The Apothecary Rose

Eighteen

Nicholas slept. His breathing was ragged, but regular enough to assure Lucie that the pain had diminished. She lay down beside him, the room dark but for the tiny flame of the spirit lamp. The cat climbed up on her chest, a welcome warmth. Lucie petted Melisende absently as she stared at the ceiling, wondering how to approach her Aunt Phillippa. To ask about her mother would not be unusual, but to ask about Geoffrey and Nicholas — Her aunt's guard would go up. Phillippa was always careful talking about that time. Lucie knew there was much her aunt chose not to tell her. She would want to know what Lucie had heard, what she was fishing for. Perhaps if Lucie did not make much of it. Something overheard, that Geoffrey and Nicholas had argued. But if she made light of it, so might her aunt. She must say enough that Phillippa would want to separate truth from rumour. Perhaps she might say she had noticed an odd entry in the shop records.

The shop records. Lucie had not thought of them till now. The Archdeacon had said Geoffrey had attacked Nicholas and left him for dead. Then Nicholas had been wounded. Perhaps she could find a reference to it in the records. Her father-in-law had been as meticulous as Nicholas in recording all transactions. Might there not be an entry in the log for dressing a wound, for a salve to quicken the healing?

She sat up, waking Melisende, who hissed and moved with slow dignity to Lucie's feet and began circling in preparation for lying down in a new spot. Lucie disturbed her once more as she pulled her feet up and out onto the cold floor. The old shop records were kept up here in their bedchamber, in a heavy oak chest beneath the front window. She lit the oil lamp from the spirit lamp, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and went over to the chest.

It was Lucie's wedding chest, and her mother's before her. Out of this chest Lucie had pulled mementos of childhood and later when she carried Martin. How happy she had been. God had smiled down on her, allowing her joy. And in his short life Martin had given her much joy. Through him she had remembered her own girlhood, had seen her own mother, with her dark hair and pale eyes, bent over the chest, bringing out treasures, many of them gifts from Geof, her handsome knight. He had brought Lucie presents, too. A carved doll with silken hair, a small cart in which he pulled her through the maze. He had the sunniest smile and the gentlest voice. . And Nicholas had poisoned him? The thought burned in the pit of Lucie's stomach. She told herself she had no time to dwell on that now.

She lifted out an armful of sewn books, each painstakingly illustrated on its cloth cover with an unusual herb, and set them aside. These were Nicholas's. Beneath them were older, leather-bound books, their covers dry and cracking. Lucie leafed through them, pausing over meticulous sketches of astrological signs, heavenly portents. Paul Wilton, her father-in-law, had been more interested in that part of his work than in the botanical work that Nicholas delighted in. She found it confusing to follow her father-in-law's chronology’ he would go through several books and then go back and fill in blank areas in all of them before moving on to a fresh book. Or sometimes he would interrupt one book to return to another. Lucie was uncertain what date she sought, though she knew it had to be within the range of her mother's marriage and the time Geoffrey was in York. She knew that Geoffrey had come after she was born. She'd asked her Aunt Phillippa about that long ago, when she'd had a romantic idea that she might be Geoffrey's daughter. 'Oh no, my little love, you are my niece, you are Robert's child. Never doubt that.'

Her Aunt Phillippa did not understand how lovely it had been, imagining that she was the child of her mother's happiness, that her father was the fair-haired knight who made her mother laugh. She did not want to be the daughter of the grim man who shouted and called her 'little lady.' It hurt her more than her father's scolding that Sir Robert never said her name. As if he could not be bothered to remember it. It had frightened her. If her father could forget her, God could, too. Geoffrey had remembered her name. And her favourite colour. And secrets she'd told him. .

Lucie shook her head. She had sat and dreamt over the same notebook long enough that needles prickled in the hand poised to turn the page, and one of her feet had gone to sleep. She picked up the record books that she guessed covered the years of her mother's marriage, and moved over to the table and chair by the garden window.

Slowly she made her way through the books, pausing at all mention of 'N’ which was Paul Wilton's code for Nicholas. There were no complete names in the records, just one or two initials, enough to distinguish one customer or supplier from another. Most of the entries mentioning Nicholas referred to his purchase of cuttings and seeds for the garden. Occasionally, more frequently as time went by, Nicholas helped his father in the shop. His responsibilities grew.

