by April Taylor
Black and white. That was how Bertila had described Goodwife Pitt’s face. So it would be, for ingestion of belladonna berries would dilate the black pupils of her eyes. He surmised that she had felt mortally sick and made for a place of sanctuary, the church. She had probably vomited on her way, which would account for the smell Bertila described, and which would make her skin dank and her face twist in pain. The white clammy skin and the black eyes.
She would have been followed to the church, the final blow administered as she knelt and prayed. It all fitted. The only questions to answer were who had administered that blow, and who had ordered it? What was not in doubt was that diabolical magic had been used.
Luke set his teeth. If they wanted a fight, they could have one. He grasped the leaves and flowers from the germander and heated them in his hands. With a depth of concentration new to him, he breathed in the pure white energy. Within a few moments, his skin grew hot and black sweat poured from him. He waited until the sweat ran clear before walking to the nearby pump and washing himself clean.
On his way back into the church, he gathered several heads of lavender, crushing them and breathing in the fragrance. A calm assertive energy replaced the fear and aggression he had felt. He walked down the aisle, intent on making it to the altar, on driving his legs forward until he reached it. Finding himself on the chancel step, he took a few minutes to send out feelers, but knew that the church and its immediate environs were empty. This in itself was strange because, apart from the usual services, many people visited the church for private prayer at some point in the day. His lips compressed into a thin line.
Without further ado, he took from his scrip a horn and poured powder from it into the palm of his right hand. He closed his eyes and went back to his vision. Aye, it, whatever it had been, had come from the right of the altar. He strode to a small door in the south wall and then walked backward, scattering powder on the floor in front of him as he went, until he had covered the area from the south transept to the northern edge of the rood screen.
Being careful not to retrace his steps and disturb the powder, he dropped his shoulders, raised his hands and chanted the manifesting incantation. Then he stared at the dust and waited. Aye, here they came. Luke watched as giant paw prints appeared close to the south door, walking toward him, as if some huge invisible dog approached. He heard the rattle at the door and guessed that Joss was trying to get to him. She must sense danger. The steps quickened their pace as they came closer, and he swallowed, trying to remember that this was merely a manifestation in the dust and not an invisible creature menacing him. He could not help the small sigh of relief as the prints stopped level with the edge of the rood screen just a few inches away.
He knew that the dust would last only a few moments, so he bent down to examine the prints more closely. It was then that he noticed a glint of gold in the fastnesses of the dark wood of the screen. Diverted, he bent closer and discovered a wisp of silky threads in purple and gold. With immense care, he eased the thread from the wood, folded it and put it in his scrip. When he bent down again to examine the paw prints, they had all vanished.
He made his way out of the church to a rapturous welcome from his greyspring. They were apart so rarely that both felt a significant degree of discomfort on those occasions of enforced separation. He had noticed before that when they were reunited, she would nip his arm, as if to demonstrate her disapproval, and she did this several times. He laughed and hugged her. They were a team, and now he had accepted that he really was up against the sunderers, she was an invaluable weapon in his armory.
He walked back toward the palace. What had he learned? That it was more than possible somebody close to the King was steeped in the malus nocte, because none but the nobility were permitted to wear purple or gold. What he needed now was to try and find who had been wearing the garment from which the thread had come. Initially, he had hoped that once he had identified the culprit, Queen Anne would permit him to return to his quiet life. Now that he was in the thick of the investigation, he found the thrill of putting pieces of the puzzle together very heady. Even taking into account the dangers he faced, he felt alive for the first time since Giles had died. Did he want to return to the dull tedium of his former existence? He shook his head. He had no time now to ponder on his own feelings and motives. He had to find out where this thread had come from, and there was only one person he could think of to help him. With more than a few misgivings, he knew he had to talk to Gwenette Paige.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Devising a believable reason to go into the palace and find Gwenette proved much more difficult than Luke had thought. He had no wish to bring Sir Nigel Kerr’s wrath down on his head again. He sat in the kitchen, elbows on the table, head between his hands, cudgeling his brains to find an excuse for visiting the Watching Chamber. It occurred to him that Gwenette might have been put to work elsewhere. Who would know? With a sudden exclamation, he hurried into the shop and sought out the bowl in which he had mixed the recipe for her pomander. He had made it exclusively for her, and she had been in his mind as he put each ingredient in. It was his normal practice to make enough for at least two doses if it was for a specific patient, keeping the mixture fresh with a preservation spell. There should be enough left over from the first portion for the overlooking spell, enabling him to establish a mind-link with Gwenette and see where she was.
He put his hand up to the shelf and removed the bowl. It was empty and had been cleaned, presumably by Pippa, although she usually never meddled in the shop. So why had she now? Excess of zeal after her transgression with Peveril perhaps? With an oath, he went back to the kitchen table.
After a few minutes of fruitless and frantic thinking, he was no nearer to a solution and decided that the only thing to do was walk into the palace as if he had business there. If he were challenged, he would make up some tale about Princess Elizabeth and hope she would corroborate it. He put on a clean shirt and opened the back door. At the gate he was conscious of Joss nudging the back of his knees. He turned to see her looking up at the roof of the house, where three crows sat on the ridge tiles. He stood gazing at them in dismay. How had the Elemagus known to warn him he might be stalked by crows? Could it mean the sunderer was using them as a means of surveillance? He strode back into the kitchen.
