A Spy for the Redeemer Read Free

once threatened the life of someone the boy had loved dearly, Brother Wulfstan, the old infirmarian of St Mary’s Abbey.
    ‘Brother Michaelo brought letters from Owen,’ said Lucie. ‘And – news of my father’s death.’
    ‘Sir Robert?’ Jasper whispered. He crossed himself. ‘May God grant him peace.’
    Lucie crossed herself, too.
    Contrite, Jasper said, ‘Go, read the letters. I can manage the shop.’
    Lucie pressed his hand, glad of the truce, however fleeting. ‘I should read these and think about what to do. You can find me in the garden if you have need.’
    He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘If Mistress Skipwith has told anyone of my mistake, there will be little to do.’
    ‘She said she would not speak of it.’
    As Lucie rose, Jasper said, ‘I am sorry about her. It will not happen again. I swear.’
    Lucie nodded, squeezed his hand again. He was young, bound to make mistakes. Perhaps she was too hard on him. But the guild would not tolerate more serious errors. Even this would have been punishable. ‘Now mix the correct herbs and spices for Mistress Skipwith. When we close the shop, you can take it to her. There will of course be no charge. And you would be wise to thank her. She might have spoken to the guild master and had you in the pillory.’
    The apothecary’s garden behind the shop had been the masterwork of Lucie’s first husband, Nicholas Wilton. It held not only the herbs one might expect in such a garden but also many exotic plants grown from seeds Nicholas had collected. Lucie chose a spot amidst the roses, near Nicholas’s grave, well away from the noise of the children at play. But it was not of her first husband she thought as she stared down at the letters. She thought of Owen and his misgivings about Sir Robert making the pilgrimage to St David’s. Owen had pointed out the hardships of such a journey, to the farthest west of Wales, even for a young, healthy man. They must depart while winter still froze their breath. Could she not see how dangerous it would be for Sir Robert, almost four score and in uncertain health, to attempt such a journey? Lucie had known Owen’s arguments were sound. But when she faced her father, saw the yearning in his eyes, she could not forbid it. And in truth, had she the right? All Sir Robert had wished was to reach St David’s. Lucie realised with a pang that she did not know whether he had reached the holy city. Brother Michaelo had said that Sir Robert had passed away in peace. Surely that meant he had completed the pilgrimage? It was this, the question unasked, that at last loosed a flood of tears. Lucie let them come. She did not even notice Kate, the serving maid, until she spoke.
    ‘I saw Brother Michaelo,’ Kate said, standing over Lucie, holding out a cup of ale. ‘He looked so solemn. And then I saw you weeping. I pray that nothing has happened to Captain Archer.’
    Lucie took the cup. ‘It is Sir Robert. The chill took him at last.’
    ‘Oh, I am sorry, Mistress. He was a good man.’ The young woman shifted feet. ‘Are those letters from the captain?’ Kate had boundless admiration for the literate.
    ‘They are.’
    ‘Will he be home soon?’
    ‘Brother Michaelo says the captain hopes to be home by Corpus Christi.’
    Kate made a face. ‘Still so long. But it is good to have his letters?’
    ‘It is, Kate. I was going to read them now.’
    ‘Oh, to be sure. I must return to my duties.’
    ‘You will not tell your sister about Sir Robert in front of the children?’
    Kate’s older sister, Tildy, was with Gwenllian and Hugh near the kitchen door. ‘Oh, no, Mistress Lucie. It is for you to tell them. I shall not even tell my sister.’
    Lucie sighed as she watched Kate hurry away. Why did everything seem so difficult of late? When had she last laughed?
    Roger Moreton had made her laugh last night, at supper – until Jasper insulted him. The boy’s animosity was misplaced. It was true that Roger was a widower. His wife had