Queen Without a Crown (29 page)

‘Which means you’ve very likely told the truth so far,’ said Ryder. ‘It presumably
was
Bowman who put that pie on the tray. But if we’re to be believed when we take this news back, we need to know why.’

‘Did he really never tell you why?’ I asked, since Susannah remained dumb. ‘By the sound of it he’d talked to you very freely. Thought you’d never dare to betray him, in case you ended up hanged for theft. Come on, Susannah. Tell us the rest.’

She stared at me like a bullock confronted by a butcher. I half expected her to moo.

John Ryder said to her: ‘Do as you’re bid, woman. You’ve said so much already that you might as well! You’ve already said enough to hang Bowman, so why hide the rest?’

And then the rest came out, with a rush. ‘He said that Hoxton had been annoying Mistress Judith Easton and upsetting her and her husband. He said the world would be better off without Peter Hoxton in it, and if Easton were to be accused of killing him, then they’d both be out of the way, and then, well, he had hopes of Mistress Easton himself. Most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he told me. She didn’t dislike him, he said, and she’d need another man. He’d move in quick, before anyone else had a chance. He’d been going to say he’d missed his way in the castle and chanced to find himself in the kitchens and that he’d seen Master Easton do something to the tray. But it would be better if someone else said that, not himself, someone not linked to the Eastons or Peter Hoxton.’

‘He meant you?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Questions would be asked, he said.’ The story was tumbling out now, as if she were glad to be rid of it. ‘Everyone in the kitchens would have to answer questions. When it came to me, I could say what I’d seen – only . . .’

For a moment she almost baulked again, but it came out eventually. ‘Only, I’d got to say it was Easton I saw, not Bowman. It wouldn’t be hard, he said. It scarcely meant lying, even, because he and Easton didn’t look that different from each other. They were both short and dark with parroty noses.’

‘Parroty noses?’ I was puzzled.

‘Master Bowman’s got a nose like a popinjay’s beak,’ said Susannah. ‘Only, those eyeglass things he wears hide it a bit.’

‘I never noticed it,’ I said blankly.

‘All I’d have to say that wasn’t true was the name. Easton instead of Bowman,’ Susannah said. ‘And if I didn’t, he’d see that I was . . . that I was . . .’

‘Arrested for theft,’ said Dale. ‘You know, you’ve no sense. I can’t abide people with no sense. You’re as scared of being caught as a child is scared of ghosts, yet you go on stealing. From Bowman—’

‘I was only looking!’

‘Phooey!’ said Dale rudely. ‘From Bowman, from the Medlands and I’d wager there were others.’

‘You don’t know!’ said Susannah, suddenly angry. ‘Look at you, settled with a husband! You’re married to him, aren’t you?’ She jerked her head at Brockley. I had introduced Dale as Brockley’s wife. ‘If you were out in the world on your own, never paid enough, always ordered about and pushed here and there and overworked, maybe you’d take chances when they came your way.’

‘In my employment,’ I said, ‘Dale has had to take long exhausting journeys, which she hates; and she and her husband have both been put in danger of their lives. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘It all hangs together now,’ Brockley said. Susannah blenched at the word
hangs.

I nodded. ‘Yes, it confirms what I’ve slowly been coming to suspect, though the idea didn’t take firm shape until just lately. All of a sudden, I realized that Bowman was there, in the cast of the masque, as it were. He was the man who eventually married Judith Easton. He’d already admitted that he thought her beautiful, even before her husband died. Maybe his feelings were stronger than that – much stronger. And then I remembered that he did his embroidery left-handed.’

‘So he terrified you into pointing the finger at Gervase Easton,’ said Brockley to Susannah, getting back to the point. ‘And once you’d done that, you were a party to his crime and he knew you wouldn’t dare to talk – until now, when we’ve left you precious little choice. Well, well.’ He turned to me. ‘What now, madam?’

I explained to Susannah how Gervase Easton’s name needed to be cleared to give his son the chance to marry as he wished. ‘We don’t particularly wish to bring Bowman to justice,’ I said. Brockley looked at me in surprise. ‘It was twenty-three years ago,’ I said, as much to him as to anyone. ‘Bowman’s an old man now. It’s Mark and Jane who matter. Susannah, we’ll protect you from prosecution too, if we can. But you must come with us to confront Bowman with your testimony. We will require him to give us a signed confession for Master Easton to use as proof of his father’s innocence.’

