The Apothecary Rose

Nineteen

Owen entered the shop rehearsing his apology for being so late. But Lucie gave him no chance to recite it.

'Watch the shop while I go out. If you are uncertain about anything, leave it for me. You can save your excuses until I return.' And with a snap of her cloak, Lucie was out the door.

She had every reason to be irritated with him. But her abruptness surprised him. He poked his head into the kitchen and asked Tildy if she could give him something warm to drink. She jumped up, all smiles, happy to be of use. 'You should not be too kind to me, Tildy. Your mistress is cross with me.'

'She has not been herself today, sir. She's that worried about Master Wilton.' Tildy shook her head and sighed. 'Archdeacon Anselm came and upset him, you see. Mistress Wilton shouted at him and made him leave.'

'She shouted at him?' Owen had never heard Lucie raise her voice.

'I could not help but hear, sir, it were so loud. Everyone shouting. Master Wilton sounded so pitiful. Is there trouble, sir?'

'Do you know where your mistress was going just now?'

She shook her head. 'But I hope she's going to complain about that Archdeacon. He has no cause to come here and upset the Master.'

'Or over to talk with Bess Merchet?'

Tildy shrugged. 'She went there looking for you and stayed awhile before. That was when the Archdeacon came.'

So Anselm had watched the shop? What was he up to? 'Thank you for the broth, Tildy. Now get on with your work and I'll mind the shop and together we'll try to make the rest of Mistress Wilton's day go smoothly’

Where could she have gone in such a hurry after ordering Anselm out of the house? He could imagine the state she had been in, if she'd heard Nicholas shouting at Anselm.

Brother Wulfstan was puzzled to hear that Lucie Wilton was here to see him. She sat in Abbot Campian's receiving room, holding a flat parcel. As he entered she lifted a pale face to him that spoke of a sleepless night. 'What is the matter, Lucie?'

'I am trying to find out, Brother Wulfstan,' she said wearily. That is why I'm here.' She unwrapped the parcel. It was a book with a cracked leather cover. 'This is one of my father-in-law's record books. I have come across an entry that I want to understand. It is about Nicholas.'

'And you think that I can help?' Merciful Mother, let it not be about Anselm and Nicholas.

'I overheard something the other day that has me frightened. The Archdeacon and Nicholas were arguing. Something about Geoffrey Montaigne. You know, my mother's lover. Did you know that he was the pilgrim who died here?' She saw the truth in his eyes. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'It was not until the Summoner, God rest his soul, came to question me about him the other day that my Abbot told me who he was.'

'He wounded Nicholas. And by this entry I think it was the night of my mother's death. Do you know anything about that?'

'Nicholas wounded? By Montaigne? But why?'

'That is what I must know.'

Wulfstan nodded to the book. 'What does it say?'

She handed it to him.

He read, puzzling over the initials. 'D'Arby — of course that would be your father.'

'Yes. And Archdeacon Anselm and Dame Phillippa, my aunt. I need to know who "MD" is. Or was. Can you guess?'

' "MD cauterised" — Magda Digby, could it be? Nicholas's father had commerce with her. It was Nicholas who decided to have nothing to do with her. She is an able surgeon, from what I hear, though not in a guild. Who would sponsor her? People use her when they want secrecy. What is this about, Lucie?'

'I don't know. I fear — ' she shook her head and made a motion as if to brush away the thought. 'No. I will say nothing until I know more. Do you think Magda Digby would come to me? To talk with me?'

'You don't think — You aren't thinking that Nicholas meant to poison Montaigne?' The old monk had tried to push aside his suspicion. For if Nicholas had wilfully prepared a poison, Wulfstan had been most cruelly used.

'What do you know of my mother's friendship with Nicholas?'

Wulfstan gave her a puzzled frown. 'What could that have to do with this?'

'Were Geof and Nicholas rival lovers?'

'Rival? Oh. I — Oh, Lucie, what are you thinking?'

Lucie had taken the book and was rewrapping it. 'I must speak with Magda Digby and my Aunt Phillippa. I must know. Can you send someone for the River-woman?'

'No. That is, we are not to associate with her. There is a question whether she is even Christian.'

'But her son was a Summoner.'

Brother Wulfstan shrugged. 'He did not accept her ways.'

'I must speak with her.'

Wulfstan sat down and took her hands in his. 'Lucie, my child, do not pursue this. There is nothing we can do about the past. What God wills is done. Trust in Him that all happens according to His plan.'

The old monk's hands were hot with anxiety. Lucie squeezed them, sorry that she had involved him. But at least he had identified 'MD.'

