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“Sit,” Nick repeated, and they settled back down. This time Catherine held still.
“They are coming along, Goodman Simmons,” Alyce said.
Lucy pulled away from the safety of their spot and stepped around the corner. Pip and Percy jumped up, running and barking at her. She yanked her cap from her head, letting her long braid tumble out. “’Tis me,” she said as they ran up.
Fierce barking turned to happy yips as they recognized her. The dogs leaped around Lucy, and Catherine threw herself into her arms. “Lady Lucy! Happy New Year and thank you for our warm gifts.” She stepped back and spun around to show her bright blue petticoat. “And the hose keep me so warm.” She lifted the hem to show woolen hose underneath. “I can be outdoors all day without freezing.”
“Thank you,” Alyce said, and gave Greer a nod. “You have new clothes too.”
Simmons shook his head. “As does Lady Lucy.” He frowned at her masculine costume.
“See what a good job we’re doing with the dogs,” Nick said, hugging pup. “And the cocks are liking their new home.” He looked to Greer. “Cabbages do work.”
Greer nodded to him. “Ye’ve kept your promise to see the cocks comfortable and are helping care for these growing beasts. Very good.” Nick stood even straighter, his smile broad.
“Master Simmons is doing most of the training,” Alyce said. “We merely help.”
Greer studied the old man. Simmons crossed his arms over his chest, watching the children with a softened expression, the bite out of his frown.
“Master Simmons,” Greer said, “Lady Lucy and I would like to have a private word with ye.”
His arms slowly dropped, his eyes growing wider. “Certainly. Is there more trouble up at Whitehall?”
“Aye,” Greer said and walked toward the back of the house. “Maybe the children could continue to train Pip and Percy while we talk inside.”
“Excellent idea,” Lucy said, striding after Greer. “Come along, Simmons.”
The elderly man followed behind without another option. He was still Lucy’s paid servant and obviously loyal to Cranfield House. Was he also loyal to the late Agatha Cranfield, Lucy’s traitorous mother?
They walked in a single line into the library off the entry hall. Greer closed the door behind them.
“What is this about?” Simmons asked.
“Did you buy ratsbane at the apothecary on London Bridge?” Lucy asked.
Simmons took a small stagger backwards. “Good Lord.” He looked to Greer. “Has ratsbane been used at Whitehall?”
“Cordelia has been accused of trying to poison the queen with ratsbane dusted through the fan she gifted her last night,” Lucy said.
Greer watched Simmons closely. His face turned reddish. “And someone tried to make Lucy look guilty by putting some more ratsbane in a clay jar under her bed,” Greer said.
Simmons’s hands fisted before him as if in prayer. “Is that why you’re dressed like a lad?”
“They’ve sent Cordelia to the Tower,” Lucy answered. “I may be next. We felt it prudent to leave Whitehall until this was figured out.” She glanced around and then back at the man. “Do we have mice or rats at Cranfield, or were you planning to poison the animals?”
His mouth dropped open and closed twice before he spoke. “No to both, milady.”
“But ye bought ratsbane at the apothecary,” Greer said.
“Yes, but it was for my associate. He said he needed it for rats at his employers’ establishment. A small amount, anyway.”
“Why would you buy it for him?” Lucy said, walking closer to the butler. She touched his arm. “Are you continuing my mother’s work?”
Simmons sunk onto the edge of a chair by the cold hearth. “Certainly not. I… He asked me to purchase it because Master Wendel wouldn’t sell to an Irishman.”
“Jasper Lintel,” Greer said.
“Why, yes,” Simmons said, looking up at him. “How—?”