‘He’ll never do that!’ Susannah rocked back and forth in misery.

‘In that case,’ I said in a hard voice, ‘we will take our information to the authorities, all of it, including the thefts while you were with the Medlands. You and Bowman will have to take your chance.’

Susannah set up a wail, and I raised my voice to be heard above her. ‘Given that we get the confession,’ I told her, ‘we can put it together with other signed and sworn statements which I hope we can obtain from other people – one is Madge, who can swear that the man she saw tampering with Hoxton’s tray was left-handed, and another is an artist who will, I think, testify that Gervase Easton was not. Then, perhaps, Gervase’s son will have evidence enough to smooth his path to marriage. That’s all we want.’

It was far too much for Susannah, who became hysterical, but I told her relentlessly that if she refused, we would insist that Medland bring a charge of theft against her. (‘How did you propose to make him, madam?’ Brockley asked me afterwards. ‘I probably couldn’t,’ I said, ‘but Susannah wasn’t to know that.’)

In the end, we prevailed.

A vague message was given to the bewildered servants in the kitchen, to the effect that Mistress Lamb had been called away on urgent business but would no doubt be back in a few days, and then we bundled her out, hired a boat – luckily, we found one quickly – and were on our way downstream towards Windsor within the hour.

It was a chilly, windy journey, and Susannah cried all the way, which disturbed me. I had thought, once, that I was going to see Gladys hang. It had been a near thing. She had come to the very foot of the gallows, and I had seen her terror. I didn’t want to do that to Susannah. She was repulsive, but her fear and her misery only made her more pitiable.

But she was still obnoxious company, and I still hated her.

Face to Face

W
e reached Windsor as dusk was falling, having stopped once on the way to change the crew and take refreshment at a riverside inn.

‘Straight to Bowman’s,’ I said, ‘let’s get it over,’ and we set off along the riverside path, until we reached the end of the lane that led up past Bowman’s cottage. Halfway up, Susannah became crimson in the face and started to gasp. We had to let her rest before we went on. Part of it was obviously fear, but the breathlessness was real enough.

We had started off again, pushing her up the last few yards of path, when to our surprise we were accosted – indeed, almost ambushed – as a wizened figure in a brown cloak appeared on top of the bank to our left and waved at us.

‘Gladys!’ I said. ‘Gladys? What are you doing here?’

Gladys gave us one of her fanged grins. ‘Saw you coming along the river in that boat, I did. Saw you’d got
her
with you; at least, I supposed it was her. Couldn’t think who else it would be.’

‘Who’s this?’ gasped Susannah.

‘This is Gladys Morgan. She helps in Mistress Stannard’s household. She sews and makes medicines,’ said Brockley repressively.

‘She’s your servant?’ Susannah said to me, staring at Gladys with dislike. ‘Doesn’t she even say
ma’am
when she speaks to you?’ Susannah, however light-fingered, evidently kept to a few conventions.

‘Not often. Gladys doesn’t go in for terms of respect,’ I said. ‘Did you come to meet us, Gladys? How did you know we wouldn’t go straight up to the castle?’

‘Didn’t know. Saw you take this path, that’s all. I was out and about, looking for a few plants I wanted. There’re some you can gather at any time of year. Looks like you’re going to Bowman’s. Are you?’

‘Yes. What makes you so sure?’ Ryder said.

‘I’ve good reason. I’ve something to tell you.’ Gladys grinned. ‘I reckoned that a bit of snooping was wanted. There was you, working yourself to death, trying to get at the heart of it all. I kept thinking: how can I help? What can I do that might come in useful?’ Her dark eyes, still bright despite her years, suddenly lost their usual malicious gleam and looked into mine with such a naked gratitude that it took me aback.

‘Dead I’d be, long since, but for you and him.’ She pointed at Brockley. ‘I were nearly done for, as a witch, twice back at Vetch Castle, and then again, in London. Every time, you or him stepped in and rescued me. You think I don’t care? I wanted to help, and I got a notion.’

It was more than gratitude. It was an emotion so deep that there were tears in her eyes. I laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Gladys, we were glad to have saved you. Go on. Tell us what you’ve been doing.’

‘You remember that Catherine Mildmay that you went to see?’

