The Apothecary Rose (22 page)

'He is a good boy.'

Owen sat down across from the old monk. 'Forgive
me for being abrupt, but you must know why I am
here, so I see no point in games.'

Wulfstan assumed a cool, almost hostile expres
sion. 'It is you who have played with me. You are
the Archbishop's man. You might have said so.'

'I hoped I need not say anything. Did your Abbot
warn you to keep your silence about this?'

'I need no warning.'

The old monk's hostility disappointed Owen, but
he could not blame Wulfstan. He would feel the same.
Best to get the worst behind him. 'The matter is this.
I believe that Geoffrey Montaigne was poisoned. And
perhaps Sir Oswald Fitzwilliam.'

Wulfstan looked down at his sandals, but Owen
could see the sweat on his forehead.

'I am not accusing you, Brother Wulfstan. I believe
someone used you. I suspect that you discovered the
treachery and are worried that someone will blame
you.'

Wulfstan said nothing.

'If you tell me what you know, it may save St.
Mary's from more disruption’

The Infirmarian looked up with frightened eyes.
'What sort of disruption?'

'Exhuming Montaigne's body.'

'No. Sweet Heaven, no. Please. Do not disturb
Geoffrey.'

'I would rather not. Will you tell me what you
know?'

'I thought the Archbishop wanted to know about
Fitzwilliam's death.'

1 think the two deaths are connected.'

Wulfstan sighed and gazed down at his hands.

'Who are you trying to protect?'

The old monk got up and poked at the fire. 'My
Abbot wishes me to co-operate. But it is hard.' He
fussed with the fire. 'Who is to know what you learn?'

'That would depend on what I uncover, eh? Perhaps
I need tell no one but His Grace.'

'And you will not disturb Geoffrey?'

'No’

Wulfstan returned to his seat. He clasped his hands tight and bowed his head. 'I am certain that it was an
accident.'

'What was?'

'I did not discover it until after Fitzwilliam - I
had no idea that the physick was deadly.' He lifted
frightened eyes to Owen. 'He was already ill, you see.
He must have been.'

'Nicholas Wilton?'

Wulfstan closed his eyes. Nodded once.

'Tell me exactly what happened.'

With much wringing of hands, Wulfstan told him the story. Most of the story. He did not mention Nicholas's
odd questions when Wulfstan had gone for the medi
cine. Nor did he mention having spoken with Lucie Wilton about his discovery.

What Owen did hear was a revelation to him.
'You thought nothing when Montaigne called him
a murderer?'

'He was delirious with fever. I am accustomed
to discounting things said in such a state.'

Owen got up and paced for a few minutes, think
ing about what he had learned. Wulfstan sat with
his hands in his sleeves, gazing at the fire. His face
betrayed him, sweaty, flushed. He had not told all he
knew. Owen was not surprised. He had not expected
it to be easy.

'What did you do when you discovered how much
aconite was in the physick?'

'I disposed of it.'

'Where?'

'I -' Wulfstan closed his eyes. Obviously he searched
for a safe response. 'I had it burned’

'You had your novice burn it?'

'I - No.' The monk could not lie. Owen counted
on that. He just had to be patient.

'Then who?'

'A friend’

'So someone else knows of this?'

'They will speak to no one’

'You are still playing games with me’

The flush deepened. 'You know that you need not
exhume Geoffrey. You know what killed him. Is that
not enough?'

'Are you certain that the dose of aconite in the
physick was an accident?'

'How could it have been otherwise? I did not know
the pilgrim's name then, so I could not have told
Nicholas Wilton’
But Nicholas asked those questions. He knew for whom he prepared it.
'He had not been to
the abbey while Geoffrey was here, so how could he
know? And why would he poison a stranger?' Sweat
dripped down Wulfstan's back, making him squirm.
What if he protected a murderer? What about that?
Lucie Wilton was innocent. He must protect her. But
what of Nicholas's questions? And the palsy. Might
it have been brought on by the shock of seeing his
victim, the weight of his intended sin pressing on his
heart?

