I took out my ill temper on giving the little room the sort of extremely thorough tidy and clean that only a woman taking out her anger on inanimate objects can achieve. I managed not to break anything, which was quite a triumph. I opened the low door that gave on to the rear of the house and Edild’s herb garden, for the morning was mild and sunny and the warmth would, I hoped, help to dry the freshly scrubbed room. I was just finishing off, putting all the gleaming pots and vessels back on the immaculate shelves, when a shadow fell across the sunlit floor and I turned to see Jack standing in the doorway.
‘Your aunt is busy with a white-faced man clutching his belly as if his bowels are about to burst,’ he remarked, ‘so, since I didn’t think either of them would welcome a witness, I came round the back.’
I pushed my hair back under my cap and wiped my hands on my apron. ‘I’m sure both patient and healer appreciate your tact.’
‘It’s you I wanted to see, anyway,’ he went on, his clear eyes roaming around the shelves that lined the room. ‘I’ve been talking to …’ But his interest in the surroundings overtook his need to explain his visit. ‘You prepare all these things? All these ointments, medicines, remedies and potions?’ His hand was reaching up to the high shelf where we keep the poisons.
‘My aunt and I do, yes. I shouldn’t touch that,’ I added as his hand closed round a tall, slim bottle.
‘Why?’
‘It’s thung, but you may know it as monkshood or wolf’s bane.’ From the way he instantly withdrew his hand as if it had been scalded, I guessed he did. ‘It’s one of the fiercest poisons.’
‘Why do you keep it, then?’ He sounded genuinely interested.
‘If you greatly dilute it, it’s a very good pain reliever.’
He nodded. ‘Anything else potentially fatal up there?’
‘Hemlock, which calms and sedates; savin, which is a sort of juniper and used externally to treat warts; deadly nightshade, which induces sleep, and woody nightshade for coughs and shortness of breath; yew, to treat snake bite; buckthorn, useful as a purgative and to ease chronic constipation-’
I was only halfway along the shelf, but he put up his hands to stop me. ‘Enough!’ He grinned. ‘Do you ever make mistakes?’
‘Not so far.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back, sending up a quick, silent prayer. ‘I’ve only started using the dangerous preparations recently. That’s why they’re on the top shelf. You’re not allowed to use anything you can’t reach.’
He nodded again. ‘So an undersized healer will never handle anything poisonous?’
It was my turn to smile. ‘You wanted to see me,’ I reminded him.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. His expression suddenly grave, he said, ‘Lord Gilbert still refuses to let me ask Lady Rosaria about her maid. In fact, he won’t let me speak to her at all today – he says she’s ill. A headache, sickness; I wasn’t permitted to hear any more details.’
‘You think he’s making it up as an excuse to keep you away?’
‘He doesn’t need an excuse,’ Jack said bluntly. ‘He’s the lord, she’s his guest and a lady. I’m the sheriff’s officer.’
‘But you have good reason to think her maid may be very sick, or even dead,’ I persisted, indignant on his behalf.
‘Lord Gilbert, if I had the temerity to press the point, would no doubt inform me that Lady Rosaria’s servants are her responsibility and nothing to do with anyone else, particularly me,’ he said. ‘He would probably add that, after all, the woman we want to know about is only a maid.’
Only a maid, and therefore not important. I wondered if that was fair to Lord Gilbert. Probably, I decided, although the same did not apply to Lady Emma, who was a decent and humane woman.
‘So, what do you want me to do?’ I asked. Anticipating his reply, I added, ‘I can’t go crashing in offering to treat Lady Rosaria if she hasn’t sent for me. Besides, it’s usually Edild who is summoned to treat the nobles of Lakehall.’
‘No, that’s not what I was going to ask. The important thing is to locate Lady Rosaria’s kin because, once she’s safely in the bosom of her family, she’ll relax, stop being so prickly and defensive, and be more prepared to explain what happened to her maid.’ He was staring down at the floor – the immaculate floor – and seemed a little abashed.
‘What do you want from me, then?’ I prompted.
He looked up. ‘Lord Gilbert’s lot are having no success in trying to find Lady Rosaria’s father-in-law’s kin, which is, I imagine, because they have little idea how to go about it, other than visiting the grand households suggested by their lord and asking if anyone knows the name Harald Fensman. If it were left to me, I’d suggest widening the search and asking some of the ordinary people.’ He paused, then went on, ‘I’ve mentioned to you before, I believe, the value of observation in my sort of work. The importance of using the evidence of your eyes and ears, and making a considered picture. I also pointed out -’ now he was studying the floor again – ‘that you have a talent for it.’
‘You want me to come and help you look for this Fensman clan?’ I regretted the words instantly. I was going to look and feel such a fool when he said, No, that wasn’t what I meant at all.
But he didn’t. He just said, ‘Yes.’
He had anticipated that I wouldn’t be able to refuse. He’d left Isis and his beautiful grey gelding tethered to a stumpy hazel close to where the path up to Edild’s house branches off the main track through the village. I went up to Isis, patting her graceful neck and putting my face close to hers, and she nuzzled her soft nose into my hand. The gelding, his dark eyes wide with interest, pushed up against me, and I reached out a tentative hand to stroke his long mane. ‘Pegasus,’ I whispered to him.
I’d have had no idea how to go about our search, but fortunately Jack did. The plan was to ride to the many villages and settlements dotted around the fen edge, locate some central figure such as the smith or the priest, and simply ask after the name Fensman. Harald alone was just too vague; it’s a far from uncommon name.
We kept to the high ground as much as we could. There were a few hamlets out on the marshy ground, in places where small areas of raised land permitted people to live without the constant fear of the encroaching water, but just now the prospect of finding a way to them was daunting. The flood was subsiding slowly, but in many areas the paths and tracks were still under water. In any case, there were enough places to visit without wasting time plunging up to our necks in mud.
We enquired at one village, and another. A couple of hamlets; a settlement of half a dozen hovels. A big village, almost substantial enough to be called a town. To my embarrassed gratification, I was recognized in quite a few of the places. I hadn’t realized how far people travelled to come to consult my aunt and me. I’d imagined, if I’d thought about it at all, that most of our patients were relatively local, and that other people usually either treated themselves or discussed their ailments with their own village healer. Coming across familiar faces ten or twelve miles away was something of an eye-opener.
The down side of being recognized, of course, was that quite a few people suddenly discovered that their bad back had flared up again, or their piles were itching, or their wife had been moaning about a rash on her neck for more than a week now and would I have a quick look, seeing as how I was in the vicinity? I didn’t really mind. I always carry my healer’s satchel, well supplied with the things I use most, and handing out some remedies and a bit of advice didn’t take up much time. As it happened, dealing with complaints gave me the perfect opportunity to ask people about Harald Fensman, since, to a man or woman, they all asked me what I was doing so far from home.