Face Down In The Marrow-Bone Pie Part 20

In the breathless silence, Catherine boldly threw back her veil. Her dark eyes blazed in the eerie light. Then her arm lifted in a flutter of white fabric and she extended her hand, one finger pointed.

"You killed my real father," she said in clear, bell-like tones.

Susanna's mouth dropped open in surprise. It was not Randall Denholm she accused.

She was pointing at her mother.

"No!" Euphemia's face turned a bright, mottled red.

"Yes. You did. And John Bexwith, too. And you have tried to harm these other good folk. No more, Mother. No more."

The hatred had returned to Randall Denholm's eyes, but this time Susanna had no doubt about its object. He reached out with both hands toward his treacherous wife. He'd actually grasped her around the neck before a spasm of pain made him release her and cry out. His hands fell away as he groaned aloud and clutched at his belly. His face reflected excruciating pain.

Euphemia began to laugh. "It is too late. Too late! We are all going to die."

Robert's face paled. "Poison?"

"What poison?" Susanna demanded. She was almost certain she knew which one had killed Bexwith, but even if she was correct she had no a.s.surance that Effie would use the same thing twice.

Susanna was painfully aware she'd already been wrong once tonight. She had been convinced that Randall killed Sir George and Bexwith. Now she realized that Catherine had never once confirmed it during their talk in the stillroom. She'd agreed to no more than that one of her parents had been behind the haunting of Appleton Manor.

Randall collapsed, froth forming on his lips.

"Die, you poor excuse for a man," Effie said. Then she rounded on her daughter, rage vying with anguish in her voice. "How could you betray me when I did it for you? You will inherit everything now. Denholm and Appleton. Matthew will see to it, or I vow I will come back to haunt him!"

"What is she saying?" Robert demanded.

"Catherine is your sister, Robert," Susanna said.

"What?"

Euphemia Denholm's howl of pain nearly drowned out his roar of outrage. She had consumed the poison, too.

Mark caught Effie as she doubled over. With Jennet's reluctant a.s.sistance he lowered her to the floor.

Catherine turned tortured eyes to Susanna. "Help them," she begged. "You have your confession now. Use your knowledge of herbs to save them."

"I must know what poison." Susanna knelt beside Bexwith's murderer and seized Effie's fleshy shoulders. She gave her a shake, forcing her to open her eyes. The pupils were already dilated.

Behind her, she heard Robert groan as the first effects of the poison made themselves felt in his bigger, bulkier body. She forced herself to block out her empathy for his pain and shook Effie again. "What poison?"

If it was one that speeded the heart, the antidote Queen Catherine had recommended might help. If it was of another sort, if its effects were different, the queen mother's recipe could hasten death, or make it even more ghastly.

Euphemia's body convulsed. Her features were contorted by her suffering but a triumphant light shone in her eyes. "It is too late. It acts too quickly. Bexwith's death proved that."

"Cowbane," Susanna said with more conviction than she felt. "You sent a root to him and told him it was eryngo."

In spite of the increasingly violent manifestations of the herb's effects, Effie managed a smile.

"Very clever," Susanna told her. While Effie retched, Susanna grasped Jennet's arm. "Quickly. Fetch the two small green gla.s.s bottles on my worktable in the stillroom. Mark, I need three goblets." If she administered the queen mother's antidote at once, it might still have a prayer of working.

As soon as Jennet returned, Susanna poured equal portions from the first bottle into each of the cups.

Catherine seized one and took it to Randall Denholm. No matter who her natural father had been, it was Randall who had raised her. She held the potion to his lips and helped him to drink.

Turning to Robert, Susanna did the same. He gulped it down, but she saw the rising panic in his eyes. He knew, as she did, that there was no guarantee the antidote would work. Indeed, the queen mother might have deliberately given him a false recipe. She was known to be a cruel woman, and devious. Even more so than Effie Denholm.

"This potion has emetic and cathartic effects." As did the poison itself. "It must be followed in a few minutes by two ounces of the second mixture."

Jennet attempted to administer the third goblet's contents to Euphemia Denholm but Effie kept knocking it aside. Nearly half the contents had already spilled out into the rushes.

"Do you want to die?" Catherine asked her. She took the cup from Jennet, but her mother still refused it.

Certain she had succeeded, she was laughing even as she moaned and writhed with the terrible effects of the poison. She believed she'd triumphed, that she'd killed all her enemies, that she'd had her revenge on the Appletons and secured her daughter's future. In some twisted way, she thought killing Robert would allow her child to inherit Sir George's estate.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Catherine turned away from her mother and offered the cup to Susanna instead. "You might have eaten of the poison, as well."

