Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

‘Yet when you thought Sabin lay defenceless before you, you stayed your hand.’

‘Yes.’ The man sighed. ‘As I said, I have had enough.’

‘Will you not tell me the secret?’ Josse said after a moment.

The man stared at him for some time. Then he said, ‘No. I do not think I will.’

He closed his eyes. The exertion of the conversation had brought him out in a sweat, and his deadly white face was beaded over the forehead and across the upper lip. Two hot spots of red burned in his cheeks.

‘Will you take a drink?’ Josse asked softly.

The man’s eyes opened. ‘No,’ he said with a smile, ‘for it has already done its work for me. To take any more will possibly bring about the wrong outcome.’

Josse was about to ask him what he meant — although in truth he had a fairly good idea already — but the man had turned his face away.

Later that morning, Father Gilbert arrived and, so they said, sat with the stranger for a long time. Not long after he left, the man slipped into a deep coma from which he was not to emerge.

In the morning Josse rode down to Tonbridge to Gervase de Gifford’s house to tell him that his prisoner was dead. He also explained that, the previous day, the man had told Josse that he was a hired killer; also that Sabin and Benoit de Retz had somehow learned the identity of his prominent victim, that he had killed both Nicol Romley and Martin Kelsey and that he had tried to murder Sabin and her grandfather, all in the interests of keeping the secret safe.

It seemed to Josse, however, watching the younger man’s reaction, that he was almost glad of the news; deciding that he knew de Gifford well enough by now to query this, he did so.

De Gifford ran a hand across his smooth hair and for a moment his suave manner deserted him and he looked almost bashful.

‘The lady — Sabin de Retz — will, I think, be relieved that the man is not to come to trial and hang,’ he said. ‘I saw her with my prisoner, Josse, and her pity for his abject state overrode her hunger for revenge.’

‘But he killed her young man and tried to burn her and her old grandfather alive as they slept!’ Josse protested.

‘Nicol Romley was not her young man,’ de Gifford said rather too promptly. ‘She said he — er — that is, I am given to understand it was just a fleeting attraction.’

Appreciating which way that particular wind blew, Josse forbore to remark that this fleeting attraction had been strong enough to make Sabin travel all the way to England with her blind and elderly grandfather in tow in order to warn Nicol that he was in danger. ‘I see,’ he said instead.

‘She will be relieved that the matter is over,’ de Gifford was saying. ‘Now she’ll be able to put the sad episode behind her and she’ll — that is, she can return to her normal life.’

‘Aye,’ Josse agreed absently. He was thinking. Then he said, ‘Gervase, what is her normal life? Now that this man who threatened to kill her to keep her silent is dead, is there any chance that she will tell us what all this has been about?’

De Gifford regarded him for some moments. Then he said, ‘I will invite her to come down — she is in the upper chamber with the old man. Let’s ask her.’

When de Gifford escorted Sabin and the old grandfather into his hall, Josse guessed by the young woman’s face that de Gifford had already told her the most important piece of news. Her face had lost the look of strain and she looked arrestingly handsome. She met Josse’s eyes, gave him a quick smile and then busied herself helping her grandfather to sit down on a bench close to the hearth. Moving over to help her — the old man wanted the heavy bench moved closer to the welcome blaze — Josse said quietly in her ear, ‘Ever the healer, lady, thinking of the welfare and comfort of others.’

‘How did you know?’ she hissed.

‘I guessed that you are an apothecary; yesterday I had it confirmed.’

Straightening up, she said, with a touch of haughtiness, ‘It may be an unusual profession for a woman, but nevertheless I am proud of what I do.’

‘With justification, my lady.’

She stared at him as if searching his face for sincerity. Apparently finding it, she smiled. ‘Thank you.’

De Gifford invited her to sit down beside her grandfather. Then he said, ‘Sabin, now that the man who wanted you dead is no more a threat to you, will you tell us exactly why he wanted to kill you? We know it was to ensure that a secret was kept; could you, do you think, enlighten us as to what that secret was?’

She looked at de Gifford, briefly at Josse, then had a short, muttered conversation with her grandfather. ‘I do not know that I can,’ she said eventually, ‘for it is a secret about which, did you know what it concerned, both of you would, I am certain, urge the utmost discretion.’

Josse spoke up. ‘My lady, I have surmised from what little I already know that this business into which you have stumbled involves some very well-known, important and influential people, although I am not aware of their identities. Would it reassure you if I were to tell you that I am reasonably well accustomed to such circles and that, if you could see your way to unburdening yourself, you would have my solemn oath that what you tell me will go no further?’

She met his eyes and he read in hers a great need to reveal the story. Looking across to de Gifford, she said, ‘Would you undertake that, if I do tell you, you too will not mention a syllable of it beyond these four walls?’

‘I will, my lady,’ de Gifford said. ‘On that I give you my word.’

She turned back to her grandfather; he seemed to be encouraging her to go ahead. Finally, after a brief closing of her eyes — perhaps, Josse thought, she was praying — she began.

‘Very well. I do in truth feel that I shall die if I don’t tell you!’ She managed a brief laugh that did little to ease her evident tension. ‘Grandfather is a renowned apothecary and I am his apprentice.’

‘An apprentice who does the majority of the work nowadays,’ the old man put in, reaching for and patting her hand.

Sabin smiled. ‘I do not mind. I love what I do and I am proud to carry on the work of the de Retz clan. We live in Nantes,’ she went on, ‘where, over the years, Grandfather’s renown has earned him quite a long list of wealthy clients who know he is the very best and are prepared to pay him for his skill. We treat the poor as well,’ she assured her listeners, ‘for Grandfather always says that healing is a gift and that we should not reserve our help only for those who can pay the most.’ With a glance at the old man sitting nodding in agreement beside her, she added, ‘Sometimes we charge the rich a little more than is strictly fair, but it is purely in order that we may treat those who come with empty pockets.’

‘The rich can always afford it,’ Benoit remarked.

‘Word spreads when someone is very good at their job,’ Sabin went on, ‘as it was in Grandfather’s case. A person who is of the highest importance in Nantes suspected the onset of certain symptoms and, because of the status of this person, they needed to find an apothecary who was both highly skilled and totally discreet. Grandfather’s name was mentioned to this person and we — Grandfather and I — were summoned for a consultation.’

‘When was this?’ Josse asked.

‘Oh — a year ago. Perhaps a little less.’

‘I see.’ Then you, Sabin, Josse was thinking, would have been the dominant party in the de Retz partnership, for even then, surely your old grandfather’s blindness would have made diagnosis less certain.