When Pippa came to collect her few possessions later that afternoon, she found Luke in a sore temper. He stared with frowning face when she told him that she was moving to the Elemagus’s house.
“Why?” he asked, all his suspicions of Peveril returning.
“Because it is the right thing to do. I want to further my studies, but whilst Ajax is so ill, I must remain close to Master Dufay.”
“Ajax is still ill?”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she dropped onto the settle, looking up at him and biting her lip. “When Master Dufay mended his leg, it seemed as if everything was going to be all right. But on the journey here, he began to limp again, and I think he is thinner.”
Luke examined the dog, kneeling so that he was level with Ajax’s head. He ran his hands along the dog’s body. She was right. The ribs were plain to feel and there was the beginning of transparency about Ajax’s ears that he had never seen before and that caused him much disquiet.
“I think you are wise to stay with Master Dufay. When you get back, show him Ajax’s ears. Meanwhile, I will try a replenishing spell. If it does no good, it will do no harm.”
Pippa wept silent tears as she cradled her greyspring. “Please don’t die, Ajax, please,” she whispered over and over.
Luke mixed up a large bowl of fragrant oils and powders. “Half the problem is you,” he said. “You’ve been mooning about the place with a face that would curdle milk and yet you expect Ajax to be as chirpy as a robin in spring. Use your brain, girl. In fact, I shall treat both of you and let’s see if that does any good. You must stil
l tell Master Dufay that Ajax is ailing. Stand up. Put Ajax in front of you and then close your eyes.”
Pippa did as she was bid. Luke draped her with a linen cloth that also enveloped the dog. Then he dipped his fingers into the bowl and began spattering her with drops, whilst muttering the replenishing spell.
* * *
When she closed her eyes, Pippa felt nothing other than the darkness that had been with her for days. Heartache she felt over Geoffrey mixed with terror that Ajax might die, that everything was her fault, banished any other thoughts. She had left her aunt’s house with a determination to find contentment, if not happiness. All she had done since she arrived at Hampton Court was make disastrous choices, based on her own selfish whims. She had thought that nothing could be worse than the life she had endured in Suffolk, but at least there, she had had the comfort of knowing that her unhappiness was due to the actions of others. This mess was all of her own making.
Luke had shown her nothing but kindness, as had Bertila, and she had not thought twice about throwing their benevolence back in their faces. Even now, she would not dare put her hand on the Bible to swear that she would never see Geoffrey again, but she promised herself she would try to be worthy of the trust that Luke and Master Dufay were putting in her. When she felt stronger, she would go and see Bertila and beg her forgiveness.
She breathed in the scents from the oils and the dark clouds in her mind began to lift and disperse. Aye, that was the right thing to do. Beg forgiveness and work hard at her magic so that she could help people. A shaft of sunlight cut through the remaining wisps of cloud and she was walking in a fragrant meadow, the sky a deep limpid blue above her. She could feel the warmth on her upturned face and whilst part of her knew that she was still standing in Luke’s shop, another part of her wanted to run across the bright green field. She looked down. Ajax was lying on his back in the grass, wriggling in an ecstasy of high spirits. Then he rolled over, stood up and shook himself, his tongue lolling from his mouth and looking for all the world as if he was laughing. She heard a click of fingers and the sunlight faded. Both she and Ajax were back in the shop.
“You both look better,” Luke said.
“I feel better,” she replied and looked down at her dog. He was standing, his tail wafting slowly from side to side. “Ajax looks better, too.”
“You’ll still need to ask Master Dufay to look at him, and you. What I have done is only temporary.”
On impulse, she seized his hand and brought it to her lips. “I am sure you have saved Ajax’s life, Luke, and I have no words to tell you how grateful I am. If there is any service I can do for you, please ask.”
Luke pulled his hand away and she saw a dull red flush sweep up from his neck to the roots of his curly blond hair. “I have done nothing more than I would do for any patient,” he said, but she could tell from the gruffness of his voice that he was pleased. He carried the bowl back to the counter and then swung to face her.
“Actually, Pippa, there is one thing you could do for me.”
* * *
A tall red-headed girl wearing a green gown slipped unchallenged under the Counting House gate from the direction of the Tiltyard. She had surmised that the yeomen guards would think she had come back from watching the young bloods practicing, and it looked as if she was right. They had not spotted Ajax and she prayed that she could deliver her message and be out of the palace by the time the oil on his fur dried. She mingled with the liveried servants, laden with food and running up and down the stairs to the Great Hall. They would already have taken the food to the Watching Chamber where those closest to the King ate.
Pippa had timed her visit to coincide with the mealtime, hoping that she would be able to catch Gwenette in the throng and give her Luke’s message. The stairs were crowded and she realized as soon as she came into the hall that there were so many people milling about, she would have little chance of finding the seamstress. The noise, mingled with the smell of food and closely packed humanity, made her want to swoon. She felt a hand take her arm.
