The Charmer (21 page)

The door opened and the pouches
jiggled as it swung. A young girl of about ten stared up at him, eyes wide with
alarm. She shrank back behind the door.

"Is Widow Dawson at
home?" he asked, employing a smile he knew would soften the girl's fear of
his size. "I've been sent on an errand by Lady Lynden to fetch a
cure-all."

The girl stepped away from the
door but it was Susanna's name that had done the trick, not his smile. "Come
in, sir. Ma's in the kitchen."

He followed her through the
parlor and into the kitchen beyond. It was small compared to the one at
Stoneleigh and cramped. The large central table left little room for anything
else and the herbs hanging from the beams made the ceiling seem lower. Orlando
had already removed his hat but he still needed to stoop or the dried leaves
would comb his hair. A mix of strong smells filled the room, their scents
difficult to distinguish although he detected rue above all else.

An attractive woman of middling
age with golden eyes and brown hair sat on a stool at the table, grinding
something with a pestle. She glanced up at him and continued grinding as her
gaze lingered on Orlando.

"You must be one of the
handsome strangers I keep hearin' 'bout," she said, eyes bright with
amusement. "So question is, are you the one workin' for Lord Lynden or the
one helpin' out Lady Lynden?"

"The latter. My name's
Orlando Holt. I'm her gardener, but I'm running an errand today. She needs a
cure-all for her friend across the way." He glanced back through the open kitchen
door, through the parlor's window to the street beyond. Joan's house was clearly
visible. He stayed there where he could see anyone coming or going.

"Aye, I can see the dimples
now that you smile. They said you had dimples a woman could lose herself
in." Her laugh was throaty and rich.

"They?"

"Aye, and don't play the
innocent with me. Men like you know all the women have eyes for you." She
half-turned. "Bel, keep stirrin' or it'll burn."

The girl, Bel, obediently sat on
the stool near the hearth and swept her skirts aside to keep them clear of the coals.
She picked up the stick lying across the cauldron that was suspended from the
rod above the fire and began to stir slowly.

"A cure-all, you say." Widow
Dawson shook her head. "She needs somethin' more spific to her ailment. Too
phlegmatic, Joan is. I been waitin' for someone to come to me and buy her a
medicine. She's a friend, but I can't give my cures away for nothin', can
I?" As she spoke, she rose and walked into an adjoining room. She emerged
carrying a lidded jug. "Course I knew Lady Lynden would come round soon
enough. She's a good friend and most would agree with that."

"Most?"

She set the jug on the table,
removed the lid and sniffed the contents. "There's some say she needs to
get herself another husband, or she'll grow too headstrong. Looks like it's too
late for that if you ask me." She laughed her throaty laugh again.
"She runs Stoneleigh now that Mr. Farley's health's gone and does all
right for a chit of a thing. Course, she's not been able to sell her orange
stuffs yet, but she will. She's got a good head on her, not just a pretty one."
She returned to the storage room and came out cradling several small earthen jars
to her chest. "There's those in this village that think only men should do
the thinkin', and not all of them that say it are the men neither." She
shook her head. "Those silly fools are the ones who won't know what to do
when their menfolk die. They're the ones who'll need charity from the likes of Lady
Lynden. We're a different kind of woman, she and I. We've got heads for trade
and that'll see us by in the lean times."

"So you don't think she
should wed again?"

"What do I care if she does
or doesn't? Means nothin' to me. Course, she prob'ly won't."

"Why not?"

"Well, she's barren ain't
she? She lost a babe once, and it must have ruined her. She hasn't carried
another since. What man'd want a barren wife?" She paused, still holding
some of the jars, the rest she'd set on the table. "Less he's already got
brats of his own from a first wife and don't need more. That'll be her best
chance, if she wants it."

A strange sensation crept into
Orlando's chest, like a clawing of his vitals. Susanna knew she would never
bear children and the knowledge ached deep within her. He'd suspected it, but
hearing the wise woman confirm it made it seem more real, and explained so much
about Susanna. The wistfulness in her eyes when she watched children playing,
the hitching of her voice when she told him there was "no need" to
waste his seed.