'I will be careful,' she promised him.

Bess sat in Owen's purged room and fought with herself. Lucie's visit this morning had so disturbed her that she'd set Kit's little brother to following her friend. He'd told her about the Archdeacon's angry exit from the shop and Lucie's hurried trip to the abbey. Lucie was back now, working in the shop with Owen, busy because they had opened late. But how long would she stay put? She was on the trail of trouble, which could bring her nothing but trouble. What to do?

Having a boy follow Lucie would do little to protect her. If only Lucie would trust Owen. He could protect her. And he needed to know what Lucie had heard. They needed to talk to each other. Bess could tell Owen what Lucie had told her, but then she would lose Lucie's trust. That would be unwise.

She must think.

Lucie had said little to Owen since she returned from the abbey. He had tried to find out more about her encounter with Anselm, but they were interrupted by a customer. Lucie wondered about Bess's assurance that Owen could be trusted. Why would Bess be so sure?

At dusk the shop finally grew quiet. Owen told Lucie what Tildy had said about the Archdeacon's visit.

'Tildy should not tell tales.'

'She was worried for you. So was I.'

'Why?'

'Because he might have hurt you’

Lucie regarded Owen closely. 'You think the Archdeacon would hurt me? Why would you think that?'

Clever, Owen. Walked right into it. He thought fast. 'When voices are raised, it means people are excited. Anything might happen.'

Her smirk reflected his own chagrin at his weak response. 'The whole truth would be a pleasant change from you.'

God help him, he expressed concern and she turned it into an argument. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'No, I don't suppose you would. You can go. I'll close up shop.'

He began to leave, but he had to try to make it up. 'I don't know how I always manage to make you angry with me’

'It doesn't matter.'

'It does.'

'Where were you this morning?'

'I had to see Jehannes about my money.'

'Tom Merchet said you left quite early.'

'I couldn't sleep.'

'Come early tomorrow. I've sent for my Aunt Phillippa. I'll need to prepare a place for her to sleep, so I'll need you in the shop.'

'You've sent for your aunt?'

'Nicholas is worse every day. I need her here.'

'Who did you send?'

'Bess's stable boy. She offered.'

Owen would have liked to go. Dame Phillippa was someone he would like to talk to. Alone. Away from Lucie. 'Why not me?'

'I need you here’ she said, but her tone did not make it a compliment.

Owen headed for the minster. He wanted to tell Thoresby what Magda Digby had told him about Potter Digby's death. The Archbishop stood at a table, studying an array of maps.

'What is it?' Thoresby asked.

'You suggested when we last spoke that Anselm may have murdered Digby.'

Thoresby inclined his head. 'I think it possible. The Summoner dined with my Archdeacon the night of his death. I know that Anselm did not care for Digby's company. So why that night?'

Again, withholding facts, playing with Owen. 'Magda Digby has learned that someone saw the Archdeacon push his Summoner into the river.'

'I am sorry to hear that. I wanted to be wrong.' Thoresby left his maps and walked over to the fireplace. He stood before it with his hands behind him. 'You did not come here just to tell me that.'

'If he did murder Digby, what's to keep him from trying again? Mistress Wilton and Brother Wulfstan might be in danger.'

'He does present a problem.'

Jehannes had come in with a flagon of wine and cups. Now he cleared his throat.

Thoresby turned to him. 'You have an idea?'

'There is that business in Durham. A financial concern, really. Appropriate for your Archdeacon. Sir John Dalwylie's bequest?'

'Durham? Dalwylie?' Thoresby frowned, then grinned. 'Ah, Durham, yes. Excellent.' He took the cup of wine Jehannes handed him. 'Archdeacon Anselm will leave for Durham at first light. The roads are quagmires at this season. Two days, perhaps three, each way. A day for business. He will be gone for at least five days. Unless, of course, he meets with an accident.'

Bess joined Owen at his table. 'This is an honour, so early in the evening’ he said.

'I've something on my mind.'

'So do I.'

'Oh yes? And what is your trouble? Where did you slip out to, so early this morning?'

'To see Magda Digby.'

'Still digging into the deaths at the abbey?'

'That's what I'm here for.'

'And what of Lucie Wilton, eh? When you're finished with your digging, will you leave her without an explanation?'

'It might be best.'

'You disappoint me, Owen Archer.'

'What am I supposed to do?'

'Did it ever occur to you that she has a right to know what you're up to?'

'It's best she knows nothing about it. She's stubborn. She would insist on getting involved. She might walk into danger. I can tell her nothing.'

