your baking, Bertila. And no doubt, Rob knows he will enjoy the fruits of your labors, too. You are looking well, my chick.”
Luke relaxed in Bertila’s company as he did in no other woman’s, even Gwenette’s. Both knew that her father still harbored hopes they would wed, but their love was that of siblings, not the sort that was made for marriage, a conclusion Corbin accepted with a good deal of reluctance. It was no less deep for all that.
Rob came through with two goblets, handing one to each of them.
“Come and join us, lad,” Luke said. He turned to Bertila. “So, apart from taking pity on my stomach, what have you been doing?”
He put her through a catechism of how she spent her days, his heart glowing that she had abandoned her old ways of staying indoors since the Elemagus had been able to eradicate her facial scar the previous summer. Now her time seemed full of trips to markets, talking and laughing with the stallholders, as well as helping her father in his apothecary shop. Corbin had persuaded her to greet his customers and, as she watched her father and learned from him, she was developing skills in encouraging shy customers into talking to her and calming those who had a propensity to be demanding and arrogant.
“Father says I am as good as any apprentice,” she said, smiling.
Luke pretended to pout. “Better than me?”
Bertila’s face assumed an unwonted gravity. “Aye, indeed. Father says you were much too impatient and still are.”
Luke opened his mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but noticed that Bertila’s lips twitched, and joined in her laughter.
“For that slight, Madam, you must make recompense.”
“Gladly. How may I help you, Luke?”
“I have a favor to ask. Do you know Goodwife Brook, whose granddaughter was killed in the palace?”
“Aye. I’ve known her all my life.”
“Good. I need to look at the body of the dead girl. Can you ease my path with the old woman? I asked Mistress Paige, but she is sensible of her position relative to the Queen Mother and fears the people will draw the wrong conclusions should she accompany me.”
One of the things that Luke treasured about Bertila was that she never asked unnecessary questions.
“When?” she said.
“Now? I will make sure Gwenette knows you have stepped in to help me.”
Bertila’s face showed her surprise and Luke hastened to assure her of the urgency of his errand.
“Very good,” she replied. “Master Rob, here are the pies I promised. Put them safely away and I will collect my basket when we return. And next time,” she said, cuffing him lightly about the head, “remember to tell Luke I am visiting.”
* * *
Luke’s first impression of Goodwife Brook was that she had lost flesh since Gwenette had brought her to see him. She greeted Bertila politely enough, but in a distant way, almost as if there were a thin sheet of glass between them. Bertila took the poor woman’s hand in both of hers.
“I am desolated by your loss. Edith was a sweet child,” she said.
“Aye, that she was.”
The old woman blocked the doorway, and for a few moments, the atmosphere grew thick and uncomfortable. Luke cast a quick glance at his greyspring. Joss stood, hackles rising, staring intently at Goodwife Brook. He felt Bertila’s eyes looking to him for guidance and his attention sharpened. Now he thought about it, the old woman’s eyes appeared unfocused. Natural grief or something more? He sniffed. Ah, the same odor from the shop. Luke slipped his hand into the bag of stones tucked in his sleeve and pulled out a garnet. Rolling it between his fingers, he waited until Goodwife Brook fixed her gaze upon its shards of light.
“May we enter?”
The old woman seemed to come to with a start, as if she had been asleep.
“Why, Bertila, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said. “Your face is unmarked.”
“Aye,” Bertila said, putting up her hand to where the disfigurement had for so many years scarred
Luke relaxed in Bertila’s company as he did in no other woman’s, even Gwenette’s. Both knew that her father still harbored hopes they would wed, but their love was that of siblings, not the sort that was made for marriage, a conclusion Corbin accepted with a good deal of reluctance. It was no less deep for all that.
Rob came through with two goblets, handing one to each of them.
“Come and join us, lad,” Luke said. He turned to Bertila. “So, apart from taking pity on my stomach, what have you been doing?”
He put her through a catechism of how she spent her days, his heart glowing that she had abandoned her old ways of staying indoors since the Elemagus had been able to eradicate her facial scar the previous summer. Now her time seemed full of trips to markets, talking and laughing with the stallholders, as well as helping her father in his apothecary shop. Corbin had persuaded her to greet his customers and, as she watched her father and learned from him, she was developing skills in encouraging shy customers into talking to her and calming those who had a propensity to be demanding and arrogant.
“Father says I am as good as any apprentice,” she said, smiling.
Luke pretended to pout. “Better than me?”
Bertila’s face assumed an unwonted gravity. “Aye, indeed. Father says you were much too impatient and still are.”
Luke opened his mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but noticed that Bertila’s lips twitched, and joined in her laughter.
“For that slight, Madam, you must make recompense.”
“Gladly. How may I help you, Luke?”
“I have a favor to ask. Do you know Goodwife Brook, whose granddaughter was killed in the palace?”
“Aye. I’ve known her all my life.”
“Good. I need to look at the body of the dead girl. Can you ease my path with the old woman? I asked Mistress Paige, but she is sensible of her position relative to the Queen Mother and fears the people will draw the wrong conclusions should she accompany me.”
One of the things that Luke treasured about Bertila was that she never asked unnecessary questions.
“When?” she said.
“Now? I will make sure Gwenette knows you have stepped in to help me.”
Bertila’s face showed her surprise and Luke hastened to assure her of the urgency of his errand.
“Very good,” she replied. “Master Rob, here are the pies I promised. Put them safely away and I will collect my basket when we return. And next time,” she said, cuffing him lightly about the head, “remember to tell Luke I am visiting.”
* * *
Luke’s first impression of Goodwife Brook was that she had lost flesh since Gwenette had brought her to see him. She greeted Bertila politely enough, but in a distant way, almost as if there were a thin sheet of glass between them. Bertila took the poor woman’s hand in both of hers.
“I am desolated by your loss. Edith was a sweet child,” she said.
“Aye, that she was.”
The old woman blocked the doorway, and for a few moments, the atmosphere grew thick and uncomfortable. Luke cast a quick glance at his greyspring. Joss stood, hackles rising, staring intently at Goodwife Brook. He felt Bertila’s eyes looking to him for guidance and his attention sharpened. Now he thought about it, the old woman’s eyes appeared unfocused. Natural grief or something more? He sniffed. Ah, the same odor from the shop. Luke slipped his hand into the bag of stones tucked in his sleeve and pulled out a garnet. Rolling it between his fingers, he waited until Goodwife Brook fixed her gaze upon its shards of light.
“May we enter?”
The old woman seemed to come to with a start, as if she had been asleep.
“Why, Bertila, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said. “Your face is unmarked.”
“Aye,” Bertila said, putting up her hand to where the disfigurement had for so many years scarred
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