well over water. An instant after she spoke, another voice responded, but it was not Jennet's. It came from just ahead, and it called out her name.

Susanna went still, scarce daring to believe what she heard.

A dark shape loomed up in front of her. The familiar voice issued from it. “Susanna? Where are you?"

"Nick?"

She still thought she must be imagining things, until the shape drew close enough to resolve itself into a small rowing boat of the sort fishermen used. A pair of sturdy arms reached over the side and took Jennet from her. Nick's fingers gripped Susanna's uplifted hand. A moment later, she was hauled aboard.

He did not let her go.

Held tight in Nick's embrace, Susanna's fears vanished. She was filled with the sheer joy of being alive. Best of all, she could see the shore. It was so close at hand that she knew she'd have been able to make it to safety on her own, but she discovered she had no complaints about being rescued.