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“No,” Elizabeth said. “She is not dead. She merely sleeps.”
“What addle-pated prattle is this? Elizabeth, ‘twas I who lifted her up and carried her from the barge up to the house and then laid her down upon her bed before her grieving father. And I tell you that her sleep is eternal, one from which she shall nevermore awake. Catherine Middleton is dead.’”
“No, Tuck,” Elizabeth insisted. “ Tis but the clever counterfeit of death, brought on by a potion she had taken in her wine.”
“A potion? ‘Twas poison in the flask we found,” said Smythe. “Will has taken it to London, to Granny Meg, in the hope that she may tell us what sort of vile concoction it may be.”
“Then he shall bear out my tale when he returns,” Elizabeth replied, “for ‘twas Granny Meg herself who had prepared it.”
Smythe stared at her with astonishment. “What? Granny Meg prepared the poison?”
“The. potion, not the poison, you fool!”
“Tell him all of it,” the young man said. “It makes no difference now. The game is up. We are undone. ‘Twas all for nothing.”
“No, John,” Elizabeth said, “ ‘twas not for nothing. Tuck is my friend. My very dear friend. He shall not betray us.”
Smythe felt hopelessly confused. He glanced from one to the other, staring at them as if they were speaking in tongues. “What are you saying? What is there to betray? I understand none of this! Tis madness!”
“Then ‘tis a madness that you, Tuck, of all men, should comprehend,” Elizabeth told him. “By arrangement, Catherine was to wed Sir Percival, as you know. But Catherine did not want the marriage. She did not love him. Nor could she ever come to love him. How could she? You saw him; he is an imbecile, a foolish, prattling old man whose only care in life is for the cut of his silk doublets. But when Catherine protested that she did not wish to marry, her father would not hear it. The match was made, and Catherine was to do as she was told. She was to do her duty, as a daughter should. Does that sound familiar to you?”
Smythe nodded. It had been exactly so with Elizabeth, when her father had tried to force her to marry against her will. It was not uncommon for parents to arrange their children’s marriages for mutual advantage, unless they were poor, of course, in which case their children had the luxury of being free to marry for love. It was, perhaps, one of the very few advantages of being poor. He could see why Elizabeth had felt so sympathetic to Catherine’s situation.
“Well, Catherine has always been a strong-willed and clever girl,” Elizabeth continued, “and she had absolutely no intention of marrying Sir Percy, since she was already in love… with John Mason, here. Only there was no chance of her father’s approving of anyone like John, for John is not a gentleman, you see. In truth, John’s station in life is very much like yours, Tuck. He is a groom at Green Oaks.”
“Do you mean Sir William’s estate?” said Smythe.
John Mason nodded. “I have served Sir William since I was a mere boy,” he said. “My father serves him, too, as groundskeeper.” He grimaced and shook his head. “There
was no question of my ever asking for Catherine’s hand in marriage. ‘Twould have been outrageous, presumptuous, and ridiculous. And yet, we were in love. We had met while out riding in the countryside. Catherine loves to ride, and ‘tis among my regular duties to exercise Sir William’s horses. Thus we encountered one another, and from the very first, we fell in love. We both knew it was hopeless, but there was no helping it, you see. Neither of us could conceive of life without the other. And so, we planned to run away.”
“Only Catherine knew that her father would spare no expense to track them down and bring her back,” Elizabeth said. “She was afraid for John, as well, of what would happen to him if they ran away together and were caught. On the other hand, if she were dead…”
“The plan was insane,” said Mason. “I should never have consented to it.”
“You had no choice,” Elizabeth replied. “Catherine was going through with it with or without your consent, because she realized that there was no other way.”
“So she came to you with this preposterous idea and you took her to see Granny Meg,” said Smythe.
“I knew that if anyone could help us, then she would be the one,” Elizabeth replied. “We told her what was needed-a potion that would produce the semblance of death, yet without bringing it about. Something that would cause Catherine to fall into a deathlike sleep, and yet awaken without harm after a day or two.”
“And Granny Meg actually agreed to this mad idea?” said Smythe.
“Not at first. She did not wish to do it. She said it would be very dangerous. There would be risks involved of the sort that no apothecary nor even a skilled cunning woman could predict. But we both pleaded with her. And we also paid her very well.”
“I see,” said Smythe. “Well, this truly passes all understanding and strains credulity to the very limit. So what you mean to tell me, if I have heard aright, is that Catherine is not really dead, but merely in some sort of deep, enchanted sleep that mimics death, and that when the effects of this potion wear off, she will simply awake as if nothing had happened?”
“That was the plan, in its entirety,” Elizabeth said. “And then she and John can have a chance for happiness at last. They can go away together, and with her father believing her dead, no one shall go looking for them. I was to be their go-between, who would help them in the final stages of the plan. Once Catherine had gone to London, I was to carry messages to John.”
“Then that was why you had gone out to the maze the other night?”
“So that was you shouting! I thought the voice sounded familiar! You followed me!”
“Aye, because I thought that you were going to meet another man. When I lost you in the maze, I shouted out to warn you that there were others present who might-”
“You were jealous!”
“Never mind that. ‘Tis of no consequence now. What matters most is that there are things that you and Catherine have overlooked, things that have cast this entire, unfortunate situation in a most disastrous light.”
