It was not until she casually opened the last of a series of tiny drawers in a lacquer chest that Sophy found the small, bound volume. She stared uneasily at it for a long moment before she opened the cover and saw that it was Elizabeth's journal.
Sophy could not stop herself. Setting the candle on the table, she picked up the small book and began to read.
Two hours later she knew why Elizabeth had been near the pond on the night of her death.
"She came to you that night, did she not, Bess?" Sophy, seated on the small bench outside the old woman's thatched cottage, did not look up as she sorted through both fresh and dried herbs.
Bess heaved a deep sigh, her eyes mere slits in her wrinkled face. "So ye know, do ye? Aye, lass. She came to me, poor woman. She was beside herself that night, she was. How did ye discover that she was here?"
"I found her journal last night in her room."
"Bah. The little fool." Bess shook her head in disgust. "This business o' the ladies o' the quality scribblin' everythin' down in their little journals is dangerous. I hope ye don't go in for it."
"No." Sophy smiled. "I do not keep a diary. I sometimes make notes about my reading, but nothing more. It is all I can do to keep up with my correspondence."
"For years I've always said no good'll ever come of teachin' so many people readin' and writin'," Bess stated. "The real important knowledge don't come out of books. Comes from payin' attention to what's around and about us and what's in here." She tapped her ample bosom in the region of her heart.
"That may be true but unfortunately not all of us have your instincts for that kind of knowledge, Bess. And many of us lack your memory. For us, being able to read and write is the only solution."
"Tweren't no good solution for the first Countess, was it? She put her secrets down in her little book and now ye know them."
"Maybe Elizabeth wrote down her secrets because she hoped that someday someone would find them and read them," Sophy said thoughtfully. "Maybe she took a sort of pride in her wickedness."
Bess shook her head. "More'n likely the poor woman could nay help herself. Maybe the writin' was her way o' leeching some of the poison out of her blood from time to time.
"Lord knows there was a poison of some kind in her veins." Sophy remembered the entries, some jubilant, some obscene, some vindictive, and some tragic that recorded Elizabeth's affairs. "We'll never know for certain." Sophy was silent for a moment as she sealed herbs in a series of small pouches. The late afternoon sunlight felt good on her shoulders and the smells of the woods around Bess's cottage were very sweet and soothing after the air of London.
"So now ye know," Bess said, breaking the silence after a moment.
"That she came to see you because she wanted you to rid her of the babe she was carrying? Yes, I know. But the journal ends with that entry. The pages are all blank after that point. What happened that night, Bess?"
Bess closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun. "What happened was that I killed her, God save me."
Sophy nearly dropped a handful of dried melilot flowers. She stared at Bess in shock. "Nonsense. I do not believe that. What are you saying?"
Bess did not open her eyes. "I did not give her what she wanted that night. I lied and told her I did not have the herbs that would rid her o' the babe. But the truth was, I was afraid to give her the kind of help she demanded. I couldn't trust her."
Sophy nodded in sudden understanding. "Your instincts were wise, Bess. She would have had a hold over you, if you had done what she asked. She was the kind of person who might have used the information to threaten you later. You would have been at her mercy. She would have come to you again and again, not only to rid her of future unwanted babes but to supply her with the special herbs she used to stimulate her senses."
"Ye know about her usin' the herbs for that reason?"
"She frequently wrote in her journal after having eaten opium. The entries are a wild jumble of meaningless words and flights of fancy. Perhaps it was her misuse of the poppy that made her act so strangely."
"No," Bess said quietly. "Twas not the work of the poppy. The poor soul had a sickness of the mind and spirit that could not be cured. I expect she used the syrup of the poppy and other herbs to give herself some relief from the endless torment. I tried to tell her once that the poppy was very useful for physical pain but not for the kind of pain she suffered, the kind that comes from the spirit. But she wouldn't listen."
"Why do you say you killed her, Bess?"
"I told ye I sent her away that night without givin' her what she wanted. She went straight to the pond and drowned herself, poor creature."
Sophy considered that. "I doubt it," she finally said. "She had a sickness of the spirit, I'll grant you that, but she had been in her particular condition on at least one previous occasion and she knew how to obtain the remedy she sought. After you turned her down, she would have simply gone to another who would have helped her, even if she'd been forced to return to London."
Bess squinted at her. "She got rid of another babe?"
"Yes." Sophy touched her own stomach in an unconscious gesture of protectiveness. "She was breeding when she returned from her honeymoon with the Earl. She found someone in London who made her bleed until she lost the babe."
"I'll wager 'twas not Ravenwood's babe she was tryin' to shed the night she drowned," Bess said with a frown.
"No. It was one of her lovers." But Elizabeth had not named him, Sophy recalled. She shivered a little as she finished tying up the last of her selections. "It grows late, Bess, and if I am not deceived, a bit cool. I had best be on my way back to the Abbey."
"Ye have all the herbs and flowers yell be needin' for a while?"
Sophy stuffed the small packets into the pockets of her riding habit. "Yes, I think so. Next spring I believe I will put in an herb garden of my own at the Abbey. You must give me some advice when that time comes, Bess."
Bess did not move from her bench but her aged eyes were keen. "Aye, I'll help ye if I'm still around. If not ye already know more'n enough to plant yer own garden. But somethin' tells me ye'll be busy with more that gardenin' come next spring."
"I should have known you would guess."
"That ye're breedin? Tis obvious enough for them that has eyes to see. Ravenwood sent ye back to the country for the sake of the babe, didn't he?"
"Partly." Sophy smiled wryly. "But mostly, I fear, he has banished me to the country because I've been a great nuisance to him in town."
Bess frowned anxiously. "What's this? Ye have been a good wife to him, haven't ye, gal?"
"Certainly. I am the best of wives. Ravenwood is enormously fortunate to have me but I am not always sure he realizes the extent of his good luck." Sophy picked up her horse's reins.
"Bah. Ye be teasin' me again. Go on with ye now, afore the air gives ye a chill. Be sure to eat hearty. Yell be needin' yer strength."
"Do not concern yourself, Bess," Sophy said as she swung up into the saddle. "My appetite is as large and as unladylike as it ever was."
She adjusted the folds of her skirt, making certain the small packets of herbs were safely stowed and then she gave her mare the signal to move off.
Behind her Bess sat on the bench, watching horse and rider until both disappeared into the trees.
The mare needed little guidance to find the shortcut back to the main house. Sophy let the animal pick her way through the woods while her own thoughts strayed once more to the reading she had done during the night.
The tale of her predecessor's downward spiral into something very close to madness had not been particularly edifying but it had certainly made compelling reading.