The Apothecary Rose

'Bess?'

Bess turned, her face as red as the hair tumbling from her cap in tight, damp curls. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms. 'Oh, goodness me, you catch me in the midst of teaching this child the art of scouring a floor. Can you believe she's made it to fifteen years without learning the trick?'

Normally, Lucie would have smiled at her friend's tirade, but this morning she was too intent on her mission. 'Have you seen Owen?'

'He's not with you? When he left so early this morning, I thought you'd ordered him there at dawn.'

Lucie turned towards the ladder. 'Damnable man.'

The set of her friend's jaw, her lack of humour, and the frustration in those two words alerted Bess. She caught Lucie's arm. 'What is it, love? Has Nicholas taken a turn?'

Lucie nodded.

'And you need someone to watch the shop while you sit with him?'

'I want to send Owen for my Aunt Phillippa.'

'Your aunt? Whatever for? What good has she done you, I ask? I'll watch the shop.'

'You have your work here.'

'Kit can do it.'

'I need my aunt. It's time she helped me out.'

'Well, I won't disagree with you about that. But why send Owen? Send John, my stable boy. He's a good lad, rides fast, he'll be back and forth in no time.'

'I don't need to burden you, Bess.'

'It's no burden, love. I want to help.'

Lucie looked down at her hands. 'I wish you could.'

Bess folded her arms across her chest. 'As I thought. It's more than sending for your aunt that's worrying you. Come now, downstairs with you, tell Bess all about it.'

'I can't stay, Bess’ Lucie said as she followed her friend down to the tavern.

'Then we'll talk at your house. It's all the same to me.'

'No. I can't talk there.'

Bess led her into the kitchen, set her down in a chair, tsking at the bony shoulders. 'You're not eating right, Lucie. Everything seems worse when you're not eating right’ She poured a cup of ale for Lucie and one for herself.

Lucie found herself swept up in Bess's assumption that she was about to confide in her, wondering where to begin, how to explain what she feared about Nicholas. But it seemed disloyal to admit even to her best friend that she feared her husband had killed someone.

'I have to talk with my aunt, Bess. I need to know some things, that's all.'

'That's all, is it?' Bess took off her cap and reworked the pile of curly red hair, stabbing horn hairpins into it with a brutal impatience that made Lucie wince. Bess tested her work with a vigorous shake and, satisfied when that did not undo it, put back her cap and leaned across the little table towards Lucie, her eyes fixed on her friend's. 'Now why don't you just begin at the beginning?'

And Lucie, despite herself, poured it all out to Bess, what Wulfstan had discovered, what she had overheard, the entry in the records.

'Merciful Heaven,' Bess muttered at the end of Lucie's account, 'you have carried a load of worries on those delicate shoulders. Have you asked Nicholas about all this?'

Lucie rubbed her temples, a weary gesture. 'How could I do that? He's so ill. To upset him with questions that brought back disturbing memories — '

Bess nodded. 'Well, at least you've given it thought. I tell you what, you have in your household someone who ought to hear all this. I'm sure that he could help you.'

Lucie shoved the cup aside and rose. 'You're pushing me at Owen again. Do you think of nothing else, Bess? Why would I confide in my apprentice? He's almost a stranger. How do I know I can trust him?'

'I know you can, love. I'm not suggesting it to play at matchmaking, not this morning. Not when you've such trouble.'

'I'll take care of this myself.'

'John will go for your aunt.'

'No. I'll send Owen.'

'Please, love. It makes sense to send John. He knows the way. He knows where the Highlanders lie in wait. We've sent him hither and yon for supplies, and he's never failed us. He's young and fearless. He thinks it's a lark.'

Lucie saw that Bess's argument was sound. 'All right. Please send him. And thank you, Bess.'

'You're like my own, child. I could not do less.'

Lucie hugged her friend. 'Forgive my temper.'

'You have good reason to have your feelings so ready at hand. I've taken no offence.'

'If you see Owen Archer, send him to the shop. He's more than late.'

Owen had to wait while Magda dressed a man's wound. Every moment he waited made him later getting to the shop. It frustrated him. But if he gave up, he would have wasted the trip, and if Lucie was to be mad at him, he wanted it to have been worthwhile. At last Magda sent the man on his way and joined Owen by the fire, wiping her hands and nodding with satisfaction. ' Tis a good mornin's work, saving Kirby. A good fisherman. Best eel catcher on the Ouse.'

'How was he wounded?' The man had a gash across his stomach.

'Folk come to Magda knowing she'll not tell their sins. The man cut his gut, 'tis enough for thee to know.' She sliced some bread from a hard loaf on the table beside her, and spread it with a ripe cheese that turned Owen's stomach. 'But thy business, now, what might that be?'

'I can trust you to keep as quiet about my business as you are about the eel catcher's?'

'Aye. Thou wert Potter's friend. Potter's friend, Magda's friend. Except for the one he thought a friend who was never anything like. That Archdeacon. Carrion crow. 'Twas him killed Magda's boy.'

'You know that for a fact?'

She spat into the fire. 'Magda has many friends. There were eyes by the tower that night. They saw the crow push Potter down. Too far into the mead bowl he'd dipped. And the crow took the chance.'

'Why?'

'Thou know'st why. To protect his sweetheart. The soft-eyed Nicholas.'

'You know what Potter thought Nicholas had done?'

'Oh, aye. And Potter came too close to knowing all the truth.' She wiped her hands on her skirt, cut another hunk of bread, and spread it with the cheese. ' 'Tis good cheese. Thou art a fool to sniff at it.' She grinned.

'What was the connection between Nicholas and Geoffrey Montaigne? Why would Nicholas kill him?'

'The lady's fair knight once tried to kill Nicholas. Mayhap he would try again. Or stir up trouble that had been put to rest.'

'I need to know about this, Goodwife Digby. I need to know who else Anselm might want to silence.'

She shrugged. 'Magda. Sir Robert D'Arby and Dame Phillippa. Perhaps even the girl Lucie. Married to soft-eyes, isn't she? Phillippa was silly to agree to that. Magda told her. No good would come of that.'

'Why would no good come of it?'

Magda peered at him. 'Digging deep, Bird-eye. What's an archer to do with such history?'

Totter told you my purpose.'

'Mighty Thoresby wants to hear all this?'

'It seems that Fitzwilliam's death came from all this trouble. He means to understand it.'

'Back to Cain and Abel, eh? But Fitzwilliam's death cannot be undone.'

'He would not want that, in any case. His ward was an embarrassment. But he must make sure there is nothing in this that could endanger his own person.'

'He need not fear.'

'Why was the marriage a mistake?'

'Thou know'st the history of Anselm and Nicholas? That Anselm of the visions took the pretty, sickly boy Nicholas under his wing and into his bed?'

'Anselm had visions?'

Magda laughed. 'Canst thou look at the crow and see a comely boy in him? Nay, he lured him with stories of Mary, Mother of God, and the boy Jesus. Anselm was to befriend Jesus and care for him. Clever, eh?'

'Abbot Gerard knew of this?'

'A fool. He would have bought the rotting arm from Fitzwilliam.'

'So what are you saying about Nicholas and Anselm? That they continued to be lovers?'

Magda shook her head at him. 'Nay. If 'twere so, none of this would happen, eh? Nay, Nicholas had not the nature for it. But he believed the crow's visions.'