And then she found it. An entry about the time of her mother's death. She had almost stopped before she reached it. 'MD cauterised wound, bandaged. Stayed the night to see what N's eyes looked like when he woke. Left salve and tisane. AA, D'Arby, and DP agree N has done his penance.' And in the accounts were entered a generous payment to MD for services rendered and a gift to the minster fund, the size of which made Lucie uneasy. For surely 'AA' was the Archdeacon, D'Arby was her father, and 'DP' Dame Phillippa. They agreed that Nicholas had done his penance for what? What sin required such a large offering to the minster fund? Did it have something to do with her mother's death? And who was 'MD'?

Owen woke at dawn from a light drowse that had taken most of the night to achieve. His stomach burned and his head felt crowded with demons chattering incessantly in voices pitched to hysteria. Too many questions, few answers, too many constraints. He could not exhume Montaigne, he could not question Lucie or she would know he suspected her, he could not question Nicholas because the man was dying. Anselm was a madman. Thoresby — what of John Thoresby? The comfortable, confident Lord Chancellor of England and Archbishop of York. Sent Owen out to inquire into his ward's death, yet Owen felt the man pretended ignorance where he knew the facts. Why? Did Thoresby not trust Owen? If not, then what was Owen doing here? Not that he was certain anything would be proved by exhuming Montaigne, but for Thoresby to so summarily deny him. .

Such thoughts got him nowhere. He must think where he might get some answers. He needed to talk with someone who knew something of Lady D'Arby, Montaigne, and Nicholas. Bess had not lived long enough in York to know anything but rumours about that time.

Magda Digby. It was a long shot, but Owen suspected that little occurred in York that the Riverwoman did not hear about. He applied some salve to the eye, put on his patch and his boots, and crept out of the inn. He could speak with her and be back before Lucie was ready to open the shop.

After her wakeful night, Lucie was anxious to send Owen for her Aunt Phillippa. She put away the records and slept for a while, then rose shortly after dawn and broke her fast with Tildy while they discussed the girl's chores for the day. By then Lucie expected Owen, but he did not come. She checked for him out at the woodpile. The air was frosty, and snow clouds glowered overhead. Under the holly hedge, spring crocuses pushed green shoots through the thinning snow. It made her heart glad to see the first sign of spring. But her irritation returned when she found no trace of Owen anywhere in the garden. Now that she had resolved to send for her aunt, she could not bear the delay. She would go to the York Tavern and fetch Owen. Tildy could listen for Nicholas and come for her if he woke.

Tom was measuring the contents of the casks. He looked up with a smile when she entered. 'Lucie Wilton. Welcome, neighbour.' He noticed her agitated state. Is it Nicholas? Is he worse?'

She nodded. 'I want to send Owen for my Aunt Phillippa’

'And you thought to find him here? Nay, he was off at first light.'

Bess's voice rang out from up above, barking orders.

'Do you have any idea where he went?' Lucie asked.

Tom scratched his beard, then shook his head. 'He said naught to me. I didn't think but he was coming to you. Go on up and see if Bess knows aught.'

'She sounds busy.'

'Oh, aye. Trying to put Owen's room to rights. She won't rest till fire is scrubbed away. But go up. She'd want to see you’

Bess stood in the doorway of the small room, hands on hips, one toe tapping. 'I don't know, Kit. I just don't know what to do with you. You're all elbows, girl. Nothing is safe when you're near.'

'Bess?'

Bess turned, her face as red as the hair tumbling from her cap in tight, damp curls. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms. 'Oh, goodness me, you catch me in the midst of teaching this child the art of scouring a floor. Can you believe she's made it to fifteen years without learning the trick?'

Normally, Lucie would have smiled at her friend's tirade, but this morning she was too intent on her mission. 'Have you seen Owen?'

'He's not with you? When he left so early this morning, I thought you'd ordered him there at dawn.'

Lucie turned towards the ladder. 'Damnable man.'

The set of her friend's jaw, her lack of humour, and the frustration in those two words alerted Bess. She caught Lucie's arm. 'What is it, love? Has Nicholas taken a turn?'

Lucie nodded.

'And you need someone to watch the shop while you sit with him?'

'I want to send Owen for my Aunt Phillippa.'

'Your aunt? Whatever for? What good has she done you, I ask? I'll watch the shop.'

'You have your work here.'

'Kit can do it.'

'I need my aunt. It's time she helped me out.'

'Well, I won't disagree with you about that. But why send Owen? Send John, my stable boy. He's a good lad, rides fast, he'll be back and forth in no time.'

'I don't need to burden you, Bess.'

'It's no burden, love. I want to help.'