Susanna shook her head. She felt no symptoms. It had been lack of appet.i.te, however, not clear thinking, that had saved her. She had not believed another attempt would be made so soon. At worst, she'd thought Randall might try to kill himself when his crimes were revealed. Guilt plagued her as she prayed the antidote would work.

"She did poison me chewits!" Mabel's bellow was so loud it made Susanna jump. The cook had Grizel in a painful head lock and was dragging her, kicking and crying, into the great hall.

"Release her, Mabel," Susanna ordered. When she'd grudgingly complied, Susanna addressed Effie's maidservant. "What did you add, Grizel? A powder?"

"I did not know it were poison!" Grizel wailed, throwing herself at Susanna's feet. "It weren't my fault."

"Mistress Denholm gave you the powder and told you to put it in the food?"

"Aye." Grizel was sobbing now.

Absently, Susanna patted the girl's shoulder. This was good news. Dried, powdered cowbane was less toxic than the whole root which Bexwith had eaten.

A sound from Robert drew Susanna's attention. Pain creased his features. Like the others, he had been violently sick to his stomach. "G.o.d's blood, Susanna," he gasped. "I should never have listened when you said it was safe to eat."

"I did not think she would use poison again either," Catherine told her newly discovered brother. "You must not blame Lady Appleton."

Susanna felt her husband's weak, rapid pulse and reached for the second part of the antidote.

Catherine whispered to Susanna, "She meant to kill you, too."

"Yes," Susanna agreed.

"There was no need. She's often said a widow's lot is better than a wife's. She must have known you'd look after me if you lived."

Susanna's head jerked up and she stared at the young woman who was now her sister-in-law. Under English law, a widow did have complete freedom over her own life. She was no longer the possession, the chattel, of a husband or a father.

An insidiously tempting idea crept into Susanna's mind. She had not expected that poison would be used again, but now that it had, Robert's life was in her hands. The power she held in this moment in time was both appalling and appealing. Was this how Euphemia had felt? This sense of being in control? It was a heady sensation, one difficult to experience and then give up.

She divided the second potion into two portions and, taking one goblet, turned to Robert. He had heard her entire exchange with Catherine. She saw the doubt in his eyes. And the fear. If she was inclined to reclaim her freedom, it was the work of a moment to ensure his death. She had only to withhold the remainder of the antidote.

Immediately, she felt ashamed of herself. How could she even think it? True, she might be better off without him, but Robert was her husband. She was bound to him till death, and that death must come as G.o.d willed, not because of anything she did or did not do. Very gently, Susanna lifted his head to make it easier for him to swallow the antidote.

"They may yet die," she warned Catherine. "All three of them. And neither of us is to blame if they do. We have done all we can for them, but in the end we can only wait and pray."

Several long hours pa.s.sed. Effie became delirious and endured violent convulsions. And then, just at dawn, she breathed her last. An hour later, Randall Denholm also died, in spite of the antidote, for he had too many years and too many ailments to fight off the effects of the poison.

Susanna left Catherine grieving noisily over the body of the man she still thought of as her father and went up to the solar to which Robert had been carried earlier. In Robert, the poppy mixture had controlled the convulsions while his body voided itself of toxins. He was already on the mend, although he was still feeling a great deal of pain.

"Randall is gone," she told him.

"Good" was all Robert said before he lapsed into brooding silence.

Susanna stared at him. Good that Randall had died? Robert must be confused. Randall was another victim in all this. Wasn't he?

She stayed with her husband, bathing him, watching over him while he drifted in and out of the healing sleep she induced with an herb water of chamomile, dittany, scabious, and pennyroyal. At midmorning, Robert was much stronger. By noontime, he was well enough to sit up and take some broth.

"There must be no scandal," he said.

"And how do we explain two dead bodies?"

That earned her a glare, but a moment later Robert took control again. "Explain how Catherine can be my sister," he demanded, "and then tell me all else you have learned. Then we will send for Master Grimshaw."

"In his capacity as justice of the peace?"

"In his capacity as conspirator."

"I have already dispatched Mark with a message. The storm cleared early this morning."

Robert scowled, but it was too late now to change what she had done. He settled for growling at her to give him a full account of all she knew to date.

The telling took some time, interrupted as it was by Robert's questions. Susanna could not answer them all. She accepted that they might never know why Mabel had been attacked or why Effie seemed so convinced that her illegitimate daughter could inherit once Robert was out of the way. She did not know, either, a precise motive for Sir George's murder.

"Grizel told Jennet that Effie visited Master Grimshaw last week," she added as an afterthought.

