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

fortunate."
    Appalled, Susanna gaped at her.
    "I will ask,” Petronella promised again.
    "If we learn enough,” Susanna told her, “we may be able to put an end to these killings."
    "You should look elsewhere, as well,” Petronella said.
    Susanna felt her insides clench as she realized Petronella must have heard of Lora Tylney from someone who had been at Queen Mary's court. In all likelihood someone known to Susanna. Perhaps well known.
    Again she wondered if Petronella had ever met Robert. Again she did not ask.
    "Murder must not go unpunished,” she said instead, “no matter who the killer is.” Only by determining the identity of the murderer could she resolve her own doubts about Robert's involvement.
    "Not even a whore's murder?"
    "Not even a whore's murder.” For a moment something very like understanding flickered between them. Susanna had the feeling she'd just made a pact, a commitment to find justice for all the murdered women.
    "Who told you about Lora Tylney's death?” she asked.
    The tenuous bond dissolved. “You should leave now, Lady Appleton."
    So, Petronella meant to keep his identity secret. A gentleman or a nobleman, that much seemed likely. Someone Susanna knew, at least by reputation. Mayhap someone in Robert's circle of friends, someone she had met. She hoped Petronella's client did not turn out to be Walter Pendennis. She found she could not like the thought of Sir Walter visiting a Bankside brothel, though she could not imagine why the possibility bothered her so much.
    "Look you to the court and courtiers,” Petronella said. “Leave Bankside to me."
    "Will you send word if you learn anything to our purpose?” Susanna reluctantly resumed Diane's visor in preparation to depart.
    With equal reluctance, Petronella promised that she would.
    Susanna told her new ally where the Appletons lodged, then left the Sign of the Smock and walked rapidly toward Paris Garden Stairs. Her mind raced even faster. Look to the court? And who there could she question, in a casual fashion, about events so long ago?
    Petronella had said that Lora was a chamberer, in other words an upper-level maidservant of gentle birth. Who better to ask about her murder than other royal attendants? But with Queen Elizabeth's accession, Queen Mary's ladies-in-waiting, maids of honor, and chamberers had for the most part been replaced. Were laundresses, scullery maids, seamstresses, and the like also changed at the beginning of each new reign? Susanna had no idea. Then she realized it did not matter. She did know one person still at court who had most assuredly been there throughout Queen Mary's reign.
    At Thameside, Susanna and Jennet paid their pennies to a waterman and clambered aboard his wherry for the river crossing. Jennet let out a huff as she sank onto the hard wooden bench provided for passengers. “'Tis glad I am to be clear of that place."
    "Try to keep an open mind, Jennet. The woman will be more inclined to help us if she does not sense your disdain."
    "How can you lower yourself to treat her as an equal?” Jennet demanded. “She is a bawd."
    "I know what goes on in her establishment."
    Or at least she thought she did. In truth, she was curious to learn more. She wondered about Petronella's background and her reasons for earning her keep as she did. The brothelkeeper was not at all what Susanna had expected.

Chapter 12
    Dismissing Robert Appleton's wife from her thoughts, Petronella went about her normal morning business. The premises had to be inspected for cleanliness, to make sure no offensive smells drove customers away. The girls here had clean smocks and clean bed linen and were regularly checked for disease and signs of breeding by Old Mag the midwife.
    In addition, those who had broken the rules had to be called to account. Petronella visited the young woman who called herself Celia Clatterballocks. The small cubicle she'd been assigned held naught but a bed, a stool, and two identical pissing pots, one