Lucie looked down at her hands. 'I wish you could.'

Bess folded her arms across her chest. 'As I thought. It's more than sending for your aunt that's worrying you. Come now, downstairs with you, tell Bess all about it.'

'I can't stay, Bess’ Lucie said as she followed her friend down to the tavern.

'Then we'll talk at your house. It's all the same to me.'

'No. I can't talk there.'

Bess led her into the kitchen, set her down in a chair, tsking at the bony shoulders. 'You're not eating right, Lucie. Everything seems worse when you're not eating right’ She poured a cup of ale for Lucie and one for herself.

Lucie found herself swept up in Bess's assumption that she was about to confide in her, wondering where to begin, how to explain what she feared about Nicholas. But it seemed disloyal to admit even to her best friend that she feared her husband had killed someone.

'I have to talk with my aunt, Bess. I need to know some things, that's all.'

'That's all, is it?' Bess took off her cap and reworked the pile of curly red hair, stabbing horn hairpins into it with a brutal impatience that made Lucie wince. Bess tested her work with a vigorous shake and, satisfied when that did not undo it, put back her cap and leaned across the little table towards Lucie, her eyes fixed on her friend's. 'Now why don't you just begin at the beginning?'

And Lucie, despite herself, poured it all out to Bess, what Wulfstan had discovered, what she had overheard, the entry in the records.

'Merciful Heaven,' Bess muttered at the end of Lucie's account, 'you have carried a load of worries on those delicate shoulders. Have you asked Nicholas about all this?'

Lucie rubbed her temples, a weary gesture. 'How could I do that? He's so ill. To upset him with questions that brought back disturbing memories — '

Bess nodded. 'Well, at least you've given it thought. I tell you what, you have in your household someone who ought to hear all this. I'm sure that he could help you.'

Lucie shoved the cup aside and rose. 'You're pushing me at Owen again. Do you think of nothing else, Bess? Why would I confide in my apprentice? He's almost a stranger. How do I know I can trust him?'

'I know you can, love. I'm not suggesting it to play at matchmaking, not this morning. Not when you've such trouble.'

'I'll take care of this myself.'

'John will go for your aunt.'

'No. I'll send Owen.'

'Please, love. It makes sense to send John. He knows the way. He knows where the Highlanders lie in wait. We've sent him hither and yon for supplies, and he's never failed us. He's young and fearless. He thinks it's a lark.'

Lucie saw that Bess's argument was sound. 'All right. Please send him. And thank you, Bess.'

'You're like my own, child. I could not do less.'

Lucie hugged her friend. 'Forgive my temper.'

'You have good reason to have your feelings so ready at hand. I've taken no offence.'

'If you see Owen Archer, send him to the shop. He's more than late.'

Owen had to wait while Magda dressed a man's wound. Every moment he waited made him later getting to the shop. It frustrated him. But if he gave up, he would have wasted the trip, and if Lucie was to be mad at him, he wanted it to have been worthwhile. At last Magda sent the man on his way and joined Owen by the fire, wiping her hands and nodding with satisfaction. ' Tis a good mornin's work, saving Kirby. A good fisherman. Best eel catcher on the Ouse.'

'How was he wounded?' The man had a gash across his stomach.

'Folk come to Magda knowing she'll not tell their sins. The man cut his gut, 'tis enough for thee to know.' She sliced some bread from a hard loaf on the table beside her, and spread it with a ripe cheese that turned Owen's stomach. 'But thy business, now, what might that be?'

'I can trust you to keep as quiet about my business as you are about the eel catcher's?'

'Aye. Thou wert Potter's friend. Potter's friend, Magda's friend. Except for the one he thought a friend who was never anything like. That Archdeacon. Carrion crow. 'Twas him killed Magda's boy.'

'You know that for a fact?'

She spat into the fire. 'Magda has many friends. There were eyes by the tower that night. They saw the crow push Potter down. Too far into the mead bowl he'd dipped. And the crow took the chance.'

'Why?'

'Thou know'st why. To protect his sweetheart. The soft-eyed Nicholas.'

'You know what Potter thought Nicholas had done?'

'Oh, aye. And Potter came too close to knowing all the truth.' She wiped her hands on her skirt, cut another hunk of bread, and spread it with the cheese. ' 'Tis good cheese. Thou art a fool to sniff at it.' She grinned.

'What was the connection between Nicholas and Geoffrey Montaigne? Why would Nicholas kill him?'

'The lady's fair knight once tried to kill Nicholas. Mayhap he would try again. Or stir up trouble that had been put to rest.'

