Read Online The Alchemist's Daughter by Eileen Kernaghan - Free Book Online

called to court while Dr. Dee remains abroad? He looked down at her. “A relative, perchance?”
    â€œMy father,” Sidonie told him.
    â€œIs he indeed, mistress? Then you must be the young woman who is to become the Queen’s prognosticator.”
    â€œThen you know a great deal more than I,” said Sidonie, taken aback.
    â€œBut you were at Hampton Court, and scried for Her Majesty, did you not?”
    â€œYes but, how did you . . . ?”
    Gilbert grinned down at her. “Did you imagine because we are simple country folk, we are not privy to court gossip?”
    Simple country folk indeed , thought Sidonie, observing his doublet of embroidered velvet, his fashionably padded breeches, the scarlet silk lining of his cloak. All the same he had a hale, robust look, as though he spent much of his time outdoors.
    Ambling along at Sidonie’s pace, he turned onto a bridle-path winding its way across the greensward. Presently the path widened and joined a tree-lined carriageway. Ahead lay a stone manor house surrounded by a high wall, with trees and gardens stretching down to the river beyond.
    â€œWelcome to Wilton House, Sidonie Quince,” said Gilbert, as she followed him though the tall arched gateway into the inner courtyard. Dismounting, he tossed the reins to a groom.
    With the porter’s assistance Gilbert helped Kit to the ground. “Can you walk, sir?” Kit nodded uncertainly.
    By now two liveried servants had appeared. “Take him to one of the guest chambers,” Gilbert told them. “And send for Lady Mary’s physician to attend him.” He beckoned to Sidonie, who was hanging back uncertainly. “Mistress Quince, if you please, do you come this way.”
    He led her along a cobbled passageway and up a spiral staircase to a pleasant, sunlit sitting room. There was a fireplace, elaborately carved with birds and fruits and classical scenes. The walls were lined with tapestries, the floor carpeted, the high plastered ceiling decorated with an exuberant pattern of vines and flowers.
    â€œIf you will excuse me,” said Gilbert, “I will tell Lady Mary you are here.”
    Left to her own devices, Sidonie sank down on a cushioned settle. She was bone-weary, aching from head to foot, and on the edge of tears. Through misguided pity, she had lost the treasure they had risked so much to find. Must they now retrace their steps to Glastonbury, with neither food nor money to sustain them, her father soon back from London, and Kit half-killed besides?
    Tired as she was, it was too much to contemplate. Kit would be cared for, his wound dressed, by more expert hands than hers; she should rest while she could. After a moment a serving maid came in with a goblet of wine and a plate of currant tarts. Sidonie drank the wine in one thirsty draught, and devoured the tarts. The unwatered wine rushed to her head and she felt her tired limbs relax. Through drooping lids she contemplated a carved scene of the goddess Diana bathing. What must it be like, she wondered, half-asleep, to live in such a grand house as this?

    â€œMistress Quince, your brother is awake, and asking after you.” Sidonie came to herself with a start as a tall, slender woman entered the room. She was dressed all in black, with neither jewels nor ornaments, but there was an air of rank and authority about her.
    Sidonie rose hastily to her feet and managed a curtsey. “My lady?”
    â€œYou guess rightly,” the woman said with a smile.” I am Mary Herbert. And you, I am told, are Sidonie Quince of Charing Cross, who has had a long journey and many adventures.”
    Above the woman’s black velvet bodice and lace-trimmed ruff, red-gold hair shone like a new-minted coin. Sidonie could see the sharp intelligence in that oval face with its sombre, wide-set eyes and broad, pale brow, already faintly etched with lines. Mary Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney’s sister: