The Apothecary Rose

'You must not harm her, Anselm.'

'We do not speak of her.'

'Anselm, you must promise me.'

'They have destroyed you, Nicholas. First her mother, now her. She-devils.'

Lucie was stunned by the venom in the Archdeacon's voice.

'Lucie is a good woman.'

'She has blinded you. And now she's down there with her one-eyed lover, waiting for your death.'

Monster. Lucie wanted to run in there and scratch out his eyes. No, Nicholas. Don't listen to him.

'It is you who are blind, Anselm.' Nicholas's voice sounded weak. She should go to him. But if Anselm suspected she'd overheard — Dear God, he spoke with such hate. She felt as if he could see through the door and follow her with his eyes, with his cold, inhuman eyes. She fled to the kitchen.

Tildy looked up as Lucie leaned against the doorway, out of breath. 'Mistress Wilton!'

'Lucie, what is it?' Bess was quick to her side.

She shook her head. 'Nothing. I was — ' She shook her head. 'I must get back to work.'

'Nonsense. Just look at you.'

'It's nothing, Bess. Please.' She hurried through the shop door.

Owen also wondered when he saw her. Her wimple was pushed askew. Hair tumbled out at the temples and curled damply on her cheeks. 'You need not have hurried.'

'I want some jars off the top shelf. It will be easier if I can hand them down to you.' She was breathless.

'Perhaps you should sit down a moment.'

She surprised him by sinking down on the bench behind the counter. Shadows marred the pale skin beneath her eyes. Guilt, or worry over Nicholas's illness? Owen hoped worry and overwork. She rubbed one of her elbows as if weary to the bone.

'Can I get you something?'

She shook her head, 'just help me with the jars.'

'Let me climb’ Owen offered.

Lucie sighed. 'If we're to work together, you must stop debating my orders and just accept them. Can you do that?' She tucked her hair in, yanked the wimple straight.

'I thought — '

She stood up. 'I know what you thought. A woman should not climb ladders or lift heavy jars. If you watched a woman clean house, you'd see what nonsense that is.'

She was angry. Perhaps Bess had not told her where he'd gone. 'I went to Digby's funeral.'

Lucie nodded. 'You've a right. Bess told me about your mishap last night, knocking over the candle.'

'You see why I gave up soldiering.'

She shook her head. 'I've watched you work. The eye does not trip you up. Was it because of Digby? His death disturbed you?'

Her eyes were so clear. Honest. He did not want to lie to her. 'Death in peace is different from death in war. When many die each day, the heart hardens to the news. But Digby did not expect to die.'

She regarded him, trying to take in the answer. Montaigne and now Digby. She shook her head. Must put that out of her mind. 'Once again you surprise me, Owen Archer. Perhaps a man can change his nature. I would like to think that.'

'What was my nature before?'

'That of a soldier.'

'And what is the nature of a soldier, I ask you? Do you think that I chose to be one? That I had a taste for killing? That I wanted to kill and be killed for my King? I did not choose that. I was chosen by the King's men because of my skill with the bow.'

'And when you developed that skill, did you not see where it would lead?'

'No. It was a game, like any other a child plays. I was good at it, so it became my favourite game. And so I became even better.'

She turned away from him. 'There is work to do.'

'Why are you like this? Why can I do nothing to please you?'

'You are not here to please me.'

'Of course I am. I'm your apprentice. Your opinion is everything to me.'

Everything to me. The words echoed between them. Lucie looked at him, startled out of her anger. He wanted to grab her stubborn shoulders and shake her. You are everything to me.

She looked away, brushed some dust from her apron. 'My approval of your work is all you need worry about. So let us get down to it.'

Owen gave up the fight and followed her to the ladder, staying at its foot and saying not a word when the weight of the clay jars made him wonder how she could trust her balance under such a load. Once she stumbled and he grabbed her around the waist. Such a slender waist. He felt her hold her breath. She glanced down at him, for just a second, with an odd, frightened look, then resumed her work.

As she returned to ground level she said, 'Again I must thank you for catching me. I would have fallen’

He just nodded, fearing he would say the wrong thing.

'Nicholas wants to see you after his midday meal. He has some books for you to study.'

'I look forward to that. I understand the Archdeacon is with him now.'

Lucie was quiet while she measured chamomile onto a slip of parchment. Owen noticed a set look to her mouth. Her hand trembled slightly.

'His visits bother you?' Owen asked.

'They agitate Nicholas. It cannot be good for him’ She handed him the jar of chamomile. 'You can put this back’

While Owen was up on the ladder, a boy entered the shop. It was the stable boy from the inn by Micklegate. A horse was lamed and could not be spared at the moment.

Lucie asked questions, which the boy answered carefully. Owen knew horses. And the treatment Lucie recommended was exactly what he would have chosen.

He watched her prepare the mixture. Practised and sure of herself. In skill he suspected she was as capable of mixing an effective poison as her husband. But did she have the stomach?

'Not to worry, Jenkins’ she said, watching the boy's pacing out of the corner of her eye. 'This salve will keep her going.' She covered the jar and set it on the counter, holding out her hand for payment. The boy counted out the coins, relieved when she corrected him from short-changing himself.

'Much obliged, Mistress Wilton.' He flushed in the glow of her smile. Owen knew just how he felt.

'And don't give up on her, Jenkins’ Lucie said, handing him the jar. 'This will give her a chance to heal.'

The boy looked doubtful.

'Not all lamed horses need to be destroyed. Just give her time.' Lucie leaned over and patted the top of the jar he held close to his greasy tunic. 'That's my husband's special blend.'

'They say he's poorly.'

'He is that, Jenkins. But his medicine's as good as ever.'

The boy nodded and shuffled quickly from the shop.

'You'll notice I insisted on payment before I handed over the physick’ Lucie said. 'Jack Cobb has to pay his bills immediately. Most folk are trustworthy — or deserving of charity. But Jack Cobb puts bills off, hoping merchants will forget them. A rich, selfish man. He doesn't get away with that here’

A strong-willed woman. Certain of her judgement. If she believed that a man deserved punishment for her mother's death, would she just as coolly see to the punishment?

'I will remember about Jack Cobb. Are there others who do not — '

Lucie had turned suddenly to the doorway from the kitchen as the Archdeacon came through. Owen, who had not heard Anselm's steps on the stairway, realised that Lucie must have been listening for them. Which meant she was more anxious about the visit than he'd guessed.

'How is he?' Lucie asked.

'He is tired, so I thought it best I leave’ Anselm noticed Owen in the corner. 'Good day to you both’