The Apothecary Rose

From the shadow of the neighbouring house's second storey, Digby watched Wulfstan leave the shop. Then he went in.

Owen held up his hand to keep Digby quiet while he listened to Lucie's movements in the kitchen. She was speaking with Tildy, the new serving girl. She would not overhear them. He nodded. 'So what did you learn?'

'I might ask you the same. I just watched him leave the shop’

'He spoke with Lucie about your visit’

'Why did he come here?'

'You tell me’ Owen fixed his eye on Digby until the man flushed.

'He seemed disturbed,' Digby said, 'very disturbed by my questions about Montaigne's grave. But he knew nothing about who Montaigne was. And according to him, the man had no visitors’

'So we still don't know what makes the good Infirmarian so nervous. Did you believe him?'

'Aye. He's an innocent, for all his age. Takes his vows seriously.'

'Montaigne's grave is at the abbey?'

Digby gave him a worried look. 'I won't disturb a consecrated grave.'

'I would not ask that of you. Thank you, Digby. You're a good man.'

When Digby left, Owen paced the shop. He would have no way of discovering our secret. Holy Mother in Heaven. And yet it seemed she did not know the pilgrim's identity. Could it be a code between them? In case they were overheard? Or might they have some other secret? Sweet Jesus, let her be innocent.

But she had a secret. One shared with Wulfstan. One that Wulfstan feared the Summoner might discover. And it had something to do with Montaigne's death. That did not sound innocent.

Thirteen

Digby's Weakness

Brother Michaelo glided into the room. 'Your Summoner paid a visit to old woolly-head today while I was taking my cure.'

'I know.'

The young man's eyes widened, an alert look unusual for him. 'You have another friend at St. Mary's?'

'How charming for you to be jealous, Michaelo. But it was the Infirmarian himself who told me. The old fool worried why he'd been singled out. He's going to slip, Michaelo. I cannot have that.'

Michaelo shrugged and yawned. 'Why you fuss over Nicholas Wilton, that worn-out man, I cannot understand. An apothecary. A merchant, really.' He sighed and slumped down in a chair.

'He was as fair as you once, my young buck.'

'But now he's palsied.'

'Youth makes you cruel.'

'I doubt that you'll worry over me when I'm old and palsied,'

'I will be long dead.'

'But would you? Worry over me?'

Anselm looked away. Of course not. Michaelo came to him out of greed, not love. Anselm was Michaelo's chance of escape from the abbey. It had been different with Nicholas, He had loved Anselm. Until the Abbot frightened him. And even afterwards, there had been a tenderness. There would never be anyone like Nicholas. There could never be. But Anselm needed Michaelo's loyalty. 'Of course I would worry over you, Michaelo. You mean very much to me.'

Michaelo stretched contentedly and stood up. 'Am I to do something about old woolly-head?'

'He does worry me.'

'And what do I get in return?'

'A word in the Archbishop's ear. About how useful you might be to him as Lord Chancellor's secretary. That is what you want, is it not? To see the court?' Michaelo was suited to that life. He would go quietly mad at the abbey, where he felt trapped, where his only recreation was the Infirmarian's wine.

Michaelo glowed. 'What about the fishy one?'

'I'll deal with my Summoner.'

'He's been seen with the one-eyed Welshman. At the York Tavern. And elsewhere.'

Anselm pretended not to be surprised. 'Digby is a scoundrel.'

'He's quite handsome, the Welshman.'

Anselm ignored the comment. Michaelo was too lazy to be promiscuous. But not so lazy that he would not take care of Wulfstan. He knew better than to disappoint Anselm. He could not afford to have Anselm telling Abbot Campian or Archbishop Thoresby of Michaelo's petty thievery and the bribes he paid to escape work. Such behaviour would not recommend him for the post he desired.

'The abbey is an unhealthy place this winter, my young buck. Take care that you do not catch a chill yourself.'

Michaelo pouted. 'You grow tired of me.'

'Not at all, Michaelo. I am concerned about your welfare.'

Michaelo took his leave.

Anselm paced his room. Digby had betrayed him. Potter Digby, raised up from the slime by Anselm, set in the path of grace. Meeting Owen Archer in that bitch's tavern. Plotting with him. Against the man who had brought him out of the vermin city and certain damnation with that witch of a mother. Cur. Ungrateful monster.

Brother Wulfstan made his way back from the Wiltons' in a daze.

Gentle Geoffrey had been Lady D'Arby's lover. The man who seemed an innocent. When Wulfstan had heard of the adulterous affair, he had imagined a rakish knight. A Fitzwilliam. An Owen Archer. Glib, clever, careless of the feelings of his fellow man. But Geoffrey was nothing of the sort. He was God-fearing, kind, well spoken, considerate. How could Geoffrey have betrayed Sir Robert D'Arby, the man he had served? Were Wulfstan a farmer instead of a monk, would it be clear to him? He had never dreamed that Geoffrey had lain with the woman he remembered with such tenderness. A married woman. That must be the sin that had brought Geoffrey here to make his peace with the Lord.

But he had also spoken of killing someone. Wulfstan had thought nothing of that. The man had been a soldier. He'd mistaken poor Nicholas for someone else. Or had he?

Nicholas Wilton is Master? Son of old Paul? No, it cannot be. You are mistaken. Nicholas Wilton is dead these fifteen years.

Geoffrey had been almost angry, insisting on it.

Wulfstan had told Nicholas that.

Dear God in Heaven. Sweet Mary and all the saints.

But why would Geoffrey have tried to kill Nicholas? Jealousy? Nicholas and Lady D'Arby had been friends.

Wulfstan went to the chapel. My dearest Lord, he prayed, kneeling on the cold stones, help me to understand. Tell me what I should do.

He stared at the statue of Mary, Mother of God, the Virgin Mother. He knelt there he knew not how long, his thoughts in turmoil. It did not make sense. And what of the Archdeacon? He had been Nicholas's friend at the abbey school. More than a friend. If Geoffrey had tried to kill Nicholas, and Anselrn knew of that … It was too much for Wulfstan to contemplate.

He picked himself up off the damp stone, brushed off his habit, and went to seek out Abbot Campian.

Owen asked Lucie if he might go out after Vespers. It was time for another talk with Wulfstan. If he let the old monk think too long about Digby's visit’ he might talk to the wrong people. Whoever they might be. And he must discover the secret Wulfstan shared with Lucie.

Owen did not look forward to the interrogation. His questions would upset the old monk. He did not enjoy hounding Wulfstan, But better to upset him than let him walk into a trap.

Abbot Campian was puzzled. 'You are Brother Wulfstan's second visitor today. Has this anything to do with Summoner Digby's earlier visit?'

'I know of his visit.'

That is intriguing. The Archdeacon did not.' Campian's usually calm eyes were troubled. The Summoner's questions regarded Sir Geoffrey Montaigne. I presume you know who he was?'

'Yes, I do.'

'And your inquiry into Fitzwilliam's death has led you to question Montaigne's?'

With so little information Campian had put together the truth. It was plain to Owen why the man had achieved the position of Abbot. 'It is essential that you keep my secret.'

'And to Brother Wulfstan? What do I say to him? He was alarmed by the Summoner's visit. Now you return. He is an old man. The deaths in the infirmary distressed him deeply. Especially Montaigne's.'