'I asked if you were certain that it was an accident,
Brother Wulfstan.'

Wulfstan dabbed his forehead. Shifted on the bench.
Closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.
Owen could hear him murmuring to himself. The
arrow had struck the target, he was certain.

At last Wulfstan sat up and looked Owen in the
eye. Owen read fear in his flushed face. 'One cannot
see into another's heart. I have always found Nicholas
an excellent apothecary and a good man. But I confess
I do not know what to think about that day. He asked
questions about the patient, questions that I did not think' - he frowned, searching for just the right word - 'that had nothing to do with diagnosing the man's
condition’

Owen led Wulfstan through the questions gently,
until it was clear that Nicholas Wilton had heard
enough to guess who the pilgrim was. 'Forgive me for
putting you through this. I do not like hounding you.'

Wulfstan nodded. Tears shone in his eyes.

'Tell me this. Can you be certain that the physick you tested was the one Nicholas made up?'

Wulfstan sighed. 'I am certain.'

'No one could have switched them on you?'

'I marked it with care.'

'And you would have noticed if it had been
switched?'

Wulfstan slouched, defeated. 'I think I would have.
I suppose I cannot be certain’

It is unfortunate that you did not keep it’

'I wanted to be rid of it. I was frightened who
else might unwittingly take it’

'So others have access to the physicks?'

'No one else has permission. But if something
were to happen to me -'

'Who burned it?'

'I told you. A friend’

'Here at the abbey?'

The eyes flickered this way and that. 'No’

'In the city somewhere?'

Wulfstan lifted his chin resolutely. He would not
betray an innocent. 'I did not see where it was burned. I
cannot know for certain where it was burned’ He took
a deep breath.

Owen wondered who it was the old monk protected
with such stubborn loyalty. Who might inspire such
heroic silence? In whom might the old monk have felt comfortable confiding his discovery?

And then it came to Owen. The one in whom
Wilton had confided his most recent discomfort. The
one with whom he shared a secret.

'You told Mistress Wilton about your discovery’

Wulfstan bowed his head and made the sign of
the cross. He struggled against the desire to curse
the one-eyed monster.

'You felt she should know. So that the error might
not be repeated’

Still, not a word from the old monk.

'I must know who knows’ Owen said gently. 'You
see, if the murderer is not Nicholas, if the murderer is
loose, anyone who might give evidence is in danger. I
am warning you. I must warn your friend’

Wulfstan looked up, his eyes uncertain. 'In danger?'

'In a situation such as this, knowledge is dangerous.'

'Deus juva me, I
had not thought of that.'

'Was it Mistress Wilton?'

'Now that I know, I can warn my friend.'

'Think. I am working in Wilton's shop. If I know
that Mistress Wilton is in danger, I can protect her.'

He could, Wulfstan thought. This broad-shouldered
man could be Lucie's protector. And what could
Wulfstan do? How was he to protect her? 'Yes, I told
Lucie Wilton so that she might watch over Nicholas.
And I had her burn the physick.'

'It must have been a difficult thing to tell her.'

'I did not like doing it.'

'She must have been shocked.'

'Lucie Wilton is a courageous woman. She took
it calmly. Understood at once why I told her.'

'She did not cry or wring her hands?'

'That is not her way.'

'You must have been relieved. You would not have
much experience with a woman's faint.'

'I would not have told her if I thought she would
be silly about it.'

'So she was not at all shocked?'

Wulfstan frowned. The question led in an uncom
fortable direction. 'I do not think she would let me
see if she were shocked.'

'Does Mistress Wilton know the identity of the
pilgrim?'

'No.'

'Are you certain of that?'

Wulfstan shrugged. 'As certain as a soul can be
about another.'

'He was her mother's lover. Did you know?'

Brother Wulfstan blushed. 'I realised that’

'And no one in Mistress Wilton's family, her husband or her father, knew of Montaigne's presence at
the abbey?'

Wulfstan shook his head. 'I do not see how they
would.'