'And do you think it won't touch her in some way?'

'I am watching out for her.'

'Oh yes? And where were you this morning when Anselm arrived, eh?'

Owen closed his eye. 'I have taken care of that. It will not happen again.'

'And how is that?'

'The Archdeacon will be leaving York for a while.'

'A while. How lovely. Long enough for you to stir everything up and then leave. Have you considered the fact that she'll still be here when you leave? When the Archdeacon comes back?'

'I do not think he will be back.'

Bess looked at his solemn face as that sank in. 'Oh. Well, then.'

Owen rubbed the cheek below his patch. 'She is so quick to offend. I never know what will set her off.'

'You argued?'

'Every conversation is an argument.'

'She has a lot on her mind. A great deal of trouble and responsibility. You could help more, you know.'

'How?'

'Confide in her as you have in me. Let her know why you're here, what you know.'

'I cannot.'

'Prepare her for the fact that you won't always be here.'

'It's best she knows nothing.'

'So you think she knows nothing, do you?'

He straightened up at that. 'What have you told her?'

'Me? Nothing. But she has eyes and ears.'

He thought about that. Remembered her at the top of the stairs. 'The Archdeacon and Master Wilton. She's listened to their conversations?'

Bess shrugged. 'And what if she has?'

'It's dangerous, Bess.'

She rolled her eyes. 'You think I don't know?'

'What has she heard’ Bess?'

'I can't be telling you. She'd know.'

'I won't tell her.'

Bess shook her head. 'She'd know. You must confide in her. For her safety, Owen. You must.'

'I cannot.'

'Why, for Heaven's sake?'

'How do I know I can trust her?'

'What do you think she'll do? Tell Nicholas?'

He stared into his beer.

'That's ridiculous. You must trust her. Let her know she can trust you. She'll walk into danger if you don't. She's about to do it.'

'Is this why she's sent for her Aunt Phillippa?'

'What do you think? That she's suddenly decided to depend on her family?'

'Perhaps. With Nicholas on his deathbed.'

'You're a fool, Owen Archer. I was that worried about her this morning, I had Kit's little brother follow her. She went to the abbey to see the Infirmarian. She's getting ideas. Ideas about the night the pilgrim died. And she's poking around, trying to find out what happened. Potter Digby did that and wound up in the Ouse. What do you think of her chances of survival?'

'I told you. The Archdeacon is being sent away.'

'Ah. So it's he threw Digby in, eh?'

'I didn't say that.'

Talk to her. It's too dangerous to leave her in ignorance’

'So why didn't you tell her everything?'

Bess pulled herself up, indignant. 'I swore to you that I wouldn't, didn't I? What do you think I am?'

'She went to the abbey today? Why?'

Bess rose. 'I've done my part. It's up to you now.' She moved off among the tables.

'Damnable woman’ Owen muttered. The eye was pulling and aching. He took his ale up to his room.

Lucie sat at the table by the garden window, staring down at the record book. MD. That was who she must talk to. She had to find a way to see Magda Digby. It was not so simple as finding the time to go. She needed a guide. A young woman had drowned last spring when she lost her footing going down below the abbey wall. That was probably how the Summoner had fallen into the Ouse.

She looked over at Nicholas, who lay with his back to her. His breathing was too irregular for him to be asleep. He had turned that way when she'd tried to talk with him about her mother. 'Why is she suddenly not to be mentioned, Nicholas? We always talked about her. It's been a comfort to me to talk about her with you.'

'I cannot.' And he'd turned away from her.

How much easier it would be if he would answer her questions. 'I know that Geoffrey Montaigne wounded you after my mother died.' She watched his spine stiffen, but he did not turn, he did not speak. Damn him.

So Lucie sat, staring down at the record book, at once angry with Nicholas and frightened by his behaviour. He had changed so much. Was it just the illness? No. That would make him more tender, more confiding. His behaviour was that of a man with something to hide. A guilty man. She was more and more convinced that he had poisoned Geoffrey Montaigne. But why? She needed to know what had been between them.

It had been a long day. At last even her worries could not keep her awake. She was nodding over the book when something hit the wall behind her. She sat up straight, listening. Again, stones against the outside wall. She got up, looked down into the yard. Someone in black, hooded. Brother Wulfstan? When he saw her, he moved quickly away, to the back of the garden. Too quickly for the old monk. Lucie lit the oil lamp and went downstairs, got her cloak, went outside. Something flickered in the dark garden. Again. The potting shed. A fire. Her heart raced. Someone had seen it and tried to rouse her. Thank God. She put the lamp back inside and grabbed a bucket instead. To the well. She drew up the bucket, filled the one she carried, and lugged it to the shed. The fire was inside, at the back of the shed. She would have to go in to douse it. The door was open. Perhaps the person who'd warned her was already at work on the blaze.

