Free Face Down among the Winchester Geese by Kathy Lynn Emerson Page A

choice among those of the New Religion."
    "Even as those who cling to the old faith still name their daughters Ursula and Werburga after local saints."
    Her hostess was obviously an educated woman. With a degree of surprise, Susanna realized that she was inclined to like her. “You implied there have been other murders. Will you tell me about them?"
    "A member of my profession was killed last April. I confirmed the date last night. She is buried in the single woman's churchyard here in Southwark. Another woman was slain several years ago. Lora, she was called. Both of them and your friend shared the same physical description. All had their necks broken. And all died on St. Mark's Day."
    "Do you know this Lora's surname, or the year in which she was killed?” Susanna had little doubt Petronella spoke of Lora Tylney, the name Jennet had overheard.
    "No,” Petronella said, “but I perceive that you do."
    "Aye. Lora Tylney. She died six years ago. A feather was found near her body,” Susanna added. “One was also left near Diane's.” Robert and Sir Walter might discount this as coincidence, but Susanna could not.
    Petronella's brow furrowed in thought. “What kind of feather?"
    "The quill of a goose.
    Bitterness underscored Petronella's next words. “'Tis possible that was meant as a reference to Winchester geese."
    "I do not understand you,” Susanna said.
    "That is what we are called, those of us who earn our livings in places such as this. Once the Bishop of Winchester owned all these houses and the women who worked for him became known as Winchester geese. The term has other meanings, but that is the most common."
    "Was Lora a whore?"
    "I asked that very question myself. It appears not. And your friend?"
    "A married man's mistress, perhaps, but not a woman who worked in a bordello."
    At Petronella's knowing smile, Susanna suddenly felt uneasy. Was it possible this woman knew Robert? The thought unnerved her, but this was not a line of questioning she wished to pursue. Not yet.
    "Did Lora die here in Southwark?” she asked instead.
    Setting aside the covered flagon that held her ale, Petronella stood. Susanna had seen no signs of emotion before, but now she noted the clasped hands, fingernails digging into palms, and the quickened breathing. Petronella kept her agitation under control only with a great effort.
    "She died at court. She was a chamberer to Queen Mary."
    That news brought Susanna to her feet as well. There was no longer any doubt that Petronella's Lora was the woman of whom Robert and Sir Walter had spoken. Six years ago, she recalled, England had been preparing for war with France. At the end of April, King Philip had been in England, engaged in gathering troops. To improve his political fortunes, Robert had gone to court and, later, off to fight. He'd been knighted for his bravery in battle.
    Robert and Sir Walter were hiding something. For some reason they wanted Diane's death glossed over and forgotten. Susanna did not like to think that either of them, or any of the friends of their youth, might have been guilty of a murder six years ago, but she had to consider that chilling possibility ... and one other.
    "Is it likely there are more victims?” It was a particularly unpalatable thought.
    "More women who look like me? Dead women?"
    "Aye.” That a woman of a certain description might have been slain every St. Mark's Day since Mary sat on the throne was horrifying to contemplate, and yet Susanna knew she must.
    By her grim expression, Petronella saw the logic of Susanna's conclusion. Perhaps it was one she had already come to on her own. “It is possible,” she allowed.
    "We must try to discover if it is so,” Susanna said. “Will you ask among the other houses here in Southwark?"
    "I will ask, but here the death of a whore is less than nothing."
    "To officials, perhaps, but to her friends?"
    "A clever girl lasts but three or four years before she's worn out. Others are not so