Candace Robb - A Spy For The Redeemer

Iolo grabbed it, turned it about in his hands, passed it back to Owen. ‘A map of what?’

‘Hywel’s markers? Safe havens? Guard posts?’

‘Where?’

Owen stared at the map. ‘I cannot make it out. I hoped that you might, being from this part of the country.’

Iolo shook his head.

Owen was disappointed, but that seemed to be his lot of late. ‘It goes to a man from Anglesey. Most like it is Anglesey. It has been cleverly done, an area small enough that eyes not meant to see it can find no telling boundaries, shorelines. Hywel knows what he is about. There is no doubt of that.’ He tucked it beneath his tunic.

‘It is a dangerous favour you do for Hywel, carrying this map to a stranger in the city.’

‘Aye.’

‘I am sorry I called you a shopkeeper.’

‘Come. We must make Bonning’s Gate before curfew.’

Lucie and Jasper worked quietly side by side in the shop storeroom, sewing up linen envelopes of calming herbs — lady’s bedstraw, valerian, camomile, with lavender for a soothing scent, and others of healing herbs for abrasions — one with marshmallow root and comfrey, one with marigold flowers and woundwort. It was a good rainy morning activity, when they would not be tempted to open the door and invite disaster with an errant draft. Wind blew the rain against the waxed parchment window in an uneven rhythm, now hard, now soft; wind kept it thrumming. Every so often Lucie stole glances at her young apprentice, trying to read his thoughts, learn whether he was truly at peace with her, as he had said, or whether he was still ill at ease. She had talked to him about Owen — how she missed him, the rumours, her confidence that he would not betray his king. Jasper had been indignant, then apologetic, then angry, ready to go to battle to protect the honour of their house. But Jasper’s quicksilver temper kept her wary.

Her fingers were clumsy this morning from lack of sleep. And worry. Dame Phillippa had awakened in a confused state, uncertain where she was, talking of events in Lucie’s childhood as if they had occurred yesterday. Lucie feared she had erred in the amount of valerian she had given her aunt. An elderly woman, not so active as before, so thin, it was possible that what Lucie thought a cautious dose had been too much. And the matter of the lost parchment — this morning Phillippa shook her head and swore she knew of no such thing.

Someone entered the shop.

‘Mistress Wilton?’ a querulous voice called.

‘ Deus juva me , it is Alice Baker,’ Lucie hissed.

Jasper set his work aside, wiped his hands on his apron. ‘I shall go to her.’

Lucie felt childish hiding in the storeroom, but she had not been proud of her behaviour the last time she encountered Alice and was not ready for another verbal clash.

‘Good day to you, Mistress Baker,’ Jasper called out in a friendly voice as he walked through the beaded curtain into the shop.

‘Good day to you, lad. Where is your mistress?’

‘Mixing a physick.’

Lucie was glad Jasper had not lied. The woman would think nothing of pushing past him and through the curtain if determined to find Lucie.

‘How can I serve you?’ Jasper asked.

Lucie could not hear the reply. Alice must be muttering. A muttering Alice was not good. She made some of her cruellest comments in an undertone.

‘It is the devil making you say such things,’ Jasper said, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘The captain is expected home any day!’

Lucie dropped her work, and as she walked deliberately into the shop she prayed for patience.

Alice Baker leaned on the counter, her head bent as if whispering to Jasper but watching for Lucie. Her wimple pinched her face at the jowls and temples, accentuating her perpetual frown. But the white wimple also revealed a more natural colouring than she had had of late.

‘You are looking well, Mistress Baker,’ Lucie said.

Alice’s smile could not expand beneath the tight wimple. Or perhaps she had meant to sneer. ‘Not well, but improving, thanks be to God. Jasper tells me the captain will soon be home. I thought I had heard otherwise. But I must have misunderstood.’

‘Yes, he expects to be home within the month,’ Lucie said. She did not dare risk a smile for fear she would just bare her teeth. Sweet Jesu but the woman was horrible.

Another customer entered the shop. Lucie nodded towards Celia, Camden Thorpe’s eldest, turned back to Alice. ‘Was Jasper able to assist you?’

Alice straightened, tossed her head as if to dismiss the young man, moved closer to Lucie. ‘Roger Moreton is a good man, Lucie. You must not take advantage of him.’

Lucie thought she would burst, but she would not satisfy the woman with a response. By the time she caught her breath Alice Baker was halfway to the door. ‘God go with you,’ she managed.

‘And with you,’ Alice trilled.

‘She is a horrible woman,’ said Celia Thorpe.

Lucie sank down on to a stool and was about to ask Jasper to help the young woman, but one glance at his trembling hands and she sent him to the storeroom.

‘You must not mind her,’ Lucie said.

‘Ma says it is women’s problems,’ Celia said, no doubt newly indoctrinated in such things, her wedding being a month hence. ‘She says it is quite common for a woman’s humours to ferment in her skull when her fluxes cease.’

God bless Celia’s innocence. It made Lucie smile. ‘Mistress Baker’s youngest is but three years old, Celia. I do not know whether we might assume her fluxes have ceased. But it is a forgiving theory and I thank you for it.’

They proceeded to debate the merits of various oils and creams for the young woman’s already perfect complexion.

Tension was high in the kitchen at Freythorpe Hadden.

Nan, the cook, had thrown up her hands when Tildy announced the arrival of the archbishop’s retainers. ‘Two more high and mighties with appetites. And to what end? Did Master Harold protect us from the thieves?’ She did not approve of the temporary staff, neither Harold Galfrey nor Tildy. ‘What is Mistress Lucie thinking, to crowd us when we have the gatekeeper and his family underfoot?’ Nan kicked at a pile of twigs in the corner. ‘Sarah, work on that broom out in the yard. It will be set aflame if you work it by the fire.’ She picked up the bundle and shoved it at the maid.

‘I cannot work on a broom out in the wind and rain,’ Sarah complained. She turned to Tildy for direction.

‘Work in the corner of the hall,’ said Tildy, ‘by my alcove.’ She was sleeping in Dame Phillippa’s bed, so as to be close to Daimon if he should wake. ‘You will have light there and peace.’

Nan wagged a bony finger at Tildy. ‘You will get naught from her, treating her like a baby.’ Her thin lips were pinched and curled into sneering disapproval. ‘You are a young fool.’ She threw a pair of trout on to the cutting board. ‘We shall have naught in the fish pond by the time the mistress returns,’ she muttered.

Neither Nan’s mood nor her tongue bothered Tildy a whit. She was too happy. Only Daimon’s recovery could make her happier. The archbishop had sent two of his most trusted men to guard Freythorpe. She could sleep in peace tonight. And, even better, she knew Alfred and Gilbert, and they her. They would listen to her.

‘They will eat with Goodwife Digby, Harold and me,’ said Tildy.

‘Lord Harold will have something to say about that, to be sure.’

‘He understands his station.’

‘You think so, do you? Humph!’ A lock of greying hair slipped out of Nan’s cap as she slit open the trout. An impatient swipe of her hand left a silvery trail on her cheek. ‘Harold is none too happy about the new arrivals. I could see that.’