‘Catherine Mildmay? Yes, of course!’ Dale, listening to all this, was startled. ‘But if ever there was a decent, honest woman—’

Gladys, her usual nature reasserting itself, made an impolite noise. ‘Told us all about her, you did, after seeing her,’ she said to me, ‘and I didn’t believe a word of it. Sounded as if she’d got a halo and wings – bah! I don’t trust folk like that. I bin wondering about her ever since. You said she lived in Moor Street. So I asked Master Stannard for some money, and he said what for, and I said to help me find out who killed Hoxton. He give it me, but said to be careful. And I was. I dragged my old bones down your bloody stairs again and out through the town, and I found my way to the Mildmay woman and I told her such a tarradiddle. I’m an ignorant old woman, I am. Don’t know nothing about herbs and things—’

‘Gladys, what on earth are you talking about?’ I said. Susannah looked from one of us to the other in confusion. The others, knowing Gladys better, were silent, waiting for her to get to the point.

‘Told her I’d got a nursling,’ said Gladys with a leer. ‘A dear sweet wench that I’d cared for since she was a little baby. But now she’s a grown lass and she’s in trouble. No, no, it’s all right, Mistress Stannard, I didn’t name any names. If you’re thinking I said it was Meg, well, I didn’t.’

‘I should hope not!’ I exploded.

Gladys merely chuckled. ‘I just begged and pleaded with Mistress Mildmay to help. I said someone like her, with so much knowledge of herbs and whatnot, would surely know what to do. I couldn’t believe she
couldn’t
help. If only she would . . .’

‘And?’ said Ryder sharply.

‘
She
wouldn’t help. Oh no.
Her
hands have to stay clean.
Her
garden’s as pure as Eden afore the serpent got into it. But she gave me a name. He might advise, she said. Only, getting the name would cost me. Three gold angels, that’s what it would cost, and never, never, was I to tell anyone she’d told me. If I did, and the law got her, she’d see it got me too. Just asking where to get medicine to destroy an unborn child was a crime. So I swore to keep the secret, and I paid – said my young mistress had given me the money. And guess what was the name she gave me!’

‘Bowman?’ said Brockley.

‘Aye. Bowman. Well, well, I said, I know
him
, though he never let on that he was in the potions business. So I come here to see Bowman and told my tale again, and said the Mildmay woman had sent me – and here it is. Another four gold angels it cost me.’

She put a hand into her skirts and, from a pocket, pulled out a phial. ‘This’ll be what that girl that died at Christmas used, I’d reckon. As for seeing what plants he’s got in his garden, you can see better from his parlour window than the path. I’d never been inside his cottage before. Talked to him, I have, a good few times, but always in the garden, not indoors. But I was indoors this time, and while he fetched this –’ she waved the phial – ‘I stared out at the garden, and from the parlour I could see it plain enough. Not much wrong with my eyes, old as they are. He’s got nightshade there all right,
and
yew. Got hemlock, too – what’s called poison parsley. Wouldn’t like to think what he’s growing all those for.’

‘He’s growing them?’ Ryder asked. ‘They’re not just weeds?’

‘No, they’re not. Growing them a’purpose is what he’s been doing. Neat and tidy in tended beds, in a quiet corner, they are. Well, what if he were growing them behind his shop when he had his business in the town? Straightaway, I thought: well, here’s someone in Windsor knows their poisons and was here at the time,
and
he married the woman Hoxton wanted, didn’t he? And got rid of her husband too, I reckoned. I was sure, the second I saw them nice tidy poison plants, that it was him did for Hoxton.’

‘Gladys, you’re a marvel,’ I told her.

She gave me another of her unlovely grins. ‘You told us all what Madge said about the man who put the pie on the tray being left-handed, too. Well, Bowman’s left-handed. I’ve noticed. Watched him pruning some bush or other with a sickle in his left hand. Got me thinking straightaway, Madge’s tale did.’

I looked at Brockley, and he at me. Gladys, it seemed, had been a step ahead of us all.

‘I hardly needed to go after that portrait,’ I said. ‘I should have left it all to you, Gladys! Except that I had to go north anyway on the queen’s business.’ Beside me, I felt the check in Brockley’s mind, and though he did not speak, I knew that he was remembering Trelawny, who would still have been alive had we never gone to Ramsfold. I looked towards the cottage. ‘There’s smoke coming from Bowman’s chimney. He must be at home. Come along.’

We made our way all together through the gate of the cottage. Gladys pointed to something in a corner of the garden, and I went to look. Coming back, I said: ‘There’s a plant there with a few black berries still on it. The leaves are kite-shaped. Is that nightshade?’