The Apothecary Rose

'Yes.'

Thorpe gave the beard one last tug, slapped his thighs. 'And you are your own man, I daresay. Well. This makes all the difference. All the difference.'

'There is one question, Master Thorpe.'

'Ask away.'

'Archdeacon Anselm referred to Mistress Wilton's questionable background. What did he mean?'

The Archdeacon, devil take him. Would he never give up on his vendetta? 'Questionable? Pah. Old gossip. Nothing to it. To my way of thinking, Mistress Wilton has a most respectable background. Daughter of Sir Robert D'Arby of Freythorpe Hadden.' Well, now. Camden saw that that got the Welshman interested.

Owen sat up. 'A knight's daughter?'

All men are climbers. Give them a connection with aristocracy, and they perk right up. Never fails. 'I know what the Archdeacon's thinking. Her mother was French. Young, beautiful. When she died, miscarriage, the child not his, Sir Robert put Lucie in a convent and went off on pilgrimage. Started much gossip, of course. But Lucie Wilton should not be damned for her mother's sins.'

'How does the daughter come to be married to a merchant?'

Thorpe shrugged. 'Wilton visited Lucie at the convent. Fell in love. It was the aunt gave permission — D'Arby was still in the Holy Land. The girl likely saw it as her escape. In any case, her background should give you no trouble.'

'But how did he come to visit his future wife at the convent?'

'You're uncommon interested in Mistress Wilton.' Maybe Camden should be worried.

'An apprentice works side by side with his master. It sounds as if Mistress Wilton would be my master as much as he. I'd like to know something about her.'

Thorpe thought about that. It seemed a reasoned argument, all in all. 'Lady D'Arby — Mistress Wilton's mother — was a great friend of Nicholas's. Fascinated by the garden, she was. Nicholas helped her repair the maze at Freythorpe Hadden.'

'Then Nicholas Wilton is much older than his wife?'

'Aye, but not so much as some.' Thorpe stood up. 'And now you know as much as you need, Owen Archer.'

They set out for the apothecary. A light snow fell, a wet snow that melted as it touched the ground. Owen wondered what Lucie Wilton's reaction would be to the Guildmaster's proposal. She'd not much liked the look of him yesterday.

Mistress Wilton glanced up from a ledger, saw Thorpe, smiled, wiped her hands on her apron, held out her hand.

'Master Thorpe.'

'I have good news for you, Mistress Wilton.' He shook her hand and stepped aside to bring Owen forward.

Lucie started, then nodded to him. 'Master Archer. How is the eye?'

'Better today, Mistress Wilton. I am grateful for your skill’

'Might we go round back and talk?' Camden Thorpe suggested. Lucie led them through a beaded curtain to the kitchen.

'What is the good news?'

Camden rubbed his hands over the fire, then settled himself at the trestle table nearby. 'What would you say to trying out Master Archer as an apprentice?'

'What?'

At least she expressed disbelief rather than distaste, Owen thought.

Camden Thorpe hurried on. 'I know he's not what you expected. But consider it. He's got experience gardening and measuring out medicines, though he's had no formal training in either. And he writes a good hand. He could help with the books.'

Lucie Wilton flushed. She glanced over at Owen, back to Thorpe. 'Master Thorpe, don't play me for a fool.' Her eyes flashed. 'He's a grown man. Hardly an apprentice. You mean to bring him in to replace me’

Camden looked distressed. 'But he is an apprentice, I assure you.'

'I expected a boy.'

'Well, now, that's been the problem, don't you see. A boy who aspires to being a master apothecary does not wish to start as apprentice to an apprentice, however competent he — or she — may be. But I've told Owen the situation and he still wants the post.'

'Why?'

'I've lost the heart for soldiering.'

'He comes with a letter of introduction from the Archbishop.'

She looked Owen up and down. 'It's a lot of drudgery, Master Archer.'

'It would be a good situation for me, Mistress Wilton. I am not likely to be offered many apprenticeships. Folks see me, patch on my eye, former soldier, and expect trouble. A boy is more tractable, they think. They're wrong. I've seen the world, don't care for it. Want to find a quiet spot and mind my own business. I am not ambitious. What do I care whether I apprentice to your husband or to you?'

Thorpe nodded with enthusiasm. 'To sweeten the offer, I'll add Tildy Tompkins to help you in the kitchen during the day. A gift from the Guild for an ailing member. We do owe it to you and Nicholas.'

'And where will Owen stay?'

Owen grinned at her use of his given name. Already she thought of him as her apprentice.

'He'll eat his meals with you, but keep his lodgings at the York.'

'Then I'll have to pay him.'

'I have some money,' Owen said. 'I can keep myself’

'That might not be necessary.' Lucie rose. 'Let me see if Nicholas is up to seeing you.'

Grey hair, grey eyes, grey skin. Nicholas Wilton did not fake his illness. The little room was shuttered tight and lit by two spirit lamps that made it smell all the more like a sickroom. Owen hoped Lucie did not spend much time up here.

Nicholas nodded at them. 'I am' — he frowned, closed his eyes — 'most grateful, C-amden.'

Camden Thorpe hurried over to the invalid and took his hand. 'The Lord be thanked, you've recovered your speech, my friend.'

Nicholas squeezed his hand. Tears stood in his pale eyes.

Camden gestured for Owen to come forward. 'This is Owen Archer. I'm confident he'll be a great help to you both.'

Owen took the fragile hand in his. A racing pulse. Damp palms. In his experience, a dying man's palm was dry unless he burned with fever. Nicholas Wilton was frightened. Of death? Of the Guildmaster? Of Owen?

While Owen stared into his tankard, considering the events of the day, Digby slithered onto the bench across from him. He did not look friendly.

'What do you mean, questioning my mother?' Digby demanded.

'A good evening to you, too.'

'I mean to know what you're up to.'

'Goodwife Digby cleared up the business.'

'What business do you have questioning her?'

Owen shrugged. 'I'm a curious man.'

'She says you work for the Archbishop. Is he concerned about Fitzwilliam's death?'

'Should he be?'

'She said Abbot Campian told you about the arm. Why would he do that? What does he have against the Digbys?'

'What could the Abbot have against you?'

'I mean to know.'

'You must have felt threatened by the theft of the arm.'

Digby shrugged. ' Tis known the poor use her as a surgeon. The connection could be made. How could she prove she'd gotten no money for it? But I was appointed Summoner shortly. Looked like Fitzwilliam had kept his peace.'

'You never thought to make sure he kept quiet?'

Digby squinted at Owen. 'What do you mean? That I'd kill him? Shut him up for good? Are you accusing me?' His voice kept rising. Heads turned, then turned quickly away, remembering who sat there.

Owen shrugged. 'Becoming Summoner meant much to you. I've been to your mother's house, I can imagine being desperate to get away.'

Digby shook his head as if amazed by what he heard. 'A daft way to start out as Summoner, murdering the Archbishop's ward.'

Put that way, it was a laughable suspicion. Owen gave up the line of questioning. It led nowhere. 'The Abbot told me that Fitzwilliam repented what he had done. Realised he could have caused your mother much trouble. And he respected her.'

Digby's face reddened. 'He said that?'

'Aye. So you've nothing to fear from that old business, I think. Would you like a drink?'