not stop when bidden ... that she would try to assault her person ...
She pummeled the girl, boxing her ears soundly, getting in cuffs and kicks. She snagged her long fingers in that black hair, however greasy it was. If she had lice, she'd skin her alive. The girl landed two kicks and one punch to her shoulder, but never got the best of her. The more they struggled, the wilder Elizabeth became, as if this rage had been building in her for years.
Harry and Jenks thudded down the steps, the lantern still in Jenks's hands. Harry pulled the girl away and slammed her back against a pile of barrels, which bumped and rolled; he pressed her to the wall. Still, the girl did not cry out or say a word.
"What in creation?" he demanded, as out of breath as if he'd been in the fray. "Who in the deuce is this?"
"You don't know either?" Elizabeth shoved back her hair, which streamed loose from her boy's cap. "I caught her sneaking down here and pouring something in a firkin. Bring her over here," she ordered and took the lantern from the astounded Jenks to lead them into the next chamber.
She cast light upon the glittering, wet shards of broken vial--thin-blown venetian glass, it looked to be--then found the firkin where it had rolled into a cobwebbed corner. "This is what she was tampering with, corrupting for all I know," she told them, putting it back in its wooden cradle. Half filled with liquid, it was heavy.
"Speak up, girl!" Harry demanded.
"We've got you now. Who are you and what mischief was here?"
"And she hung this up with the herbs," Elizabeth said and plucked down the single nosegay. She shook it close to the girl's face. She flinched as if it would burn her but still said naught.
"Maybe she can't talk--she's dumb,"
Jenks put in.
"One way or the other, she's dumb," Harry intoned and gave her another hard shake. Her head jerked and her limbs moved like a rag doll's.
"Jenks," he said, "go up and knock quietly on Lady Boleyn's door and ask Glenda to send Meg Milligrew down here straightaway. I don't care if she still claims she's puking her insides out."
Jenks nodded and hurried away. Elizabeth could tell the girl was terrified, and yet she did nothing to ease her situation. No explanation, no pleas, just wide-eyed, sullen, or even stupid stares. Perhaps she had been drugged, but she had fought like one demented or under some spell.
Elizabeth's lower lip dropped when Jenks swiftly returned with Meg. Though wrapped in a rough wool coverlet, her strawberry-hued hair wild from her bed, her face pinched and pale --yes, but for the wench's broader face, Elizabeth had to admit, at least to herself, it was like gazing in a looking glass. Meg just gaped back, her mouth open too. "Good gracious" was all she managed to say.
Elizabeth forced herself to think again. "I am Lady Boleyn's friend, Lady Cornish,
Meg. Since you are her herbalist, tell me what this is the girl tried to put among your hanging herbs. These are the herbs you hang here like in the garden shed, are they not?"
"Yes, milady. Could I have the light on this one then, an' you please?"
Jenks took and held the lantern for her. She frowned intently at the cluster of limp leaves on the stalks, then felt and sniffed at them. "Why, 'tisn't true saffron like I got hanging here to make the mistress's favorite honey saffron cakes," she declared. A frown furrowed her high brow. "It's got much simpler leaves and not sharp-edged, see? And they're longer and darker, but when they get mixed in and dried, Cook might not know the difference. Meadow saffron, milady, that's what this is."
Elizabeth just frowned, but suddenly Meg looked aghast. She drew in a sharp breath, then launched herself at their prisoner. "You mean you been poisoning her?" she screeched. "By mixing with my herbs? Meadow saffron's poison, you whey-faced bitch!" Meg's hands, still holding the
herb, spread like claws around the girl's neck as if she'd choke the very life from her.
Harry cursed and, with
She pummeled the girl, boxing her ears soundly, getting in cuffs and kicks. She snagged her long fingers in that black hair, however greasy it was. If she had lice, she'd skin her alive. The girl landed two kicks and one punch to her shoulder, but never got the best of her. The more they struggled, the wilder Elizabeth became, as if this rage had been building in her for years.
Harry and Jenks thudded down the steps, the lantern still in Jenks's hands. Harry pulled the girl away and slammed her back against a pile of barrels, which bumped and rolled; he pressed her to the wall. Still, the girl did not cry out or say a word.
"What in creation?" he demanded, as out of breath as if he'd been in the fray. "Who in the deuce is this?"
"You don't know either?" Elizabeth shoved back her hair, which streamed loose from her boy's cap. "I caught her sneaking down here and pouring something in a firkin. Bring her over here," she ordered and took the lantern from the astounded Jenks to lead them into the next chamber.
She cast light upon the glittering, wet shards of broken vial--thin-blown venetian glass, it looked to be--then found the firkin where it had rolled into a cobwebbed corner. "This is what she was tampering with, corrupting for all I know," she told them, putting it back in its wooden cradle. Half filled with liquid, it was heavy.
"Speak up, girl!" Harry demanded.
"We've got you now. Who are you and what mischief was here?"
"And she hung this up with the herbs," Elizabeth said and plucked down the single nosegay. She shook it close to the girl's face. She flinched as if it would burn her but still said naught.
"Maybe she can't talk--she's dumb,"
Jenks put in.
"One way or the other, she's dumb," Harry intoned and gave her another hard shake. Her head jerked and her limbs moved like a rag doll's.
"Jenks," he said, "go up and knock quietly on Lady Boleyn's door and ask Glenda to send Meg Milligrew down here straightaway. I don't care if she still claims she's puking her insides out."
Jenks nodded and hurried away. Elizabeth could tell the girl was terrified, and yet she did nothing to ease her situation. No explanation, no pleas, just wide-eyed, sullen, or even stupid stares. Perhaps she had been drugged, but she had fought like one demented or under some spell.
Elizabeth's lower lip dropped when Jenks swiftly returned with Meg. Though wrapped in a rough wool coverlet, her strawberry-hued hair wild from her bed, her face pinched and pale --yes, but for the wench's broader face, Elizabeth had to admit, at least to herself, it was like gazing in a looking glass. Meg just gaped back, her mouth open too. "Good gracious" was all she managed to say.
Elizabeth forced herself to think again. "I am Lady Boleyn's friend, Lady Cornish,
Meg. Since you are her herbalist, tell me what this is the girl tried to put among your hanging herbs. These are the herbs you hang here like in the garden shed, are they not?"
"Yes, milady. Could I have the light on this one then, an' you please?"
Jenks took and held the lantern for her. She frowned intently at the cluster of limp leaves on the stalks, then felt and sniffed at them. "Why, 'tisn't true saffron like I got hanging here to make the mistress's favorite honey saffron cakes," she declared. A frown furrowed her high brow. "It's got much simpler leaves and not sharp-edged, see? And they're longer and darker, but when they get mixed in and dried, Cook might not know the difference. Meadow saffron, milady, that's what this is."
Elizabeth just frowned, but suddenly Meg looked aghast. She drew in a sharp breath, then launched herself at their prisoner. "You mean you been poisoning her?" she screeched. "By mixing with my herbs? Meadow saffron's poison, you whey-faced bitch!" Meg's hands, still holding the
herb, spread like claws around the girl's neck as if she'd choke the very life from her.
Harry cursed and, with
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