When Pit turned from his orisons Owen kicked the door and called out to Alfred to come within, he had a man to escort to the castle.
‘I told you what I know!’ Pit protested as Alfred stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder and standing in the way of his escape.
‘Do you count me such a fool as to set you free to finish your work?’ Owen told Rose and Rob to wait there until someone relieved them.
‘Shall I come?’ Michaelo asked.
‘I have no time to spend with this liar this evening. If you would send a messenger to Hempe’s home in case he’s there, tell him to meet us at the castle. Then go about your other business.’
Michaelo bowed and folded up his wax tablet. Rising, he whispered, ‘May God watch over you.’
EIGHT
Sandrine
Lighting a second lamp to brighten the entrance of the apothecary, Lucie asked again whether Jasper would like her to stay. Such a long day. He moved slowly, and his hands were not as steady as usual. ‘Grinding stones,’ he said when she noted it. ‘You need the rest, Ma. I will close the shop during the next lull.’
Lucie doubted he would turn anyone away who caught him shutting the door, but she thanked him, kissed his cheek, and withdrew to the workroom. Though she was eager to cross the garden and check that all was well with the children, she took the time to tidy the workspace. Her legs ached from hours of standing, and her arms complained as she lifted a heavy jar to a shelf above her head. But it was the satisfying weariness at the end of a busy day, not the strained, frightened, agonized weariness of the fortnight past, as she sat vigil with her feverish babies. She bowed her head at the memory, feeling again the terror, seeing the haunted look in Owen’s eye as she relieved him, having tossed and turned and pretended to believe she might sleep. She depended on her husband’s quiet strength. It anchored her. But even that eluded her when their children were threatened by disease, the invisible enemy he could not vanquish.
Lucie removed her apron and blew out all but one lamp. Stepping out into the garden she braced herself against a damp wind that shook the remaining snow from the branches above and created a second snowfall, brightening the twilight, stinging her skin. Glancing up at the heavens she watched tendrils of cloud and mist dance beneath the early evening star field. The moment of peace seemed a benediction. She glanced up as someone entered the garden through the gate from the York Tavern yard.
‘Dame Lucie.’
‘Alisoun?’ Lucie caught herself before asking who was with the children. Alisoun was sensitive to any suggestion of irresponsibility.
‘I went to the Swann home. I thought I should be the one to ask Dame Muriel whether Magda might take my place at her lying-in.’ The crackle in Alisoun’s voice suggested the conversation had been challenging.
‘She protested?’
‘At first. But when I spoke of your guest, the fever …’
Lucie’s heart sank. Had Alisoun revealed their guest’s sex? ‘Did you mention that the he is a she?’
‘No. I thought that unwise, with Crispin Poole always about. Neville’s man.’ Alisoun spoke with quiet assurance, no bristling at a perceived slight. Maturing by leaps and bounds of late, which gladdened Lucie’s heart. She had believed in the young woman, but at times she had worried about her reactive nature.
Which deepened Lucie’s remorse for doubting Alisoun’s discretion. ‘Crispin is there often?’ she asked.
‘According to the cook he dines there daily, and often returns in the evening.’
‘A complaint?’
‘No. He boasted of it. A household needs a man, especially a household with an infant. And all say Crispin makes no secret of hoping to wed Dame Muriel as soon as she agrees to put aside her mourning.’
‘Does she seem ready for Magda?’
‘No. The child is strong, punching and kicking, but not ready to greet the world.’ A soft laugh. ‘Dame Muriel believes it is a girl, for what boy would put such effort in movement that will not be seen and praised.’
Lucie laughed. ‘What a miracle that she has such joy.’ Muriel had suffered the triple loss of her husband, his father, and her own brother less than two months earlier. Violent deaths. At the time, all had feared Muriel, who had waited years to conceive, would lose the child. ‘Truly a miracle.’
‘She says some find offense in her joy.’
‘Her family?’
‘Her brother’s widow.’
‘One can forgive her.’ Lucie shivered. ‘Shall we go in? I enjoyed the first moments out here, but now I am chilled to the bone.’
Alisoun looped her hand through Lucie’s arm as they hurried to the house. ‘I spoke to our guest,’ she said. ‘Gave her water. She asked for cloth, thread, needle to add some length to the gown you left for her. She sewed for a while, but when Magda went in to speak with her she had fallen asleep.’
‘Did she tell you anything about herself? Her name?’
‘She calls herself Sandrine, but when I called out to her she did not respond at once. And something about the way she gave it up – it is not her name. She asked after Ambrose, said he has been good to her. Oh, and she is fasting for her sins.’
‘Do you think she has run away from a nunnery?’
‘I would not know how to tell.’ Alisoun reached out and opened the kitchen door.
Five pairs of eyes watched them enter. Magda, holding Emma on her lap, was telling a tale of a hawk riding the wind over the
