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Authors: Candace Robb
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answers from Joanna, but the young woman spoke in riddles, gibberish. It was true she seemed occasionally lucid, but as her memories overwhelmed her she lapsed into nonsense.
Isobel paced and prayed, but it was no use. Joanna’s state required more than prayers; she was too agitated to think clearly. Perhaps Brother Wulfstan, St Mary’s infirmarian and said to be gifted, could be of help. Isobel resolved to speak with him when she accompanied Joanna to St Mary’s on the morrow.
Brother Wulfstan sat quietly in Abbot Campian’s parlour listening to the prioress’s description of Joanna’s nervous state. Dame Isobel had been disappointed when the round faced, elderly man had shuffled into the room. She knew the infirmarian only by reputation and had expected a commanding presence, not this meek serenity. But as she spoke and saw his age-dimmed eyes watching her, the round, tonsured head nodding and tilting as he considered her words, as he asked for details that she had not thought to offer, she relaxed and grew hopeful.
So she was puzzled when he said he would ask Mistress Lucie Wilton to assist him.
‘Mistress Wilton,’ Isobel repeated, ‘but why?’
Wulfstan regarded her kindly. ‘You would remember her from her days at St Clement’s, but seven years have gone by, Reverend Mother. She is a master apothecary and quite skilled. Were this patient a man, I would have my assistant Brother Henry work with me. But it is more appropriate that a woman examine Dame Joanna, and I can think of no woman I would trust more. She might even teach me something.’ His eyes twinkled.
Dame Isobel looked down at her hands, wondering how to explain her concern. ‘Mistress Wilton was not happy at St Clement’s. She might not wish to cooperate.’
Brother Wulfstan smiled sadly. ‘You made a vow to watch over the sisters in your care, did you not, Reverend Mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you break that vow because of an old grudge?’
‘The Lord knows I would not,’ Isobel said, crossing herself.
Wulfstan nodded. ‘Mistress Wilton is a master apothecary, Reverend Mother. She performs her duties as faithfully as you do yours, and all for the honour and glory of God. She will do this as an apothecary; not as a favour to St Clement’s. Or even to me.’
Four
A Consultation
A golden dawn found the chinks in the shutters and shone into the room. Lucie Wilton dreamed that her daughter took her first steps, safely supported by Lucie’s hand under her left elbow, Owen’s hand under her right. The child grew bold, rose on her toes, wobbled, and twisted to land in the soft grass with a cry of righteous indignation. She reached up to Lucie, her furry paw pressing against Lucie’s chin.
Lucie woke. Melisende yawned in her face. ‘You confused my dream, you wretched cat,’ Lucie grumbled. Melisende lazily opened an eye, yawned again and drifted back to sleep.
Lucie closed her eyes and contemplated Owen’s imminent return. He had written that he was on his way home, might reach York by this evening. Lief and Gaspare would accompany him, staying at York Castle with the archers they were training. Owen did not explain the change in plans, but Lucie was delighted he would be home, however briefly. Nonetheless, she wondered what had happened.
She looked forward to meeting Lief and Gaspare. Owen wrote that Lief spoke of little else but his healthy son. It was good that Owen was seeing a happy father; he seemed to dread the prospect of being one himself, much as he protested to Lucie that he thanked God they were at last to be blessed with a child. Gaspare, a bachelor, teased Lief and Owen about their virtuous devotion to their wives; in writing of this, Owen was quick to add that Gaspare could not lead him astray. Lucie did not fear that Owen would stray. It was the dark moods that had come over him since she’d told him she was with child that worried her. Perhaps Lief’s enthusiasm would cheer him.
Idle thoughts. Lucie
Isobel paced and prayed, but it was no use. Joanna’s state required more than prayers; she was too agitated to think clearly. Perhaps Brother Wulfstan, St Mary’s infirmarian and said to be gifted, could be of help. Isobel resolved to speak with him when she accompanied Joanna to St Mary’s on the morrow.
Brother Wulfstan sat quietly in Abbot Campian’s parlour listening to the prioress’s description of Joanna’s nervous state. Dame Isobel had been disappointed when the round faced, elderly man had shuffled into the room. She knew the infirmarian only by reputation and had expected a commanding presence, not this meek serenity. But as she spoke and saw his age-dimmed eyes watching her, the round, tonsured head nodding and tilting as he considered her words, as he asked for details that she had not thought to offer, she relaxed and grew hopeful.
So she was puzzled when he said he would ask Mistress Lucie Wilton to assist him.
‘Mistress Wilton,’ Isobel repeated, ‘but why?’
Wulfstan regarded her kindly. ‘You would remember her from her days at St Clement’s, but seven years have gone by, Reverend Mother. She is a master apothecary and quite skilled. Were this patient a man, I would have my assistant Brother Henry work with me. But it is more appropriate that a woman examine Dame Joanna, and I can think of no woman I would trust more. She might even teach me something.’ His eyes twinkled.
Dame Isobel looked down at her hands, wondering how to explain her concern. ‘Mistress Wilton was not happy at St Clement’s. She might not wish to cooperate.’
Brother Wulfstan smiled sadly. ‘You made a vow to watch over the sisters in your care, did you not, Reverend Mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you break that vow because of an old grudge?’
‘The Lord knows I would not,’ Isobel said, crossing herself.
Wulfstan nodded. ‘Mistress Wilton is a master apothecary, Reverend Mother. She performs her duties as faithfully as you do yours, and all for the honour and glory of God. She will do this as an apothecary; not as a favour to St Clement’s. Or even to me.’
Four
A Consultation
A golden dawn found the chinks in the shutters and shone into the room. Lucie Wilton dreamed that her daughter took her first steps, safely supported by Lucie’s hand under her left elbow, Owen’s hand under her right. The child grew bold, rose on her toes, wobbled, and twisted to land in the soft grass with a cry of righteous indignation. She reached up to Lucie, her furry paw pressing against Lucie’s chin.
Lucie woke. Melisende yawned in her face. ‘You confused my dream, you wretched cat,’ Lucie grumbled. Melisende lazily opened an eye, yawned again and drifted back to sleep.
Lucie closed her eyes and contemplated Owen’s imminent return. He had written that he was on his way home, might reach York by this evening. Lief and Gaspare would accompany him, staying at York Castle with the archers they were training. Owen did not explain the change in plans, but Lucie was delighted he would be home, however briefly. Nonetheless, she wondered what had happened.
She looked forward to meeting Lief and Gaspare. Owen wrote that Lief spoke of little else but his healthy son. It was good that Owen was seeing a happy father; he seemed to dread the prospect of being one himself, much as he protested to Lucie that he thanked God they were at last to be blessed with a child. Gaspare, a bachelor, teased Lief and Owen about their virtuous devotion to their wives; in writing of this, Owen was quick to add that Gaspare could not lead him astray. Lucie did not fear that Owen would stray. It was the dark moods that had come over him since she’d told him she was with child that worried her. Perhaps Lief’s enthusiasm would cheer him.
Idle thoughts. Lucie
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