The Apothecary Rose

Twenty

They both started at a sound out in the shop. Owen rose, motioned for Lucie to stay still, walked silently across the kitchen, peered into the shop. 'What are you doing in there?' he asked. Lucie was relieved to hear his puzzled but friendly tone. He would not speak that way to an intruder.

'Nicholas wanted me to give Lucie the eyewash cup and medicine.' Bess's voice, 'Here it is.' She came through, holding the items high, as if proud of her find. She set them down on a table by Lucie. 'See you use these now.'

'Did you tell Nicholas who lit the fire?' Lucie asked.

Bess straightened up, hands on hips. She gave Lucie an impatient look. 'I did not. If you want him to know, it's for you to tell him. All he knows is there was a fire in the potting shed, you got trapped inside, Owen rescued you.'

Lucie was relieved. Thank you, Bess’

' 'Course, he's no fool. He knows you were upstairs, and fires don't start themselves.' Bess shrugged. 'But he asked only after you. How you were. If you were injured.'

'How is he?'

'He had me give him a tisane to help him lie easy. The one he takes before he sleeps.'

'He's being sensible.' Lucie noticed that Bess had the lines around her mouth that she got when she was worried. 'I will be fine, Bess, just as I'm sure you told Nicholas. Would you like something to drink?'

'Nay. Must be going. Fires make the customers thirsty. Tom will have his hands full. You'll stay and watch out tonight, Owen?'

'I will.'

Lucie noted that Bess and Owen exchanged some sort of wordless message. 'You two seem cosy.'

Bess laughed. 'Comes of sharing a bottle of brandy-wine or a tankard of ale every night. You two should try it. Fare thee well, now.'

Owen stood in the doorway chuckling as Bess left. 'She has plans for us, I think.'

Lucie stiffened. She had almost confided in him. How could she have forgotten her first impression, a rogue. 'I did not mean I needed you that way.'

His smile faded quickly enough with that. 'I did not mean that I think that. It's Bess. She makes no secret of her fondness for pairing off the world.'

He found everything funny. Lucie had been about to tell him that her husband had murdered someone. He would have laughed at that, too, perhaps. 'You find this amusing.' She was so angry with him she wanted to cry. But she would not. He would surely find that amusing, too.

'What did I say to anger you?' He sat down beside her.

The eyelid, puckered and red, was lifted toward her, a vulnerable counterpoint to the good eye. She noticed that the eyelashes were as long, silky, and dark as those on the good eye. How beautiful he must have been. How it must pain him to see himself now. 'Perhaps I am too quick to take offence tonight’ she said, rubbing her eyes. She'd been exhausted even before the fire.

'Wash your eyes. Our talk can wait.'

I'm simply tired, Owen. I'm always tired these days. Let's talk while we're at peace.'

'Your eyes look red. You might have a cinder. Rinse your eyes first, then we'll talk.'

He exasperated her. 'Why do you always question my judgement?'

'I'm worried about you.'

She could see the concern in his face, hear it in his voice. 'I am fine, Owen. I do not need to be bullied to take care of myself.'

'Bullied? I worry about you, and you call it bullying? Is it because I'm a soldier? Did I forfeit all human feeling when I took up arms for my King?'

Lucie dropped her head to her hands. It was impossible for them to talk.

'Now I'm doing it, eh?' Owen sighed. 'Can we try again?'

Lucie raised her head.

He touched her hand. 'I want to help. I do not mean to bully you. Tell me what I can do.'

'I would not burden you with it, but I'm frightened, Owen. What happened tonight is just a small part of something that I need to understand, or I might lose everything. Though I might lose everything anyway. The shop, this house, the respect of the people — everything. That is not comforting to hear, I know.'

'I am not worried about myself.'

'Well, you should be. An apprentice often goes down with his master.'

'Why might you lose everything?'

'It is very complicated.' She wished it were easier to explain. She was so tired. 'It began the day Nicholas fell ill. Brother Wulfstan came for a physick that afternoon, and as he told Nicholas about the patient — Nicholas began to behave like a stranger. His questions were inappropriate. And afterward, while he worked in the shop, he was so secretive. He has been so ever since. It is not just the illness. I know the difference between melancholy and secretiveness. That night the Summoner brought him home. The next day the Archdeacon came to see him. Two people who had not set foot in our home since our marriage. And Nicholas can give me no better explanation than that the Summoner happened to be at the abbey, and the Archdeacon is concerned for him.'

'Master Nicholas has been secretive? Is that what troubles you?'

'I wish it were only that. Nicholas has been good to me. I owe him much. But if he did what I fear he did…' She could not say the words. 'The Nicholas I thought I knew could not have done it.'

