Magda had arranged a private talk just by sending Daimon in for a stool. Lucie smiled. ‘You are the one who should talk with Joanna. You would plot a course to coax more out of her than I shall ever hear.’
Magda wagged her head from side to side. ‘Oh, thou’rt such a bungler, indeed. ’Tis of course why the crow and the squirrel wish thee to speak with Joanna.’
Lucie paused. The crow, she knew, was the archbishop. The squirrel — ah! — Dame Isobel, with her chubby cheeks and fussy little hands. Lucie laughed until tears blurred her vision and her stomach began to cramp. Magda watched her with a secret smile. ‘What is it?’ Lucie asked.
‘Thou dost so little of that. Laughter from deep within.’ Magda touched the thin veil. ‘This suits thee. Leave the wimple and gorget till thou’rt a crone, child. Thou hast lost one husband, but won another. Thou’rt neither a widow now nor yet a crone. Dance in thy beauty while thee may. But Magda wanders. What is the trouble with Joanna Calverley?’
What was the trouble? If Lucie could describe it, she would perhaps be on her way to helping Joanna. ‘I had a dream last night about how I feel. Joanna was a spider, and I followed her as she wove a web. She worked at it intently, ignoring me, though she knew I was there. I would begin to see a pattern, try to guess where she would move next, and I was wrong most of the time. I predicted few of the strands.’
Magda frowned and scratched beneath her cap with a bony finger. ‘Did she finish the web in thy dream?’
Lucie shook her head.
Magda looked out at the river, thinking. ‘Was the web well-ordered?’
Lucie closed her eyes and tried to see the web again. ‘There were strands that broke the harmony, but much of the web was well-ordered.’
The Riverwoman nodded. ‘What dost thou think it means?’
Lucie groaned, exasperated. ‘I hoped that you would tell me!’
‘Surely thou hast a thought or two, Master Apothecary?’
Lucie admitted it. But she expected laughter. What did she know of dreams? ‘I guess that Joanna knows what she is saying, that she deliberately confuses me.’
Magda looked doubtful. ‘A spider does not set out to weave an imperfect web.’
‘So I am wrong?’
Magda leaned back against the house, looking up at the dragon’s head. ‘Is Joanna a spider or a woman?’ She shrugged. ‘’Tis the trouble with dreams. They seduce the dreamer with their seeming wisdom. Or is it trickery?’ She smiled.
Disappointed, Lucie rubbed her temples, looked up at the sun. ‘I must return to the abbey for Sir Robert.’
Magda squinted at Lucie and wagged a finger. ‘Be not petulant. Thou art not speaking plain. Thou didst not come to Magda to talk of dreams.’
‘No.’
‘What is so difficult about the woman?’
‘She speaks a mixture of reason and confusion. I am exhausted when I leave her.’
‘Dost thou think she is bedevilled?’
‘Perhaps.’ Lucie shrugged. ‘In truth, I do not know. She told Dame Isobel that the Devil had tempted her with dreams of her beloved.’
‘Why should such dreams be the work of the Devil?’
‘Because they proved false.’
‘Do you believe the Devil possesses her?’
Lucie shook her head. ‘I do not understand what she means by her dreams proving false, either.’
‘She was disappointed, perhaps.’
‘The beloved proved an ordinary man?’
Magda grinned. ‘Thou hast no such complaints.’
‘My problem is that my beloved is unhappy sitting still.’
‘Surely thou hast an idea what ails Joanna?’
‘Today she said Will Longford served her wine seasoned with something that made her sleep, then gave her something more potent for her false funeral. Could all this work as a poison, not killing her, but tearing at her memory and her reason?’
‘Was she well when she ran away?’
‘She had fasted often. Harsh fasts. Once she had starved herself to the point that her fingernails peeled away and her teeth were loose.’
‘Foolish child.’ Magda frowned, her many wrinkles deepening, her grizzled brows pressing in and down over her hawk nose. Wise and fierce she looked. Magda sighed, nodded. ‘Weakening her body, then piling poison on poison. Aye. Trust Apothecary Wilton to find such an explanation. Tidy. Reasonable.’ Magda patted Lucie’s arm.
Lucie was not certain whether Magda agreed. She felt a reluctance to ask. ‘If I am right, I thought it might help if we sweat her, bleed her, and purge her.’
Magda tapped her knee. ‘Unless like a slow-acting poison it has worked on her too long — then a purge could well hasten the end.’
Lucie had not considered that. ‘So I have not found a solution.’
‘Magda did not say that. Try it. But after thou hast cleansed her, she should have a long sleep. Magda will give thee mandrake wine for a long, healing sleep. After that, return to the herbs that calm her. Thou know’st the sort — catmint, bedstraw, and balms — nothing more. If that does not work, thou hast not found the proper solution.’
Lucie saw a flaw in the plan. ‘How long is a long sleep?’
‘Aye, thou art thinking ’twill be days without speaking with her. Nay. From sunset to sunset to sunrise — thou canst spare one day, eh?’ Magda patted Lucie’s hand. ‘Thou must not be overly hopeful. ’Tis but a theory. And though she may be calm and rested at the end of it, she may say little more than she has.’
Lucie forced herself to ask the question that plagued her. ‘What would you do with her?’
Magda grinned. ‘Thou art alert. Thou hearest Magda’s silences.’ She shook her head. ‘Thou wouldst not take Magda’s advice.’
‘Please, Magda, tell me.’
The old woman scratched her chin, frowned fiercely down at the sun-dappled river. After a long silence, she said, ‘Magda would leave the child in peace.’
Lucie was certain she must have misunderstood. ‘Ask her nothing?’
Magda nodded. ‘And tell her nothing.’
It was not like Magda to suggest inaction. ‘Why?’
Magda held out her wrinkled, sun-browned hands. ‘When storms blow down the Dales to Magda’s house, these old hands ache as a warning that the river shall soon rise.’
Lucie frowned, then realised what Magda meant. ‘You have a feeling it would be best not to know what happened to her.’
Magda stared at something beyond Lucie, a vision of trouble. ‘Aye. Keep thy distance, Magda would advise thee. But thou wouldst not abide by Magda’s feeling. Nor shouldst thou. Thy task is to learn her secret. The Churchmen insist.’ Magda nodded towards the door. ‘Thou must retrieve the boy and make haste to St Mary’s.’
Lucie looked up at the sun. ‘Sweet Heaven!’ She stood up so abruptly she felt dizzy.
Magda jumped to her feet and held Lucie steady. ‘Stay. Magda will fetch Daimon.’
*
Sir Robert met Lucie and Daimon at St Mary’s gate, sputtering with indignation that Lucie had sneaked away and taken Daimon with her.
‘Would you rather I had gone alone?’ she asked.
‘Of course not. You need protection outside the city.’
‘Then it was clever of me to take Daimon?’
‘You should have told me that both of you were leaving. Where did you go?’
‘You are only angry because you feel you have been fooled.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘To seek advice about Dame Joanna. Now I must speak with Brother Wulfstan. I would like you to go back to the shop and tell Tildy I will be there soon. Any customers can wait.’
Sir Robert ordered Daimon to wait for Lucie and to escort her home.
Brother Wulfstan frowned more and more as he listened to Lucie’s prescription. ‘Bleeding, yes. Purging, perhaps. But this long sleep. Mandragora wine.’ He shook his head. ‘The Riverwoman is not a Christian. How can you trust her as you do?’
‘Magda is a good woman, Brother Wulfstan.’
‘But she does not pray over her physicks.’
‘Then we shall pray over them. Please. I would like to try this. If it does not work, I promise to defer to you. Anything that you wish.’