Free Queen's Ransom by Fiona Buckley Page A

Dale, however, had been using her eyes.
    “Ma’am,” she said as soon as we were back in the street, “that man with the hood
did
go in there! I saw him, too. And there was a gold coin lying by that shopkeeper’s hand, as if he’d put it there for the moment while he finished his work.”
    “Really? I saw that the yard door was ajar, but I didn’t see the coin. Well done, Dale. Oh well, if we’ve lost him, then he’s lost us. Come along. We’d better find that physician.”

5
    An Unseen Hand
    We found Dr. Lejeune stooping over a fireplace, stirring a smelly pot. A pestle and mortar stood at his side, and the walls of his room were lined with shelves full of bottles containing powders and potions. Hanging from the ceiling were various dried herbs and roots. On the floor were several immense glass vessels containing some extraordinarily nasty objects, preserved in what looked like oil. One seemed to be a small crocodile—I had seen pictures of these reptiles and knew what they looked like—and another, most horribly, resembled a half-formed baby.
    Lejeune himself was thin and somehow dusty and I doubt if he ever smiled. His face was blank when I described Luke Blanchard’s symptoms, and I didn’t feel much confidence in him, but he was all there was. He consented to come with us to Le Cheval d’Or, and did so, but had little to say when he got there. Blanchard was complaining miserably of pain all over his stomach and said the very thought of food was unbearable, beyond a little milk. “Even that’s better mixed with water,” he said wanly.
    Lejeune prodded at him, peered down his throat, shrugged, and recommended a potion that he said he would send along later by his boy. I wondered what would be in it but preferred not to ask. Lejeune then demanded what I considered an exorbitant fee, and left. I looked worriedly down at my former father-in-law.
    “We’ll get you better,” I said reassuringly, and on impulse added: “I’ll make you up a potion of my own, if I can get hold of the ingredients. I’ve as much faith in that as in anything that doctor’s likely to produce.”
    Harvey had tidied his master’s bed and brought him fresh supplies of milk and water. Dale and I hurried out again.
    I had a few basic medicines with me, including a salve for cuts and bruises and a chamomile draft in case of sick headaches, but I had nothing that might help my father-in-law. However, although I would never have called myself skilled in herbal medicine, as some women are, my mother had taught me a little and Dale had a certain amount of knowledge.
    After some anxious discussion, we decided on a formula and set out once more, this time in search of a shop selling flavorings and condiments. Here, I bought root ginger, valerian, and dried marshmallow. “I don’t think they’ll make things worse,” I said to Dale, “even if they can’t cure him!”
    After my last foray into the kitchen, I was nervous about going there again, but I couldn’t prepare an infusion unless I did so. I took a deep breath and marched in. The black-haired woman was rolling dough while a girl I hadn’t seen before beat up some kind of batter in a basin and the greasy youth was filleting fish. I cleared my throat, explained what I wanted to do, and asked for a small cooking pot and some water and permission to use a corner of the hearth. The woman regarded me with dislike but reached a long-handled pan down from a hook and passed it to me.
    “You can use that and get yourself some well water. It’s out at the back. But don’t get in the way. Knives and spoons are hanging up over there if you want them.”
    Dale and I cut my ingredients small before putting them in the water, and then set about brewing up a draft. Charpentier came into the kitchen while we were there and I had to explain to him what we were about. I also had to explain to Hugh Arnold when he put his head in to say that Sweetapple and Harvey were sitting with Master