Free The Alchemist's Daughter by Eileen Kernaghan Page A

courteous nod. “Sir, you took me quite by surprise.”
    â€œOh, you will often find me in the gardens. I do what little I can to earn my keep. But tell me, Mistress Quince, does all go well with Master Aubrey, and with yourself?”
    â€œHappily, Kit is mending, “ Sidonie replied. “Thanks to your kindness, and the skill of Lady Mary’s physician. But as for me, sir . . . I fear I am in a sore predicament.”
    â€œHow so?” He gazed at her with genuine concern.
    â€œI needs must return to Glastonbury, to replace what was stolen from me . . . ” She saw Gilbert’s raised brows, knew he was waiting for an explanation, offered none. “As well I must be back in Charing Cross before my father returns from London.”
    â€œA quandary indeed, to be in two places at once,” said Gilbert. “But easily enough solved, I think. Do you ride, Mistress Sidonie?”
    â€œKit does. I fancy I can stay on a horse, if he be well-mannered.”
    Gilbert laughed. “Honestly spoke,” he said. “So then. We will find you the most amiable beast in Lady Mary’s stables, and as soon as the physician declares Master Aubrey fit to ride, you shall be away to Glastonbury. And as for your return to London, Lady Mary intends to travel there by coach in a few days’ time. There will be room and to spare for you and Master Aubrey.”
    â€œBut you are all so kind to us,” declared Sidonie with relief and gratitude. “Lady Mary has treated two bedraggled strangers as though we were her own kinfolk.”
    â€œBedraggled you may have been,” said Gilbert. “But hardly strangers. Your reputation precedes you, Mistress Quince.”
    Sidonie puzzled over those words. What reputation could she have, among these clever, courtly folk? The service she had done the Queen was paltry enough, considering that she had scried no more than the Queen already guessed.
    And then, as she was bidding Gilbert good day, she had a disconcerting thought. Out of ambition and foolish pride her father had sworn to make gold for the royal coffers. What other rash promises might he have made, that Sidonie would be required to keep?
    At length she came to the physic garden, a sun-drenched enclosure heady with the scents of sage and thyme, lavender and rosemary. Late-blooming borage, marigolds, rose campion made a bright display against the soft plum colour of the old brick walls. Kit was on his knees, examining a plant with that particular intensity he reserved for growing things. He glanced up as Sidonie approached.
    â€œSidonie Quince, can that be you? I swear, you look like Lady Greensleeves.”
    She laughed. “It seems I am to be duchess for a day. Tomorrow I expect I will be plain Sidonie again. But Kit, are you quite recovered?”
    â€œMy head thrums like a lute string if I move too quickly, but the physician tells me that will pass.”
    Save for the bandage round his head, he seemed his usual stalwart self. “Look you, Sidonie, this is such a garden as I have only dreamed of.” Wincing a little as he got to his feet, he seized her by the hand and guided her among the bricked-edged plots, pointing out the rarest specimens.
    â€œSee, here are apples of love from Spain, and madde apples nearly ripened. There is mandrake in that corner, over here white hellebore from the Alps, tiger lilies all the way from Constantinople . . . scores of plants, Sidonie, that I have only read about in herbals.”
    She laughed, enjoying his excitement. “Study them well while you may,” she said, “for on the morrow, if you are well enough to ride, we return to Glastonbury. Master Gilbert has offered to lend us horses.”
    â€œYou have never ridden a horse,” Kit pointed out.
    â€œI will learn. I do not mean to go home empty handed.”
    She was silent for a moment, watching a cloud of butterflies dancing in a stand of goldenrod. In this