The clawing became a squeezing.

"And are there any men like
that in Sutton Grange?" he asked. "Any men worthy of the daughter of
Mr. Farley and the widow of Lord Phillip Lynden, I mean?"

"Not one that's already got
his own children. Farmer Cowdrey
thinks
he's worthy, but he's just a
farmer, no matter how rich he is now. Course, she may not get too many other
offers. Don't get many newcomers to Sutton Grange, 'specially not of her class.
That gentleman what was here yesterday was the best that's come through in an
age, but he left." She chuckled. "A bit too foppish for our Susanna
Lynden anyway. He didn't look like he'd want to get dirt under his fingernails,
and Lady Lynden likes to be out in the garden. Course that might make the
perfect marriage, eh? They wouldn't have to see each other 'cept in the marital
bed." Her raucous laughter echoed around the kitchen. The girl, Bel,
grinned as she stirred.

Orlando laughed too, but
hopefully Widow Dawson couldn't hear the strain. If Susanna knew that Hughe
cared not a whit whether his hands were dirty, she might be interested. Yet Hughe
would not. She wasn't high enough to earn his mother's approval and her
barrenness would be a problem for Hughe. The earldom of Oxley would end with him
if he had no legitimate children and Orlando knew he didn't want that.

"How did Lord Lynden die?
Phillip, that is," he asked, trying to set aside his dark thoughts. He was
here to find out one thing and that was whether Susanna killed her husband.
Everything else was unnecessary to his work and his reason for getting close to
Susanna in the first place.

"Natural causes, so the
coroner said. They called me up to the Hall first, didn't they, Bel, and it was
me that told 'em to send for the coroner."

The girl nodded. "Ma went in
the morning and I got to go too," she said, proudly. "I'm her
'sistant, see. Well, he was cold as ice, weren't he, Ma? Stiff as a plank
too." She sounded amazed, not horrified. Perhaps she'd seen many gruesome
things as her Ma's "sistant".

"Aye, that's death for you.
Bein' a gen'leman don't change nothin'."

"So you agree with the
coroner's findings?" Orlando asked.

"Course I agree. Who am I
not to?"

"What did the body look like
when you saw it?"

"Stiff," Bel said.
"I told you that."

"Hush, foolish child, Mr.
Holt wants a profesh'nal 'pinion." Widow Dawson folded her arms and
furrowed her brow. "Well, let's see now. It was some time ago, but I
remember him all right." She paused. "Why do you want to know,
anyway? What's it to do with you?"

He shrugged. "I have an
interest in health and medicine. I probably would have become a barber surgeon
if my father had let me make my own decisions."

Although he'd never wanted to be
barber surgeon, Orlando hadn't lied about his father. Decisions, both great and
small, had rarely been his to make. The only choice he'd had was whether to
count the goods as they entered and exited the warehouse, or cultivate more
customers and tend to existing ones. He chose the customers, but that decision
was retracted when his brother took control. It was the warehouse and paperwork
for Orlando with boredom, disaster, and banishment soon following. The first
choice he'd made after leaving London was to get into a fight in a Southwark
inn where he'd come to the notice of Hughe. His choices had been getting better
ever since.

"Well then, I s'pose it's no
odder an interest than any other," Widow Dawson said. "So let's
see." She frowned hard. "Oh yes, there was no blood on the body, no
cuts that I could see, and no markings or colorings on his skin or fingernails.
I only sent for the coroner because Lord Phillip was in his prime. I'd seen old
men dead from heart failure but not a young one." She shrugged.
"Anyway, that's what it was, so the coroner said."

He wasn't poisoned then, or
stabbed. Indeed, the signs, or lack of them, seemed perfectly consistent with a
man whose heart simply stopped. Even more telling, the wise woman had not once
suggested Susanna or anyone else might have killed Phillip. Clearly the
coroner's verdict satisfied her.

Any lingering doubts Orlando had
over Susanna being a murderer were finally quashed. He rubbed a hand over his
face in an effort to hide his relief. He knew it would clearly show on his face
because he felt it through to his core.

