The Apothecary Rose (27 page)

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 Arch
deacon 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

Bess
Intervenes

'Watch the shop while I go out. If you are uncertain
about anything, leave it for me. You can save your excuses until I return.' And with a snap of her cloak,
Lucie was out the door.

She had every reason to be irritated with him. But
her abruptness surprised him. He poked his head into
the kitchen and asked Tildy if she could give him something warm to drink. She jumped up, all smiles,
happy to be of use. 'You should not be too kind to me,
Tildy. Your mistress is cross with me.'

'She has not been herself today, sir. She's that wor
ried about Master Wilton.' Tildy shook her head and
sighed. 'Archdeacon Anselm came and upset him, you
see. Mistress Wilton shouted at him and made him
leave.'

'She shouted at him?' Owen had never heard Lucie
raise her voice.

'I could not help but hear, sir, it were so loud.
Everyone shouting. Master Wilton sounded so pitiful. Is there trouble, sir?'

'Do you know where your mistress was going just now?'

She shook her head. 'But I hope she's going to
complain about that Archdeacon. He has no cause
to come here and upset the Master.'

'Or over to talk with Bess Merchet?'

Tildy shrugged. 'She went there looking for you and
stayed awhile before. That was when the Archdeacon came.'

So Anselm had watched the shop? What was he
up to? 'Thank you for the broth, Tildy. Now get on with your work and I'll mind the shop and together
we'll try to make the rest of Mistress Wilton's day go
smoothly’

Where could she have gone in such a hurry after ordering Anselm out of the house? He could imagine
the state she had been in, if she'd heard Nicholas
shouting at Anselm.

Brother Wulfstan was puzzled to hear that Lucie Wil
ton was here to see him. She sat in Abbot Campian's
receiving room, holding a flat parcel. As he entered she
lifted a pale face to him that spoke of a sleepless night.
'What is the matter, Lucie?'

'I am trying to find out, Brother Wulfstan,' she
said wearily. That is why I'm here.' She unwrapped
the parcel. It was a book with a cracked leather cover. 'This is one of my father-in-law's record books. I have
come across an entry that I want to understand. It is about Nicholas.'

'And you think that I can help?' Merciful Mother,
let it not be about Anselm and Nicholas.

'I overheard something the other day that has me
frightened. The Archdeacon and Nicholas were argu
ing. Something about Geoffrey Montaigne. You know,
my mother's lover. Did you know that he was the
pilgrim who died here?' She saw the truth in his eyes.
'Why didn't you tell me?'

'It was not until the Summoner, God rest his soul,
came to question me about him the other day that
my Abbot told me who he was.'

'He wounded Nicholas. And by this entry I think
it was the night of my mother's death. Do you know
anything about that?'

'Nicholas wounded? By Montaigne? But why?'

'That is what I must know.'

Wulfstan nodded to the book. 'What does it say?'

She handed it to him.

He read, puzzling over the initials. 'D'Arby - of
course that would be your father.'

'Yes. And Archdeacon Anselm and Dame Phillippa,
my aunt. I need to know who "MD" is. Or was. Can
you guess?'

' "MD cauterised" - Magda Digby, could it be?
Nicholas's father had commerce with her. It was
Nicholas who decided to have nothing to do with her.
She is an able surgeon, from what I hear, though not in a guild. Who would sponsor her? People use her when
they want secrecy. What is this about, Lucie?'

'I don't know. I fear -' she shook her head and made
a motion as if to brush away the thought. 'No. I will
say nothing until I know more. Do you think Magda
Digby would come to me? To talk with me?'

'You don't think - You aren't thinking that Nicholas
meant to poison Montaigne?' The old monk had tried
to push aside his suspicion. For if Nicholas had wilful
ly prepared a poison, Wulfstan had been most cruelly
used.

'What do you know of my mother's friendship
with Nicholas?'

Wulfstan gave her a puzzled frown. 'What could that have to do with this?'

'Were Geof and Nicholas rival lovers?'

'Rival? Oh. I - Oh, Lucie, what are you thinking?'

Lucie had taken the book and was rewrapping it. 'I
must speak with Magda Digby and my Aunt Phillippa.
I must know. Can you send someone for the River-woman?'

'No. That is, we are not to associate with her.
There is a question whether she is even Christian.'

'But her son was a Summoner.'

Brother Wulfstan shrugged. 'He did not accept her
ways.'

'I must speak with her.'

Wulfstan sat down and took her hands in his.
'Lucie, my child, do not pursue this. There is nothing
we can do about the past. What God wills is done. Trust
in Him that all happens according to His plan.'

The old monk's hands were hot with anxiety. Lucie
squeezed them, sorry that she had involved him. But at least he had identified 'MD.'

'I will be careful,' she promised him.

Bess sat in Owen's purged room and fought with
herself. Lucie's visit this morning had so disturbed
her that she'd set Kit's little brother to following
her friend. He'd told her about the Archdeacon's
angry exit from the shop and Lucie's hurried trip
to the abbey. Lucie was back now, working in the
shop with Owen, busy because they had opened late.
But how long would she stay put? She was on the trail
of trouble, which could bring her nothing but trouble.
What to do?

Having a boy follow Lucie would do little to pro
tect her. If only Lucie would trust Owen. He could
protect her. And he needed to know what Lucie had
heard. They needed to talk to each other. Bess could
tell Owen what Lucie had told her, but then she would
lose Lucie's trust. That would be unwise.

She must think.

Lucie had said little to Owen since she returned
from the abbey. He had tried to find out more about
her encounter with Anselm, but they were interrupted
by a customer. Lucie wondered about Bess's assurance
that Owen could be trusted. Why would Bess be so
sure?

At dusk the shop finally grew quiet. Owen told
Lucie what Tildy had said about the Archdeacon's
visit.

'Tildy should not tell tales.'

'She was worried for you. So was I.'

'Why?'

'Because he might have hurt you’

Lucie regarded Owen closely. 'You think the Arch
deacon would hurt me? Why would you think that?'

Clever, Owen. Walked right into it. He thought
fast. 'When voices are raised, it means people are excited. Anything might happen.'

Her smirk reflected his own chagrin at his weak
response. 'The whole truth would be a pleasant change
from you.'

God help him, he expressed concern and she turned
it into an argument. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'No, I don't suppose you would. You can go. I'll
close up shop.'

He began to leave, but he had to try to make it
up. 'I don't know how I always manage to make you
angry with me’

'It doesn't matter.'

'It does.'

'Where were you this morning?'

'I had to see Jehannes about my money.'

'Tom Merchet said you left quite early.'

'I couldn't sleep.'

'Come early tomorrow. I've sent for my Aunt
Phillippa. I'll need to prepare a place for her to
sleep, so I'll need you in the shop.'

'You've sent for your aunt?'

'Nicholas is worse every day. I need her here.'

'Who did you send?'

'Bess's stable boy. She offered.'

Owen would have liked to go. Dame Phillippa was
someone he would like to talk to. Alone. Away from
Lucie. 'Why not me?'

'I need you here’ she said, but her tone did not
make it a compliment.

Owen headed for the minster. He wanted to tell
Thoresby what Magda Digby had told him about
Potter Digby's death. The Archbishop stood at a table,
studying an array of maps.

'What is it?' Thoresby asked.

'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 fire
place. 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 quag
mires 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 fin
ished 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.'