Enough. 'I am sorry to have put you through this.
Mistress Wilton is most fortunate to have you as a
friend, Brother Wulfstan. I will pry no further.' Owen
rose. 'I thank you for this information. I will use it only to discover the truth.'

Brother Wulfstan thanked him and followed him
to the door.

'Remember. Be watchful. Trust no one.'

'Not even Abbot Campian?'

'No.'

'Or Lucie Wilton?'

Especially not her. 'Keep it simple to remember.
Trust no one. And when I know the truth of the
matter, I will tell you that you can let down your
guard.'

'You will watch over Lucie Wilton?'

'I promise you’

Wulfstan believed Owen. But it did not make him feel any less a traitor. He knelt down in front of his little altar to the Blessed Mother and prayed.

Mandrake
Root

Lucie was with a customer when Owen got to the
shop. He nodded to her and went into the kitchen. The
serving girl scrubbed the stones in front of the hearth under Bess Merchet's critical eye.

'Say good morning to Owen, Tildy.'

Enormous eyes in a pale, thin face, pretty but for a wine-red birthmark on the left cheek. She started
to rise.

'No need for that’ Bess said. 'Just say hello.'

'Mornin', Master Owen.' Directed down to his feet
in a breathy, trembling voice.

'Not "Master," Tildy. He's an apprentice.'

Owen grinned. 'Good morning, Tildy. I can see you're
busy. I'll try to stay out from underfoot.'

Tildy smiled gratefully.

Bess sniffed.

Tildy hunched her shoulders, expecting a blow.
When it didn't come, she bent over her work, scrubbing
with enough energy to dissolve the stone.

'Perhaps I should look in on the Master’ Owen
suggested.

Bess clucked at the flying water, sighed, shook her
head at Owen. 'No need. The Archdeacon is with him.'

Lucie called to Owen from the doorway. 'Watch
the shop for me, Owen. I must see to Nicholas.'

He went into the shop, glad to escape Bess's watchful
eye. Now that he'd confided in the Merchets, he was
nervous to be around them in company, worried one
of them would slip and reveal his true purpose. And
Bess had a discomforting way of watching him, as if
she knew his sins, knew him for a scoundrel. He pitied
Tildy.

Lucie, frightened but determined, crept up the stairs.
Pushing her wimple to one side, she leaned against the
door.

'He was a dying man, Nicholas.'

'Montaigne and now Digby. Oh, Anselm, where
will it end?'

'You are upsetting yourself, Nicholas. Forget about
them.'

'You are so cold.'

'Is your memory so short? Geoffrey Montaigne once
attacked you and left you for dead.'

'When he saw me that night. Oh, Anselm. His face.'

Lucie choked back an exclamation. Geoffrey
Montaigne. Her mother's knight. She sank down on
the top step. Geoffrey Montaigne and Nicholas? What
in Heaven's name did they have between them? And
why mention Geoffrey now? He had disappeared when
her mother died.

She leaned back against the door. Someone wept.
It must be Nicholas. She could not imagine Anselm
weeping. That monster would undo all her nursing.
Anselm was murmuring something.

'I - Don't. I am fine’ Nicholas said. 'Just - I
must - there are things I must say.'

Montaigne and now Digby.
What was the connec
tion? Lucie sat in the dark, trying to make sense of it.
Geoffrey Montaigne once attacked you and left you
for dead.
Wulfstan had told Nicholas that the pilgrim
could not believe he was Master Apothecary because he
thought Nicholas was dead. And the pilgrim had fought
in France with her father. That must be it. The pilgrim
was Geoffrey Montaigne. Dear God in Heaven. What did
it mean? Why had he and Nicholas fought? Why had
she not heard of this?

'You must not harm her, Anselm.'

'We do not speak of her.'

'Anselm, you must promise me.'

'They have destroyed you, Nicholas. First her moth
er, 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 wom
an should not climb ladders or lift heavy jars. If you
watched a woman clean house, you'd see what non
sense 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.