By evening, Robert was able to walk about a bit. He was up and dressed when the lawyer was shown into the solar.

"Sir Robert. I am relieved to see you so fit. I did fear . . . that is, I . . ." Suddenly awkward, Grimshaw's eyes sought Susanna, then jerked away when he found no sympathy there.

"What did Mistress Denholm talk to you about when she visited you a week ago?" Robert demanded.

"I cannot betray a client's secrets."

"Not even when that client is dead?"

"Dead?" Grimshaw's face reflected his every reaction. Shock. Confusion. Relief. "She's dead?"

"Aye. And Randall, too." Susanna made her voice soothing. In spite of all they suspected he'd done, she found herself feeling sorry for the man.

Tugging on his ruff, Grimshaw choked out a question. "How?"

"Poison. The same she used to kill John Bexwith."

"You know then. Know it all." He sagged visibly. Susanna pushed a stool in his direction. Robert proffered wine.

"Not all," Susanna admitted.

"Enough to send you to the gallows," Robert put in.

Grimshaw sat down abruptly and gulped the wine. "I did not know. Not at first. I had no part in murder."

"Your silence nearly cost Sir Robert his life," Susanna reminded him.

Robert refilled the winegla.s.s. "Here is what will happen, Master Grimshaw. In return for our silence about your part in Effie Denholm's crimes, you will certify, as justice of the peace, that the Denholms died of exposure to the cold after being caught out in the storm while searching for their runaway daughter."

No Appleton servant would contradict that story. They were all too loyal to Susanna. Grizel was too frightened for her own life.

"Anything," Grimshaw promised.

"In addition, you will tell us now, in as much detail as you know, why this madwoman was driven to kill and kill again."

"I can only guess at some of it," Grimshaw warned.

"Guess, then," ordered Sir Robert.

Grimshaw drew in a strengthening breath. "She claimed to have had a secret precontract for marriage to your father, agreed upon soon after your mother's death."

Robert started to object, but for once Grimshaw was not cowed. He rushed on with his astonis.h.i.+ng story.

"She told me he cast her aside to marry a wealthier woman. Believing she had no other choice, she then wed with Randall Denholm, the man her father had picked for her. In fact, the precontract between Sir George and my aunt Euphemia, a precontract witnessed by mine own mother, as she did admit only yesterday, was legally binding on both parties. All subsequent marriages were invalid."

"Then Jane was illegitimate, but not Catherine. And Catherine does have a claim on Appleton Manor." How unexpected, Susanna thought. "Why did Sir George marry Jane?"

"To hurt Aunt Euphemia. They'd had a long and bitter relations.h.i.+p. I cannot begin to understand or explain it, but she kept going back to him. He'd encourage her for a time, then grow tired of her and go off after another woman. During one of their reconciliations, Catherine was conceived."

Susanna had an understanding of the law unusual for a woman. She knew that a precontract followed by consummation became a legal marriage. Effie might not have realized that, but Sir George undoubtedly had. He just hadn't cared.

"Did my father know she was his?" Robert asked.

"My aunt said he did not, not until the last night of his life. After the maidservant fled, Aunt Euphemia was waiting for him. She'd tried to kill Randall once, thinking that with him out of the way she could persuade Sir George to marry her, this time at the church door. She was prepared to make a second attempt on Randall's life and wanted Sir George's help. To that end, she told him Catherine was his. He just laughed, then suggested they make another b.a.s.t.a.r.d together. Furious at his callous att.i.tude, she pushed him away from her. I do not think she meant to kill him, but when he tumbled down the stairs he broke his neck. Aunt Euphemia then fled, leaving the body for Bexwith to discover."

"What about Bexwith? Did he know? Was he demanding money for his silence?"

"He did not guess she killed Sir George. He might have been more careful if he had. I wish I did not know," he added in an undertone.

"But he was extorting money from someone," Susanna reminded him.

"Yes. What Bexwith had only recently realized, since he rarely saw Catherine, was how much she resembled Sir George. He threatened to tell Randall he'd been cuckolded if Aunt Euphemia did not pay him to keep silent. I fear my aunt was not always coherent when she talked about her feelings toward Bexwith. She sometimes seemed as outraged that he'd been usurping Sir George's place at Appleton Manor as she was by his demands. She was on the verge of madness, I do think. Why else would she later become so obsessed with killing Sir Robert, too?"

Mad? If so, then she'd been made so by her thwarted love for Robert's father. And yet, there was a certain twisted logic to what she'd done. Effie had judged Bexwith unworthy to take Sir George's place. Was it such a leap to decide Robert had forfeited what legitimate claim he had by his absence and neglect?