“Are you ailing, Mistress?”
Pippa turned, relieved beyond belief to see Gwenette’s face. “Mistress Paige,” she said.
Gwenette frowned. “Do I know you?”
Pippa could have kicked herself. “No, Mistress, but you were described to me by a certain apothecary who lives near the palace.” She smiled to see Gwenette flush scarlet.
“You know Master Ballard?”
“I have not known him long,” Pippa said. “He suggested that it was time your pomander was refreshed and that if you would like to come to his shop, he would be delighted to see you.”
“But Sir Nigel Kerr has said that I must go to a court apothecary,” Gwenette said.
“What a shame,” Pippa replied. “I believe Master Ballard was collecting together the ingredients preparatory to making the mix as I left his shop. Forgive me, I must return to my mistress.”
Pippa made her way to the long staircase leading down to the gateway between the Base Court and Fountain Court and began to descend. From the quiet shadows of the arch she observed the man who had been dallying with Cecily enter the main gatehouse, carrying a massive basket of flowers. Pippa drew back into the shelter of the wall. She saw him share a joke with the guards and then carry on with the basket toward the Lady Mary’s rooms.
There was something about the set of his shoulders that made Pippa’s senses twitch. Before she could think twice, she stepped out from the arch and began to walk on a collision course with the man and his basket. Purporting to see him at the last moment, she stopped short with a little cry, one hand on her throat as if he had surprised her. She curtsied. He bowed and stared at her. She could see the interest in his eyes as they raked her from head to toe.
“I humbly beg pardon, sir,” she said. “I was daydreaming.”
“No need for pardon, Mistress,” the man replied. “We have met before, have we not?”
“Indeed sir, you were in conversation with a lady near the chapel.”
“Ah, I remember now. How could I forget such a charming face? May I present my courtesies? I am Edwin Achard.”
Pippa could not help the smile that curved her mouth, although she bent her head with a modesty she knew would pique him. “I think, sir, that the lady to whom you were speaking is far prettier than I.”
“And your name, Mistress?”
“Ysabel Amory,” she said, plucking a name from the air. “What beautiful flowers.”
“Indeed. They are for the Lady Mary. It is the custom of the gardener to send her fresh flowers. He knows her of old.”
Pippa bent her head to smell one of the roses. She wondered what Achard meant by the gardener knowing Lady Mary of old. Then she saw, tucked down into the depths of the stems, a flash of buttermilk yellow. Pretending to savor the scent of the rose, she concentrated her eyes on it. A small cylinder of parchment was hidden deep inside the basket. Achard leaned over her, intent on flirtation. She leapt back, making him jump and sending the contents of the basket flying.
“Oh, sir, I am certain I saw a large spider,” she said, frantically picking up handfuls of flowers. She deliberately spiked her finger on a rose thorn and cried out afresh. Achard, bending to pick up flowers, hastened to soothe and quiet her. She crouched to help him again and felt the dryness of the parchment under her fingers. Picking up roses with her other hand, she quickly tucked it into her sleeve and began to cry, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh, I have ruined all. What shall I do?”
Achard seemed more intent on not drawing attention to them than on the flowers. He looked round toward the gatehouse. Two guards were watching them, grins evident on their faces.
Achard cursed softly under his breath. “Do not worry, Mistress Amory. The flowers are not damaged, but I must get them to the Lady Mary before they su
ffer further hurt.”
“Here’s the last one,” Pippa said thrusting a broken-stemmed gilliflower into the basket. Aware that for the past few moments, Ajax had been nudging the back of her gown, she looked up. The sun was streaming into the court. The oil must be drying on his coat. If she did not act now, he would be discovered. She twirled round very quickly as if to check the ground for more fallen flowers and managed to throw her skirts over him. Then she turned more sedately to face Edwin Achard.
“I must return. I am surprised my mistress has not sent someone after me. I only had leave to eat and return to her apartments.”
Achard paused. “You are with the Princess?”
“It is a recent appointment, one arranged by my father. May I tell you a secret, sir?”
Achard bent close and Pippa had to steel herself not to wince at his breath. “The Princess is a strict mistress. I am rather afraid of her.”
Achard winked, grinned and bent close again.
“That is natural. I hope we meet again, Mistress Amory.”
“As do I, sir. I have found no friends at the palace until today.”
She acknowledged his bow and almost laughed aloud at the preening oaf as he straightened his shoulders and swaggered toward the Lady Mary’s apartments. Glancing at the guards, she saw that they still watched her, so she turned back toward Fountain Court, being careful to move in a smooth and seemly manner so that Ajax remained hidden.
Once in the corridor by the chapel, Pippa made her way through the cloister to the court adjacent to Princess Elizabeth’s rooms, walking out of the palace by the bowling alley into the park. Knowing the parchment would soon be missed, she hurried to the main gate near the river, slipped past the yeoman guard with a smile and hurried toward Luke’s shop.
Pippa slithered through the door and sank onto the settle.
“What ails thee? Did you give my message to Mistress Paige?”