'I need to know about this, Goodwife Digby. I need to know who else Anselm might want to silence.'

She shrugged. 'Magda. Sir Robert D'Arby and Dame Phillippa. Perhaps even the girl Lucie. Married to soft-eyes, isn't she? Phillippa was silly to agree to that. Magda told her. No good would come of that.'

'Why would no good come of it?'

Magda peered at him. 'Digging deep, Bird-eye. What's an archer to do with such history?'

Totter told you my purpose.'

'Mighty Thoresby wants to hear all this?'

'It seems that Fitzwilliam's death came from all this trouble. He means to understand it.'

'Back to Cain and Abel, eh? But Fitzwilliam's death cannot be undone.'

'He would not want that, in any case. His ward was an embarrassment. But he must make sure there is nothing in this that could endanger his own person.'

'He need not fear.'

'Why was the marriage a mistake?'

'Thou know'st the history of Anselm and Nicholas? That Anselm of the visions took the pretty, sickly boy Nicholas under his wing and into his bed?'

'Anselm had visions?'

Magda laughed. 'Canst thou look at the crow and see a comely boy in him? Nay, he lured him with stories of Mary, Mother of God, and the boy Jesus. Anselm was to befriend Jesus and care for him. Clever, eh?'

'Abbot Gerard knew of this?'

'A fool. He would have bought the rotting arm from Fitzwilliam.'

'So what are you saying about Nicholas and Anselm? That they continued to be lovers?'

Magda shook her head at him. 'Nay. If 'twere so, none of this would happen, eh? Nay, Nicholas had not the nature for it. But he believed the crow's visions.'

'So Anselm could influence him.'

'Magda has watched folk crawl on bloody knees where their saints beheld visions, Bird-eye. Tis powerful stuff for some.'

'You told Dame Phillippa of this?'

'Aye. Much good it did’

'You were friends?'

'Oh, aye. Magda helped her deliver the girl Lucie. Amelie D'Arby had been foolish. But thou carest naught for women's complaints. Tis enough to know the soft-eyed boy was bewitched by Lady D'Aiby. So she used him instead of Magda when the fair-haired knight's babe quickened in her. Poor, foolish soft-eyes. Magda would not have been so foolish. The lady killed herself with his help. And Montaigne blamed Nicholas Wilton. 'Tis that simple.'

An abortion gone wrong? Was it that simple? Tell me about Amelie D'Arby's complaints.'

Magda shrugged. 'Lord D'Arby brought home a war prize. A pretty French girl to breed. A year passed and she did not grow big with child. Lord D'Arby lost his temper. The girl's silly maid brought Lady D'Arby to Magda. She must bear him a son or he'd find a way to be rid of her. Magda did not doubt it. Gave her pennyroyal and madder. And a mandrake root to bury beneath her lord's window. Not that any man needed encouragement to lie with Amelie D'Arby. A beauty she was.'

'Did it work?'

'Nay. So she sought out soft-eyes. Thought he could do better.'

'She did not go to Nicholas's father?'

'Aye. But he sent her to church to pray. So she teased help from the boy. Foolish girl.'

'And she had Lucie.'

'Oh, aye. Twas only a matter of time. Child had suffered much in the war. She needed time to forget her brother's head on a pike. But the birth almost killed her. Nicholas trusted her to be cautious with the potions. The lady was too frightened to be wise. Magda could see that. But soft-eyes was young and bewitched.' Magda shook her head.

'And he still hadn't learned when she went to him to prevent a birth later?'

'Soft eyes’ Magda pointed at her eye, 'soft head’ She tapped her head. Cackled.

'Why did she not want the second babe?'

Magda shrugged. 'Phillippa could tell thee.'

'You never asked?'

Magda snorted. 'Every day they come to Magda. How can she care about them all?'

'You said Nicholas was bewitched by Lady D'Arby. Do you mean he was in love with the mother of the woman he married?'

Magda grinned. 'Too rich for thy taste, eh?'

'Why did Potter never summon Nicholas Wilton to answer for this?'

'Potter did not know so much. Wasn't safe for Potter to know. Magda promised the crow never to breathe a word.'

'What power did the Archdeacon have over you?'

Magda shrugged, spat in the fire again. 'Magda must not make enemies. She has no protection. The crow could burn down Magda's house, take away her power to heal. Ruin Potter.'

'And yet you're telling me.'

'When the crow killed Potter, he forfeited Magda's silence. He must be punished. Thou'lt see to it. Magda knows.'

