instead. “We will sup in an hour's time."
"Have you an hour's worth of news to impart?” Susanna asked when they were alone.
"Let us speak honestly together,” he suggested, pasting on his most sincere expression.
She lifted a skeptical brow. “A novel notion."
"As honestly as I am permitted to speak,” he amended, hoping she'd think he was bound by the security of the realm to keep some matters to himself.
"Very well, Robert. Honesty. I have nothing to hide.” She settled herself on the window seat, taking great care with the arrangement of her skirts.
"I have been told you visited Whitehall earlier today. What purpose had you in going there?"
Susanna's fingers stilled on a fold of fabric. “I met with the Lady Mary Grey."
Robert choked on his ale, coughing uncontrollably.
"'Twas as well he could not speak, he realized when he finally caught his breath. His shock had been great at hearing that name. He might have given something away.
Susanna could not possibly know his plans. Her face was open, easy to read. He saw in it only her concern for him—she went so far as to get up and pound him on the back to aid his recovery.
This had to be mere coincidence. It could be nothing else. And yet ‘twas worrisome.
"The ale went down the wrong way,” he said hoarsely.
"Yes,” she agreed, and waited, as was her habit when she wished to encourage others to speak first, filling a deliberately left silence.
'Twas a remarkable effective ploy. Robert pretended to fall into the trap. “What business did you have with the Lady Mary?” he asked, as if he'd only just recalled what she'd said before his fit of coughing. “Why, I had almost forgot she was at court.” He grinned, thinking of the Lady Mary's size. “She is passing easy to overlook."
No smile came in reply. “She is a most observant person herself,” Susanna told him solemnly. “The Lady Mary likes to know things.” She sighed and folded her arms on the table. “There is no point in concealing my intentions from you, Robert, but I must tell you that had you been here, I'd have had no necessity to question the Lady Mary."
"I find your words enigmatic, Susanna.” Question the Lady Mary? He did not like the sound of that. “Tell me plain what you discussed with the queen's cousin."
"The murder of Lora Tylney."
This time he could not disguise his shock. He gaped at her, incredulous. “How did you—?"
He broke off as comprehension dawned. He and Pendennis had spoken of Lora in this house. Annoyed that he'd not been more careful, he cast a thoughtful glance at the door. No doubt Jennet was stationed behind it even now, positioned to eavesdrop on every word he said.
He supposed it did not matter. Anything she did not overhear, Susanna would repeat to her later. He'd never understood this bond between mistress and servant and did not approve of it, although he had no choice but to acknowledge its existence.
"Come, Robert,” his wife urged, refilling the cup he could not remember draining. “You are the one who proposed honesty. You cannot deny that the murder of Lora Tylney and the murder of Diane St. Cyr have several things in common. The date—St. Mark's Day. The feather, indicating a connection to Winchester geese. The broken necks. And most important, the physical description of the victim. I have learned of a third murder, that of a prostitute in Southwark just a year ago. Like Lora and Diane, she was small and dark and her neck was broken. What conclusion can I draw but that one man killed all three women? A man who must be known to you, for he was at court with you during Queen Mary's reign."
Robert's mind was too clogged with questions to allow him to speak. What Susanna had reasoned out was at once less alarming and more daunting than anything he'd feared she would say.
"A killer who strikes but once a year,” he finally managed to say. “A killer who follows a pattern?"
"Aye. It makes a sickening kind of sense. There is a sort
"Have you an hour's worth of news to impart?” Susanna asked when they were alone.
"Let us speak honestly together,” he suggested, pasting on his most sincere expression.
She lifted a skeptical brow. “A novel notion."
"As honestly as I am permitted to speak,” he amended, hoping she'd think he was bound by the security of the realm to keep some matters to himself.
"Very well, Robert. Honesty. I have nothing to hide.” She settled herself on the window seat, taking great care with the arrangement of her skirts.
"I have been told you visited Whitehall earlier today. What purpose had you in going there?"
Susanna's fingers stilled on a fold of fabric. “I met with the Lady Mary Grey."
Robert choked on his ale, coughing uncontrollably.
"'Twas as well he could not speak, he realized when he finally caught his breath. His shock had been great at hearing that name. He might have given something away.
Susanna could not possibly know his plans. Her face was open, easy to read. He saw in it only her concern for him—she went so far as to get up and pound him on the back to aid his recovery.
This had to be mere coincidence. It could be nothing else. And yet ‘twas worrisome.
"The ale went down the wrong way,” he said hoarsely.
"Yes,” she agreed, and waited, as was her habit when she wished to encourage others to speak first, filling a deliberately left silence.
'Twas a remarkable effective ploy. Robert pretended to fall into the trap. “What business did you have with the Lady Mary?” he asked, as if he'd only just recalled what she'd said before his fit of coughing. “Why, I had almost forgot she was at court.” He grinned, thinking of the Lady Mary's size. “She is passing easy to overlook."
No smile came in reply. “She is a most observant person herself,” Susanna told him solemnly. “The Lady Mary likes to know things.” She sighed and folded her arms on the table. “There is no point in concealing my intentions from you, Robert, but I must tell you that had you been here, I'd have had no necessity to question the Lady Mary."
"I find your words enigmatic, Susanna.” Question the Lady Mary? He did not like the sound of that. “Tell me plain what you discussed with the queen's cousin."
"The murder of Lora Tylney."
This time he could not disguise his shock. He gaped at her, incredulous. “How did you—?"
He broke off as comprehension dawned. He and Pendennis had spoken of Lora in this house. Annoyed that he'd not been more careful, he cast a thoughtful glance at the door. No doubt Jennet was stationed behind it even now, positioned to eavesdrop on every word he said.
He supposed it did not matter. Anything she did not overhear, Susanna would repeat to her later. He'd never understood this bond between mistress and servant and did not approve of it, although he had no choice but to acknowledge its existence.
"Come, Robert,” his wife urged, refilling the cup he could not remember draining. “You are the one who proposed honesty. You cannot deny that the murder of Lora Tylney and the murder of Diane St. Cyr have several things in common. The date—St. Mark's Day. The feather, indicating a connection to Winchester geese. The broken necks. And most important, the physical description of the victim. I have learned of a third murder, that of a prostitute in Southwark just a year ago. Like Lora and Diane, she was small and dark and her neck was broken. What conclusion can I draw but that one man killed all three women? A man who must be known to you, for he was at court with you during Queen Mary's reign."
Robert's mind was too clogged with questions to allow him to speak. What Susanna had reasoned out was at once less alarming and more daunting than anything he'd feared she would say.
"A killer who strikes but once a year,” he finally managed to say. “A killer who follows a pattern?"
"Aye. It makes a sickening kind of sense. There is a sort
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