The Apothecary Rose

'So Anselm could influence him.'

'Magda has watched folk crawl on bloody knees where their saints beheld visions, Bird-eye. Tis powerful stuff for some.'

'You told Dame Phillippa of this?'

'Aye. Much good it did’

'You were friends?'

'Oh, aye. Magda helped her deliver the girl Lucie. Amelie D'Arby had been foolish. But thou carest naught for women's complaints. Tis enough to know the soft-eyed boy was bewitched by Lady D'Aiby. So she used him instead of Magda when the fair-haired knight's babe quickened in her. Poor, foolish soft-eyes. Magda would not have been so foolish. The lady killed herself with his help. And Montaigne blamed Nicholas Wilton. 'Tis that simple.'

An abortion gone wrong? Was it that simple? Tell me about Amelie D'Arby's complaints.'

Magda shrugged. 'Lord D'Arby brought home a war prize. A pretty French girl to breed. A year passed and she did not grow big with child. Lord D'Arby lost his temper. The girl's silly maid brought Lady D'Arby to Magda. She must bear him a son or he'd find a way to be rid of her. Magda did not doubt it. Gave her pennyroyal and madder. And a mandrake root to bury beneath her lord's window. Not that any man needed encouragement to lie with Amelie D'Arby. A beauty she was.'

'Did it work?'

'Nay. So she sought out soft-eyes. Thought he could do better.'

'She did not go to Nicholas's father?'

'Aye. But he sent her to church to pray. So she teased help from the boy. Foolish girl.'

'And she had Lucie.'

'Oh, aye. Twas only a matter of time. Child had suffered much in the war. She needed time to forget her brother's head on a pike. But the birth almost killed her. Nicholas trusted her to be cautious with the potions. The lady was too frightened to be wise. Magda could see that. But soft-eyes was young and bewitched.' Magda shook her head.

'And he still hadn't learned when she went to him to prevent a birth later?'

'Soft eyes’ Magda pointed at her eye, 'soft head’ She tapped her head. Cackled.

'Why did she not want the second babe?'

Magda shrugged. 'Phillippa could tell thee.'

'You never asked?'

Magda snorted. 'Every day they come to Magda. How can she care about them all?'

'You said Nicholas was bewitched by Lady D'Arby. Do you mean he was in love with the mother of the woman he married?'

Magda grinned. 'Too rich for thy taste, eh?'

'Why did Potter never summon Nicholas Wilton to answer for this?'

'Potter did not know so much. Wasn't safe for Potter to know. Magda promised the crow never to breathe a word.'

'What power did the Archdeacon have over you?'

Magda shrugged, spat in the fire again. 'Magda must not make enemies. She has no protection. The crow could burn down Magda's house, take away her power to heal. Ruin Potter.'

'And yet you're telling me.'

'When the crow killed Potter, he forfeited Magda's silence. He must be punished. Thou'lt see to it. Magda knows.'

Owen felt like a fraud. He had no intention of taking the law into his own hands. If Archbishop Thoresby decided to punish Anselm, that was another matter. But chances were Thoresby would overlook his Archdeacon's crimes. 'Nicholas Wilton should not be trusted as an apothecary.'

'Soft-eyes is weak, not evil. Such a fool to poison Montaigne. Man was dying. All this trouble for lack of mother wit to tell him when to wait.'

He had to ask. 'Is it possible that Lucie Wilton mixed the poison? To avenge her own mother's death?'

Magda frowned. 'How so? 'Twas her husband killed her mother, not Montaigne.'

'How could Lucie agree to marry Nicholas Wilton?'

'Phillippa told the girl little, to be sure.' Magda laughed at the look on Owen's face. 'It sickens thee, this story. But the lady asked for the death soft-eyes gave her. 'Twas her own doing.'

'Do you think he loves Lucie? Nicholas, I mean.'

Magda peered at Owen until he felt the need to shift in his seat. She snorted. 'As much as Bird-eye loves the girl?' Magda laughed afresh at his attempt at denial. 'Thou'rt too far gone to hide it. Magda can see.' She shook her head, her sharp eyes merry. 'But aye, Nicholas loves her well enough.'

It was late morning by the time Owen left Magda's house.

When Lucie returned from the York, she was furious to learn that Owen had still not arrived, but she bit her tongue and thanked Tildy for her watchfulness. 'Master Nicholas did not wake?'

'I heard him greet the Archdeacon when he went up, but — '

A shiver ran through Lucie at those words. 'Archdeacon Anselm is up there with him?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Did you not tell him that your master slept?'

Tildy nodded. 'I did so, but he would go up. You did not say he could not.' Her eyes were wide with the fear that she had done the wrong thing.

'You are quite right, Tildy, I said nothing to you of the Archdeacon. You've been a great help. Go on now with your chores.'

Lucie climbed the steps. Nicholas's voice was raised in a frightened whine. 'We are cursed’ Nicholas cried. 'You have cursed us.'

It was not good for him to get so excited. He would be worse for it. The Archdeacon would surely kill him with his visits. Lucie could not stand back and let that happen, no matter what Nicholas said. She opened the door. Anselm was kneeling beside the bed, clutching Nicholas's hands and whispering something to him.

Two red spots stood out on her husband's death-white cheeks. His hair was damp with sweat.

'No, Nicholas, sweet Nicholas. You must not say such things.' Anselm cooed at him as if he were a fretful child.

Nicholas tried to retrieve his hands, but Anselm held tight. 'You have killed me, Anselm’ Nicholas whimpered.

'How can you say that? I am your protector’

'Leave me.'

'Get out of here’ Lucie said.

Anselm started and turned towards her. 'Leave us alone, woman.'

No name, just 'woman’ spat out like a curse. And the sickening, cloying way he entreated Nicholas. God help her, but she despised the Archdeacon. It gave her strength. 'You would tell me what to do in my own house? He is my husband. I have done everything I know to make him better, and you come in here and undo it all. Look at the effect you have on him. He said it himself. You have killed him. Get out of here.' She was shouting. She trembled with rage.

Anselm rose. Dun-coloured and fleshless, like a desiccated corpse. He sickened her. 'Nicholas would not be in such a state if it were not for you’ he hissed.

'What do you mean? What do you know of this?'

'Anselm, please’ Nicholas cried. 'Leave us.'

Anselm turned to Nicholas. 'Is that what you want? Do you want me to leave you with her?'

'Yes’

'Then you are a fool. I will leave you to your doom.' Anselm swept by Lucie, but paused in the doorway, turning his sunken eyes on her. 'I go at his request, not yours.'

She stood there trembling until she heard the shop door slam. Then she sat down on the bed beside Nicholas, who lay back with his eyes closed, his hands clenching and unclenching on the covers. She took the cloth from the bowl of scented water and cooled his face, his neck, loosed the hands from the covers and wiped them. 'You are too kind to me’ he whispered, opening his eyes.

'What is this about, Nicholas? You cannot expect me to go on believing that you welcome the Archdeacon as a friend. You told him he had cursed you. How, Nicholas? What is between you?'

Nicholas shook his head. 'Forgive me.'

'For what? What have you done?'

He closed his eyes. 'He hates you. Beware of Anselm.'

'Why, Nicholas? If I must beware of him, I should know why’

But he merely shook his head and turned away from her.

Nineteen