'What do you think he did, Lucie?'

She stared down into the cup, trying to form the words. 'I think. .' She took a deep breath. 'I think that Nicholas wilfully poisoned Geoffrey Montaigne, the pilgrim who died at St. Mary's. Geof, who was my mother's lover, tried to kill Nicholas years ago. When my mother died. I do not know why. Nor do I know why, after all these years, Nicholas struck back. But he did. You are apprenticed to a murderer.'

'You say he has been secretive, yet he confessed this to you?'

'No. I have found out by listening at doors, reading old shop records’ Owen was frowning at her as if trying to read her face. But he did not look surprised. 'You are not shocked?'

He shook his head.

She clutched the cup so tightly with her blistered hand that her palm stung worse than before. She took a drink and put the cup aside.

'Say something.'

'I know Nicholas poisoned Montaigne.'

It was the last thing she had expected to hear. Owen knew? How could he know, unless he had been involved? How could he have been involved when Geoffrey had died before Owen arrived in York? 'Why do I have this feeling that you are also about to turn into a stranger?'

Owen did not answer at once. He spent a while staring into the fire. She could tell by the tension in his face, his whole body, that he was struggling with something.

'Is it so hard for you to tell the truth?'

'You always think the worst of me. All right, then, I will tell you the truth. It is not the wisest thing to do right now. You need my help, and it may make you refuse it. But I will not lie to you any more.'

His words did not make her feel triumphant.

'I am here under false pretences, as you have suspected all along. His Grace the Archbishop sent me to York to inquire into the death of his ward, Sir Oswald Fitzwilliam’

The cut of his clothes, the cost of a private room at the York, his implausible humility in going from Captain of Archers to an apprentice, it all fit now. 'How much better for me if my first impression was wrong.' Lucie felt terribly alone.

Owen reached for her hands. She shrank away from him.

'I knew nothing about you when I agreed to come here’ he said. 'His Grace knew of your need and wrote a letter recommending me to Camden Thorpe.'

'Why? Why us?'

'You had need of an apprentice, and it was a job I could do. I had to have an occupation so I might stay here without arousing suspicion.'

'Was the Guildmaster in on the deception?'

'No. He took some coaxing.'

'How do I know whether to believe you?'

'You have my word.'

'For what that may be worth.' She reached for the brandvwine, then changed her mind. It would only make it harder to think clearly.

Owen looked pained. What on earth did he have to feel pained about?

'How could you think I could trust you after this?'

'I knew the risk of telling you this tonight. I knew you might never trust me, once you knew how I came to be here. But you should trust me, Lucie. You need to. I can protect you.'

'From whom?'

'Archdeacon Anselm, for a start’

How was she to judge? He sounded sincere, but did she just want to believe him? Of course she did. So her judgement was clouded. 'So you connected Fitzwilliam's death to Montaigne's and somehow discovered that my husband had poisoned Geoffrey?'

'Yes. Digby set me on the right track, though I did not believe him at first. The Archbishop was so certain that his ward's enemies had caught up with him.'

'It would have been far better had you told me this sooner. Why did you wait so long?'

'Because — I would have told you sooner, Lucie. I never wanted to lie to you.'

'Why now?'

He hesitated. Lucie steeled herself for another unpleasant revelation. 'Until tonight I thought you might have poisoned Montaigne.'

She felt it like a blow. It was the sort of thing Owen might say with a laugh, but he was not laughing. Not even smiling. He looked apologetic. All this time she had flattered herself that Owen respected her work and even cared for her, and the truth was he thought her a murderer. 'Why would I have murdered him? And how could I? I did not know who the pilgrim was!'

'If you had known, what would you have done?'

'I would have gone to him. He was good to me, Owen. He took the shadows from Maman's eyes.' Lucie fought tears, failed, wiped at them impatiently, furious that her own body betrayed her. 'I would sooner murder Sir Robert.' A foolish thing to say. 'So the Archdeacon's attack was my good fortune? It exonerated me?'

'Lucie, please. Montaigne was your mother's lover. He had brought shame to your family. You could as easily have poisoned him as Nicholas. And, to my mind, with more reason.'

She had never considered how it might look to others. The reasoning was sound. Lucie could not argue with it. It frightened her.

'I am happier than you can know that you are innocent,' Owen said softly.

Lucie did not want to pursue his feelings. 'So what have you discovered? Obviously you don't know why Nicholas poisoned a dying man, or you would not have suspected me until now.' She would express her worst fear. 'Were Nicholas and my mother lovers?'

At least Owen had the courtesy to look embarrassed. 'Lovers? I believe not, but I cannot know for certain. I do not understand it all that well.'