Susanna was innocent. He didn't
need Hughe and Cole to return from Harveston to confirm it.

But the question remained: who
hated Susanna enough to want her dead but didn't want to perform the act
themselves?

"Thank you," he said
and turned to go.

"Wait," she said.
"The medicine." Widow Dawson surveyed her collection of jars. With a
small shake of her head, she picked up the lidded jug and handed it to Orlando.
"Take it all. Tell Joan I'll check on her in three days and if she's
better, I'll take the unused amount back. It'll rebalance her humors and loosen
the phlegm. She's to swallow one mouthful every time she feels it build up on
her chest." She held out her palm. "Tuppence."

He handed over the coin and bowed
to the little girl, Bel. She giggled beneath her hand and for some reason,
Orlando found that funny. He grinned back.

"Thank you, ladies. Widow
Dawson, you are the wisest wise woman I have ever had the pleasure of
meeting."

"And you, sir, are a
terrible flirt. Be off with you."

Bel's giggle and her mother's
laughter followed him all the way to the front door and out to the street. It
wasn't until they were all in the cart some time later, their marketing done, that
he realized he'd forgotten to ask Widow Dawson for a remedy to dampen his
desire for Susanna.

Ah well, he could always return
another day.

***

Orlando seemed to be in an excessively
good mood. Granted he smiled, laughed, and flirted often, but the humor didn't
always reach his eyes. Something Susanna had only just come to realize. The man
helping her down from the cart outside Sutton Hall oozed happiness from every
part of him, but it was his eyes she noticed most. They sparkled. What had Widow
Dawson said to him? Or, more appropriately, what had she given him?

"Did you eat anything at the
wise woman's house?" she asked. Her face heated when he kissed the back of
her hand, his warm lips lingering longer than was decent.

Hendricks cleared his throat and
Orlando stopped kissing and bowed deeply to him. "Forgive me, Mr.
Hendricks, but don't you think she is particularly beautiful today?"

"You ought to stop looking,
Mr. Holt, if that's all you see."

"You're right," Orlando
said. "Consider me chastised. Lady Lynden, to answer your question, I ate
nothing at Widow Dawson's. Nor did I drink anything." He lifted Bessie
down from the cart, swinging her to the ground as if she were a child.

"Oh my," Bessie said, pressing
the backs of her hands to her flushed cheeks.

"Was she brewing
something?" Susanna asked. "That could account for it."

"Account for what?" he
asked.

"For the way you're
acting," Hendricks said.

"How am I acting?"

"Like a toss-pot."

"Mr. Hendricks!" Bessie
cried. "Leave him be. Perhaps it's just natural," she said to
Susanna. "Perhaps there's no explaining it."

"Explaining what?"
Orlando shook his head, confused.

"Why you're smiling like you
just found something you thought lost?" Susanna said.

His smile vanished, and she
wished she'd kept quiet. She liked that he was in such a good mood. It lifted
her own somewhat troubled one.

"Wait for me here. I won't
be a moment," she said and began the walk up the drive to the house.

"No," Orlando said. The
word was spoken quietly enough, but the underlying note of command halted her.
She did not return to him but remained halfway between the grand steps leading
up to the front door and the cart. He came to her instead. All good humor had
vanished and his eyes were dark, flat. "Until we know more about Monk's
intentions," he said, voice rumbling like thunder, "you remain within
my sight."

"You did not follow me into
Joan's."

"I could see her house from
Widow Dawson's." One corner of his mouth twitched up. "I adore the
way you thrust your chin out when you're annoyed with me." They were out
of earshot from Hendricks and Bessie, but that didn't stop Susanna from
blushing or Hendricks from scowling.

"Stop it. Be serious. We are
at Sutton Hall. What could happen to me here? The place is crawling with
servants and I'll be with Jeffrey the entire time."

"The man who hired Monk. I'm
coming in with you."

"Don’t be ridiculous."

He pressed a hand to his heart
and tilted his head to the side like an adorable puppy. "You mean I'm not
good enough to go in the front entrance with Lady Lynden? I'm wounded. I may be
a mere gardener in occupation, but I'm a prince on the inside."