Owen felt like a fraud. He had no intention of taking the law into his own hands. If Archbishop Thoresby decided to punish Anselm, that was another matter. But chances were Thoresby would overlook his Archdeacon's crimes. 'Nicholas Wilton should not be trusted as an apothecary.'

'Soft-eyes is weak, not evil. Such a fool to poison Montaigne. Man was dying. All this trouble for lack of mother wit to tell him when to wait.'

He had to ask. 'Is it possible that Lucie Wilton mixed the poison? To avenge her own mother's death?'

Magda frowned. 'How so? 'Twas her husband killed her mother, not Montaigne.'

'How could Lucie agree to marry Nicholas Wilton?'

'Phillippa told the girl little, to be sure.' Magda laughed at the look on Owen's face. 'It sickens thee, this story. But the lady asked for the death soft-eyes gave her. 'Twas her own doing.'

'Do you think he loves Lucie? Nicholas, I mean.'

Magda peered at Owen until he felt the need to shift in his seat. She snorted. 'As much as Bird-eye loves the girl?' Magda laughed afresh at his attempt at denial. 'Thou'rt too far gone to hide it. Magda can see.' She shook her head, her sharp eyes merry. 'But aye, Nicholas loves her well enough.'

It was late morning by the time Owen left Magda's house.

When Lucie returned from the York, she was furious to learn that Owen had still not arrived, but she bit her tongue and thanked Tildy for her watchfulness. 'Master Nicholas did not wake?'

'I heard him greet the Archdeacon when he went up, but — '

A shiver ran through Lucie at those words. 'Archdeacon Anselm is up there with him?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Did you not tell him that your master slept?'

Tildy nodded. 'I did so, but he would go up. You did not say he could not.' Her eyes were wide with the fear that she had done the wrong thing.

'You are quite right, Tildy, I said nothing to you of the Archdeacon. You've been a great help. Go on now with your chores.'

Lucie climbed the steps. Nicholas's voice was raised in a frightened whine. 'We are cursed’ Nicholas cried. 'You have cursed us.'

It was not good for him to get so excited. He would be worse for it. The Archdeacon would surely kill him with his visits. Lucie could not stand back and let that happen, no matter what Nicholas said. She opened the door. Anselm was kneeling beside the bed, clutching Nicholas's hands and whispering something to him.

Two red spots stood out on her husband's death-white cheeks. His hair was damp with sweat.

'No, Nicholas, sweet Nicholas. You must not say such things.' Anselm cooed at him as if he were a fretful child.

Nicholas tried to retrieve his hands, but Anselm held tight. 'You have killed me, Anselm’ Nicholas whimpered.

'How can you say that? I am your protector’

'Leave me.'

'Get out of here’ Lucie said.

Anselm started and turned towards her. 'Leave us alone, woman.'

No name, just 'woman’ spat out like a curse. And the sickening, cloying way he entreated Nicholas. God help her, but she despised the Archdeacon. It gave her strength. 'You would tell me what to do in my own house? He is my husband. I have done everything I know to make him better, and you come in here and undo it all. Look at the effect you have on him. He said it himself. You have killed him. Get out of here.' She was shouting. She trembled with rage.

Anselm rose. Dun-coloured and fleshless, like a desiccated corpse. He sickened her. 'Nicholas would not be in such a state if it were not for you’ he hissed.

'What do you mean? What do you know of this?'

'Anselm, please’ Nicholas cried. 'Leave us.'

Anselm turned to Nicholas. 'Is that what you want? Do you want me to leave you with her?'

'Yes’

'Then you are a fool. I will leave you to your doom.' Anselm swept by Lucie, but paused in the doorway, turning his sunken eyes on her. 'I go at his request, not yours.'

She stood there trembling until she heard the shop door slam. Then she sat down on the bed beside Nicholas, who lay back with his eyes closed, his hands clenching and unclenching on the covers. She took the cloth from the bowl of scented water and cooled his face, his neck, loosed the hands from the covers and wiped them. 'You are too kind to me’ he whispered, opening his eyes.

'What is this about, Nicholas? You cannot expect me to go on believing that you welcome the Archdeacon as a friend. You told him he had cursed you. How, Nicholas? What is between you?'

Nicholas shook his head. 'Forgive me.'

'For what? What have you done?'

He closed his eyes. 'He hates you. Beware of Anselm.'

'Why, Nicholas? If I must beware of him, I should know why’

But he merely shook his head and turned away from her.