The Apothecary Rose

Bess sniffed. 'True, no doubt. But not the whole truth. Not by half.'

She was a formidable opponent. With bow and arrow Owen might better her, even with one eye. But he could not best her with words. Bess would sniff and scratch around every word, gesture, deed. He had to watch himself.

'I cannot think how to assure you that I mean your friend no harm.'

'You can't.' She leaned forward. 'But be warned, Owen Archer. Your charm does not blind Bess Merchet. You bring the Wiltons trouble, and I throw you out. And worse.' She sat back, smiling grimly, satisfied that she had made her threat.

Owen believed her. And it was quite possible that she would have the opportunity to carry out her threat. The Wiltons looked terribly guilty.

Unless Digby's death had been no accident. Poisoning was one thing, but he could not imagine either Wilton throwing Digby in the river.

'You are close to Lucie Wilton.'

'Poor chit. She's not had an easy time of it, daughter of a knight though she may be. My own Mary had more love and security. When her father died, I made sure my next husband was the sort who would love her as his own.'

Tom's a good man.'

'Not Tom. Peter. Tom's my third.' Owen could not help but grin. He could well believe she would outlive a pair of husbands. She would probably outlive Tom, too. Bess sipped her brandywine. 'I've tried to be a mother and friend to Lucie.' She sighed into her cup, then looked up at Owen. 'But what keeps you awake? You went up early tonight.'

'And went out. Walking. I'm accustomed to a more active life.'

Bess sniffed. 'You seem plenty active to me. I've seen you at the woodpile.'

'I happened to pass the house where Digby boards. Something was up. Too well lit, folk crowded around.'

Bess sat up. Trouble at Widow Cartwright's? I warned her not to board that man. He's a slimy creature. No good will come of him.'

'Certainly that possibility is past. He's dead. Drowned. They dragged him out of the river tonight.'

Bess crossed herself. 'Why didn't you tell me that straightway? You let me say an unkindness about the dead.' She shivered and crossed herself again. 'You might have saved me that.'

'Forgive me.'

Bess took a drink. Sighed. Gave Owen a good, long look. 'Are you bothered by his death?'

'I am.'

That's why you needed the brandywine?'

'Aye.'

She shook her head. ‘Troubled by the Summoner's death. Odd for a soldier’

'Aye. You would think a soldier saw too much death to let it trouble him. But Digby meant to be a good man. He believed he was doing God's work. And I-'

Bess suddenly sat forward, alert, sniffing the air.

'Fire!' someone yelled.

Bess jumped up, knocking over her cup. 'That's Tom.'

Owen followed her through the dark tavern. He could smell the smoke.

Tom met them coming down, reeled back, shocked.

'What is it, Tom? Where?'

He nodded to Owen. 'His room. Blessed Mary full of grace, I thought you were a dead man, Master Archer.'

Owen hurried up. Smoke billowed out of the room. Owen's pallet smouldered. Flames licked at the wall beside it. Owen managed to get the pallet to the window and toss it out. Better char something out there than inside, where people slept. He tossed the greasy torch that had started the blaze out after it. He'd look at it in the morning light.

Tom huffed in with a bucket of water. Bess rushed in with blankets.

In a moment the fire was out.

'I was afraid you were trouble’ Bess muttered.

Tom scratched his bristly cheek as he stared at the damage.

Bess sighed. 'It will take a day to tidy this up and air it out. Owen can sleep in one of the other rooms tonight.'

'I doubt I'll get much sleep.'

Tom nodded. 'Doubt you will.'

Bess turned, fixed her eyes on Owen. 'Do you know who did this?'

He shook his head. 'Who knew which room was mine?'

'Aye, that's the question.' Tom scratched his head. 'Me and wife. Kit. Stable boy, he has his nose in everything’ He shrugged. 'Some guests, mayhap. Hard to say. Folk have eyes.'

By now the other guests had crowded about on the landing below, demanding news.

'Best to keep this quiet’ Owen said. 'Say I tripped with a candle. Likely enough with one eye’

Tom frowned, glanced over at Bess.

'Go tell them, Tom. Just as he said’

Tom thought about it, nodded, and went down to tell the tale.

Owen gathered his things, which had been on the opposite end of the small room.

Back in the doorway he looked down at the soggy, blackened floorboards, the scorched wall, 'It did not burn long’

Bess was quiet. Owen turned so he could see her with his good eye. Arms folded across her chest, she glared at him. 'I've a mind to send you packing, but it would look bad for business. I think you'd agree you owe it to us to tell the truth. What you're doing here. What you're after’

Smoke lingered in the room. Owen's eye burned. That made him uncomfortable. 'In your room. Can we talk in there?'

Bess led the way. Tom, who'd calmed the other guests, was close behind.

It was a large, airy room, with a feather bed at one end, a table piled with record books at the other. Owen dropped his things inside the door and crossed over to the table. Tom and Bess joined him. He studied their faces. Honest, both of them. And decent to let him stay. He did not for a moment believe that it was just for business. He decided to tell them the truth.

Bess grunted with satisfaction when he told her his mission. 'I knew it. Didn't I say he was more than he seemed, Tom?'

'Oh, aye.' Tom blinked, fighting sleep.

'And now Potter Digby's found belly-up in the Ouse, and someone puts a torch to your bed.' Bess's eyes shone with excitement.

Tom came alert. 'Digby? That fishy scoundrel drowned?'

They found him tonight.'

'He was snooping for you?'

Owen nodded.

Tom shook his head. 'Sounds to me like you've made a mess of it.'

After Tildy had gone to her little closet for the night and Bess had returned to the inn, Lucie sat by Nicholas, listening to his laboured breathing, searching her memory for some concoction she might yet try to soothe him. It was the struggle for breath, she was certain, that weakened him. He got no rest. How could he rest, when every breath was such a struggle? How could he heal if he did not rest? ‘ cannot live with this. Did he know what he had done? Had he deliberately — No. She would not let herself even think that.

Bess thought Nicholas was dying. That was why she had talked so much tonight about Will and Peter, her late husbands. She wanted Lucie to be prepared. To know that life would go on. To begin to look around for Nicholas's replacement. And who better than Owen Archer? Dear Bess. If only life were that simple.

Owen Archer. The enigma. But Lucie admitted he was a hard worker. He never complained. No job was too humble. And he needed instructions only once. He always remembered. And that voice. The way he played the lute. He did not have the soul of a soldier. Perhaps he really had taken the loss of his eye as a sign to turn to a more godly life. He had given her no cause to distrust him. His only fault was the way he made her feel. He could not help that. That was her own sinfulness. It was because Nicholas had been ill so long.

Well. Nicholas was not dying. Lucie would not let him. So she would have to keep fighting her feelings for Owen. But it did not mean she had to be uncivil.

She would try to be more pleasant with him.

Lucie must have drowsed at last when a commotion outside drowned out Nicholas's gasping breaths and roused her. She went to the window. Across the way was a sight terrifying to a city dweller. Fire. Smoke billowed from the upper floor of the inn. Sweet Jesus. Bess and Tom — did they know? Were they awake? Something large plummeted from the window and landed with a thud in the snow below. It seemed to be smouldering. A torch followed, hitting the snow with a smoky hiss. Then faces appeared in the window. A boy ran out into the yard. Lucie hurried outside, her heart pounding.