The Apothecary Rose

'You suggested when we last spoke that Anselm may have murdered Digby.'

Thoresby inclined his head. 'I think it possible. The Summoner dined with my Archdeacon the night of his death. I know that Anselm did not care for Digby's company. So why that night?'

Again, withholding facts, playing with Owen. 'Magda Digby has learned that someone saw the Archdeacon push his Summoner into the river.'

'I am sorry to hear that. I wanted to be wrong.' Thoresby left his maps and walked over to the fireplace. He stood before it with his hands behind him. 'You did not come here just to tell me that.'

'If he did murder Digby, what's to keep him from trying again? Mistress Wilton and Brother Wulfstan might be in danger.'

'He does present a problem.'

Jehannes had come in with a flagon of wine and cups. Now he cleared his throat.

Thoresby turned to him. 'You have an idea?'

'There is that business in Durham. A financial concern, really. Appropriate for your Archdeacon. Sir John Dalwylie's bequest?'

'Durham? Dalwylie?' Thoresby frowned, then grinned. 'Ah, Durham, yes. Excellent.' He took the cup of wine Jehannes handed him. 'Archdeacon Anselm will leave for Durham at first light. The roads are quagmires at this season. Two days, perhaps three, each way. A day for business. He will be gone for at least five days. Unless, of course, he meets with an accident.'

Bess joined Owen at his table. 'This is an honour, so early in the evening’ he said.

'I've something on my mind.'

'So do I.'

'Oh yes? And what is your trouble? Where did you slip out to, so early this morning?'

'To see Magda Digby.'

'Still digging into the deaths at the abbey?'

'That's what I'm here for.'

'And what of Lucie Wilton, eh? When you're finished with your digging, will you leave her without an explanation?'

'It might be best.'

'You disappoint me, Owen Archer.'

'What am I supposed to do?'

'Did it ever occur to you that she has a right to know what you're up to?'

'It's best she knows nothing about it. She's stubborn. She would insist on getting involved. She might walk into danger. I can tell her nothing.'

'And do you think it won't touch her in some way?'

'I am watching out for her.'

'Oh yes? And where were you this morning when Anselm arrived, eh?'

Owen closed his eye. 'I have taken care of that. It will not happen again.'

'And how is that?'

'The Archdeacon will be leaving York for a while.'

'A while. How lovely. Long enough for you to stir everything up and then leave. Have you considered the fact that she'll still be here when you leave? When the Archdeacon comes back?'

'I do not think he will be back.'

Bess looked at his solemn face as that sank in. 'Oh. Well, then.'

Owen rubbed the cheek below his patch. 'She is so quick to offend. I never know what will set her off.'

'You argued?'

'Every conversation is an argument.'

'She has a lot on her mind. A great deal of trouble and responsibility. You could help more, you know.'

'How?'

'Confide in her as you have in me. Let her know why you're here, what you know.'

'I cannot.'

'Prepare her for the fact that you won't always be here.'

'It's best she knows nothing.'

'So you think she knows nothing, do you?'

He straightened up at that. 'What have you told her?'

'Me? Nothing. But she has eyes and ears.'

He thought about that. Remembered her at the top of the stairs. 'The Archdeacon and Master Wilton. She's listened to their conversations?'

Bess shrugged. 'And what if she has?'

'It's dangerous, Bess.'

She rolled her eyes. 'You think I don't know?'

'What has she heard’ Bess?'

'I can't be telling you. She'd know.'

'I won't tell her.'

Bess shook her head. 'She'd know. You must confide in her. For her safety, Owen. You must.'

'I cannot.'

'Why, for Heaven's sake?'

'How do I know I can trust her?'

'What do you think she'll do? Tell Nicholas?'

He stared into his beer.

'That's ridiculous. You must trust her. Let her know she can trust you. She'll walk into danger if you don't. She's about to do it.'

'Is this why she's sent for her Aunt Phillippa?'

'What do you think? That she's suddenly decided to depend on her family?'

'Perhaps. With Nicholas on his deathbed.'

'You're a fool, Owen Archer. I was that worried about her this morning, I had Kit's little brother follow her. She went to the abbey to see the Infirmarian. She's getting ideas. Ideas about the night the pilgrim died. And she's poking around, trying to find out what happened. Potter Digby did that and wound up in the Ouse. What do you think of her chances of survival?'

'I told you. The Archdeacon is being sent away.'

'Ah. So it's he threw Digby in, eh?'

'I didn't say that.'

Talk to her. It's too dangerous to leave her in ignorance’

'So why didn't you tell her everything?'

Bess pulled herself up, indignant. 'I swore to you that I wouldn't, didn't I? What do you think I am?'

'She went to the abbey today? Why?'

Bess rose. 'I've done my part. It's up to you now.' She moved off among the tables.

'Damnable woman’ Owen muttered. The eye was pulling and aching. He took his ale up to his room.

Lucie sat at the table by the garden window, staring down at the record book. MD. That was who she must talk to. She had to find a way to see Magda Digby. It was not so simple as finding the time to go. She needed a guide. A young woman had drowned last spring when she lost her footing going down below the abbey wall. That was probably how the Summoner had fallen into the Ouse.

She looked over at Nicholas, who lay with his back to her. His breathing was too irregular for him to be asleep. He had turned that way when she'd tried to talk with him about her mother. 'Why is she suddenly not to be mentioned, Nicholas? We always talked about her. It's been a comfort to me to talk about her with you.'

'I cannot.' And he'd turned away from her.

How much easier it would be if he would answer her questions. 'I know that Geoffrey Montaigne wounded you after my mother died.' She watched his spine stiffen, but he did not turn, he did not speak. Damn him.

So Lucie sat, staring down at the record book, at once angry with Nicholas and frightened by his behaviour. He had changed so much. Was it just the illness? No. That would make him more tender, more confiding. His behaviour was that of a man with something to hide. A guilty man. She was more and more convinced that he had poisoned Geoffrey Montaigne. But why? She needed to know what had been between them.

It had been a long day. At last even her worries could not keep her awake. She was nodding over the book when something hit the wall behind her. She sat up straight, listening. Again, stones against the outside wall. She got up, looked down into the yard. Someone in black, hooded. Brother Wulfstan? When he saw her, he moved quickly away, to the back of the garden. Too quickly for the old monk. Lucie lit the oil lamp and went downstairs, got her cloak, went outside. Something flickered in the dark garden. Again. The potting shed. A fire. Her heart raced. Someone had seen it and tried to rouse her. Thank God. She put the lamp back inside and grabbed a bucket instead. To the well. She drew up the bucket, filled the one she carried, and lugged it to the shed. The fire was inside, at the back of the shed. She would have to go in to douse it. The door was open. Perhaps the person who'd warned her was already at work on the blaze.

'Are you in there?' she called at the door. She looked in, but could not see through the smoke. She stepped in. She would heave the bucket at the far corner and run out for more water. But from the shadows an arm wrenched the bucket from her hands and threw it out the door. 'Idiot!' Lucie cried. She wiped her eyes and focused on the moon-pale face of the Archdeacon. 'That was water for the fire, for pity's sake.' She turned to retrieve the bucket and go for more water.