'Just tell me what you know.'

'It is an unpleasant story, Lucie.'

'I do not imagine that murder is ever ennobling.'

'Magda Digby thinks that Nicholas did it to keep Montaigne quiet, so that you would not lose your standing with the Guild when your husband dies. That, at least, is noble.'

'Quiet about what?'

'That Nicholas gave your mother the abortifacant that killed her. Gave her too much at once.'

Lucie felt sick to her stomach. 'He administered a mortal dose?'

'No, she took too much herself.'

'And he should have known better.'

'So I think in his mind Nicholas was redeeming himself through you.'

'Am I to find that comforting?'

'No. None of this will be comforting.'

Lucie took a good swallow of brandywine. Tell me the rest.'

'I wish I could spare you this, but after what happened tonight, I think I should begin with Nicholas and Anselm.'

Lucie listened quietly as he told her about her husband's relationship with Anselm at the abbey school.

'It explains much of Anselm's behaviour’ she said when he paused. 'What else have you learned?' She could see in Owen's eye that her calm response reassured him. He relaxed and told her about Digby's suspicions, about Magda Digby's information. At dawn they still sat there.

'Deus juva me,' she whispered when he had finished. 'My life is ashes.'

Owen said nothing.

'My mother. .' Even if the Riverwoman was right that Nicholas had not understood her mother's weakness, he was still guilty. 'My loving husband gave my mother the means to kill herself. He should never have become Master Apothecary. How was it concealed?'

Owen shook his head. 'I do not know. Perhaps your Aunt Phillippa will enlighten us.'

'Aunt Phillippa encouraged me to marry Nicholas. She encouraged me.' Lucie got up and went to the garden door, opening it to the pale morning light. 'Is she my friend or my enemy?' Lucie whispered, hugging herself. 'She could arrive today. I was going to get her bed ready first thing.'

'You should sleep awhile.'

Lucie spun round. He was so blind. 'Lie up there next to that stranger and think about all you've told me? I'd go mad. I don't know whether to hate him or pity him.'

'I will find out all I can for you.'

'You mean for the Archbishop.'

Owen got up and came to her, taking her hands. 'I mean for you, Lucie.' She could not help looking at his face, uncovered, vulnerable. The scar had reddened. Shadows underlined his good eye. He was as exhausted as she. 'Can you forgive me, Lucie? Can you ever trust me?'

'I don't know. Help me get to the bottom of this wretched story, Owen, then we'll see. But your future is up to His Grace, isn't it? I'll be looking for an apprentice. Well. Work will keep my mind busy.' She left the room.

Upstairs, she checked on Nicholas. Force of habit. His eyes flickered open. 'Lucie? Are you hurt?'

'Not really.' She had leaned down to see if he was feverish.

He touched her face.

She recoiled.

'Lucie?'

Her mother's murderer. She wanted to hurt him. 'It was Anselm who started the fire, did you know? He called me she-devil. Succubus. Whore. The fire was for me, Nicholas. I was to burn. Then he could have you all to himself.'

'He is mad. What did he say to you?'

'You call him mad? But he is your friend, Nicholas.'

'That was long ago, Lucie.'

'Really? Of late he has been a welcome guest. Ever since you poisoned Geoffrey’

'No!' Nicholas hissed.

Lucie moved to the foot of the bed. He sickened her with his lies. 'Even now you cannot tell me the truth?'

'It isn't what you think.'

'You poisoned him, Nicholas. You used the skill God gave you to murder Geoffrey Montaigne. He was a good man. Gentle. He loved my mother. Did you? Were you jealous of him?'

'Lucie, please. She was my friend, nothing more.'

'And so you killed her?'

'I did not — I did what she asked.'

'And did she ask you to kill Geoffrey?'

'I did that for you.'

'For me? You damned yourself for me? You say that as if you expected my gratitude. I never wished for Geoffrey's death. It was not Geoffrey who killed my mother.'

'You blame me?'

'I do.'

'Who has told you this?'

'You should have, Nicholas. You should have.'

'I -1 am guilty of poor judgement. I was very young. But I tried to make it up to you. The shop. You would be Master Apothecary. No one could take that away from you. Except Montaigne. If he told someone what I had done — Please, Lucie.'

He would not even take the responsibility. 'Go to sleep, Nicholas. Leave me alone.'

'I love you, Lucie. I did it for you. But to tell you — I could not.'

For her. He really thought he had murdered for her. Her entire body trembled as she walked out of the room.

Next door, in the tiny room that had been Nicholas's as a boy and would have been Martin's, she made up a pallet for her Aunt Phillippa and one for herself.