'Are you in there?' she called at the door. She looked in, but could not see through the smoke. She stepped in. She would heave the bucket at the far corner and run out for more water. But from the shadows an arm wrenched the bucket from her hands and threw it out the door. 'Idiot!' Lucie cried. She wiped her eyes and focused on the moon-pale face of the Archdeacon. 'That was water for the fire, for pity's sake.' She turned to retrieve the bucket and go for more water.

He grabbed her. 'Burn, she-devil. Succubus. Whore of Babylon. Burn.' He laughed, then threw her over towards the blaze and rushed out of the shed, closing the door behind him.

Lucie screamed and rolled away from the burning corner. Her hem had caught fire. She beat at it with her hand.

Once up in his room, Owen pulled off the patch and rubbed in some salve. He lay down on the pallet, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. Maybe a walk. He got up, looked out the window. The stars glimmered in a clear sky. It was the first clear night he'd seen in York. He stared at the stars, trying to remember Gaspare's names for them. Now there was someone he'd like to talk to right now. Gaspare always made sense out of things.

A movement down below caught Owen's attention. Down in the Wiltons' garden. Someone ran past the kitchen door, which stood open, a lamp flickering on the floor just inside. Who was out in the garden? Could it be Tildy? The figure ran towards the street. Too tall for Tildy. Then he noticed the glow. Dear God.

'Fire!' Owen yelled as he raced downstairs and through the tavern. Tom and several customers took off after him. Tom yelled for someone to get the extra buckets in the stable. Owen had the first bucket up out of the well by the time Tom arrived with another. They set to work on the back of the shed-

But where was Lucie? Surely the lamp and the open door were a sign that she'd come out to fight the fire. Owen went round to the door of the shed. A bucket was upended in front of it. He pushed on the door. It would not budge. He put a shoulder to it and broke it down. She lay just inside, coughing weakly. He gathered her in his arms and hurried for the house.

One hand was blistered, a corner of her skirt singed, and she had a cut on the side of her head where she must have fallen. Bess arrived with a flagon of brandywine. Owen lifted Lucie's head and Bess poured a little brandywine down her parched throat. Lucie coughed it up and pushed Bess away, but Bess forced more down her. This time it stayed down.

'Not bad. She'll be fine’ Bess said with relief. She helped Lucie sit up.

'Who was it, Lucie?' Owen asked. 'I saw someone running from the garden. Did you see who it was?'

'I thought he-' A coughing fit shook her. She took the cup of brandywine Bess handed her and drank without argument. 'I thought someone had seen the fire and had come to warn me. He threw stones against the house. I did not see the fire until I went outside. He was in the shed. He threw me down and cursed me.'

'Who?' Owen asked.

'The Archdeacon.'

Bess and Owen exchanged looks. Hers clearly accused him of not protecting Lucie.

A banging began on the floor above. Lucie put down the cup. That's Nicholas. I must go to him.'

'No. I'll go to him’ Bess said. Then I'll see that they take care of the shed. You've much to talk about, I think.'

Owen realised how badly Lucie had been shaken when she did not argue, just slumped back in the chair. Bess nodded and left. Lucie's hands trembled as she picked up the cup. 'He meant to kill me’ she whispered, as if trying out the words. Her head was lowered, her eyes staring at the floor.

Owen cursed himself. Magda had said Lucie might be in danger, and now she'd almost been killed. He should have watched the house. He'd been so caught up in suspecting her — and he'd been wrong. Almost fatally wrong. He had not really made an effort to protect. 'It's all right. Anselm's being sent away tomorrow.'

Lucie looked up at him. 'How do you know — ' Her eyes widened. 'Sweet Jesus.'

He put his hand up and discovered he'd forgotten his patch. Damnation. He turned away.

'No’ she said. 'Please. Forgive me. I'd never seen it uncovered.'

'I am sorry I frightened you’

'No. I have seen much worse.' He still did not face her. 'Please, Owen. Don't turn away from me. Nicholas turned from me tonight. Did he know what the Archdeacon planned?'

The despair in her voice touched Owen. He knelt before her and took her hands. 'I cannot believe that Master Nicholas could bear to have you hurt.'

She touched the puckered lid gently, the eyebrow, the scar beneath the eye. 'Bess says I can trust you. And now you've saved my life.' She studied his face. 'I need your help, Owen.'