The Almanack

by Martine Bailey

  ‘No. I should rather not let it out of my hand. Find another. You might still obtain a copy of last year’s edition at the inn.’

  ‘Are you angry with me, Tabitha?’

  ‘Yes, naturally I am angry with you. You are a dunderhead after all,’ she told him.

  ‘Am I? Why?’

  ‘A true friendship must be based upon honest dealing.’

  He grasped her hands in his and stroked her fingers so gently that her bones melted with pleasure.

  ‘That is a novel plan. I will try it. Only tell me we can still continue as friends.’

  She glanced up at his face, for only a moment. It would have been easy to take one step forward and press her lips hard against his. Instead she stepped jauntily away from him.

  ‘You will come and see me, won’t you? Will Saturday be agreeable?’

  She nodded, inwardly counting the long days, and made a curt farewell, only to castigate herself for a damned fool, once he was out of sight.

  NINETEEN

  A Herb Garden

  What’s the regretful herb (1), or the most wise herb (2),

  Or the herb where ships may be? (3)

  The victor’s herb (4), or the King’s own coin (5),

  Or a bloom for our Blessed Lady? (6)

  What’s the never-sweet herb (7), or the friar’s cowl herb (8),

  Or a match made in glittering ore? (9)

  The duration herb (10), or the coin-making herb (11),

  Or the herb that can ease any sore? (12)

  The 24th day of August 1752

  St Bartholomew

  Luminary: Day shortened by 3 hours and 32 minutes.

  Observation: At 3 of the morning Venus is with the Moon.

  Prognostication: A most remarkable discovery to those of clear sight.

  The sound of a young man’s cheery voice reached Tabitha through the shrubbery. Devil take it, a messenger in the livery of Bold Hall was standing on the cottage threshold, talking to Jennet. Tabitha pressed herself between two prickly hawthorns until the boy had finished his business and strode past her, whistling a tuneless air.

  Once inside the cottage she snatched up the letter and read it with impatience. It only confirmed what she had expected to hear:

  Tabitha,

  I must see you without delay. I trust you might spare some compassion for me.

  I await your choice of rendezvous and hour.

  Sir John De Vallory.

  When Tabitha thrust the letter deep into the fire, Jennet looked up from a pile of half-peeled pippins and gasped. ‘Are you allowed to destroy something sent by Sir John?’

  ‘Why not? He does not own me.’

  To her astonishment, Jennet burst out weeping and threw down her knife so hard that it skittered across the floor.

  ‘It is all well for you,’ she said, raising a face wet with tears. ‘You have Mr Starling running after you as well as Father – and now Sir John himself. While I—’ She broke into sobs again, alarming little Bess, who began to bleat in sympathy. Fierce with misery, Jennet cried, ‘What will happen to Darius?’ She sank her face on to the table, crying, ‘If only I might die as well.’

  Tabitha sat down and held her tight, stroking her hair. What a capacity for making water this girl’s eyes had. There was no helping her, she supposed, for Jennet’s first love would soon swing by the neck at Chester gaol; even worse, her own father was to arrange it. Jennet must never know that Tabitha had delivered Darius up to the law – though privately, she had no regrets at all.

  ‘Shh,’ she whispered against Jennet’s scalding cheek. ‘You are too good for a man such as him.’

  Jennet jerked away. ‘What then? Must I stay here and rot with Father in this … pigsty?’

  This was said with such a sense of injustice that Tabitha turned aside to hide a rueful smile. Oh, to be a maid of fifteen and in love, she thought. Was there ever a more stupid creature?

  ‘You ran away to London as soon as you could. You weren’t a prisoner like me. At least you had a life of fashion and – and freedom!’

  When she had quieted a little, Tabitha stroked Jennet’s shoulders and looked seriously into her face. ‘If you must know, there was many a day I lamented ever leaving Netherlea. I left behind warmth, a place of safety and the only friends I had ever known. Did you know I was robbed by a woman, a procuress, within two days of arriving in the city? She stole my money and, more importantly, my liberty. I had to work for her like a galley slave. You think I had fine dresses and admirers? More like stained shifts and a new customer knocking every hour. That was when I prayed I might die.’

  Jennet stared at her with round, red-rimmed eyes. ‘I never knew,’ she croaked.

  Suddenly, the disappointment of the day, the lack of ease between Nat and herself, left Tabitha too weary to continue. With great effort, she succeeded in raising a bright smile. ‘Anyway, I ran away – with another girl named Poll. I’ll tell you more of it another time.’

  Bess had cautiously pottered over, and now grasped Tabitha’s skirts. On an impulse, Tabitha hugged both Jennet and Bess, one arm tight around each of them. Were all men rogues? she wondered. And what in Heaven’s name would become of the three of them?

  ‘Listen. All may not yet be lost. My mother was in fear of a person she called ‘D’ before she died; the same person who killed Sir John’s dog, Towler. Your father is convinced that Darius alone is to blame, yet Darius was not at the kennels that day – while Nell Dainty was. Now, you look very pale, Jennet. I wonder if you have a bout of green sickness? Shall we go to Mistress Dainty for a little gossip and a remedy?’

  Inside the stillroom at Bold Hall, though, they found only Jane.

  ‘Nell is over at the doctor’s while the family are in mourning. She told him what you said, Tabitha; that you have no time to help him with his medicines at present.’

  ‘Oh, did she now?’

  Evidently, Nell had chosen to lie, and to pluck this rich plum for herself. Retracing their way to the gilded gates of Bold Hall, they came to where the doctor’s house stood in seclusion. A former dower house, it was the oldest building in the village, said to have been built by crusaders from remnants left by the Roman soldiery. Now, seeing it for the first time in years, Tabitha thought it charming: an irregular dwelling of weathered, honey-grey stone. The lawn to the front was a circle of velvety green, and an ancient rose of blushing white rambled around the studded oak door and high-arched windows. They took a narrow path to the back of the house and Tabitha halted for a moment at the garden’s edge, breathing in the warm scent of lavender, mint and myriad blossoms, a pot-pouri of clean, sweet scents.

  In the lower half of the garden, the doctor had created herb beds inside low squares of box hedge; there stood neat bushes of rosemary, pink mallow, tarragon, dill and lemon balm. The further reaches of the garden, hedged all around with laurels, were devoted to lettuce and purslane, and peas and beans clinging to hoops of cane. Banks of irises stood in purple bonnets above the frilled suns of marigolds and spikes of yellow thyme. Only Nell Dainty’s bow-backed figure spoiled this Eden as she harvested herbs into a basket, her eyes hidden by a linen sunbonnet. Truly, it would be difficult to imagine more pleasant work on such a day.

  Nell caught sight of them and scowled. ‘What do you want? I heard about you, out drinking this morning – carousing with that strange fellow that seems to ply no honest trade.’

  Tabitha managed to conjure a disarming smile, holding tight on to Bess’s leading strings as the child strained to pick the colourful blossoms. ‘And a good day to you, Nell. I pray we don’t disturb your labours, but Constable Saxton has sent me in search of one of your remedies.’

  ‘What’s he after, then?’

  ‘It is for Jennet. Might we beg a sup of water, and you shall hear?’

  ‘If it’s for Miss Jennet, I might. Only be sharp about it.’

  Tabitha glanced towards the house standing in sleepy stillness, most of the shutters closed and drawn curtains
hiding the shadowy interior. This was the one house in the village that Tabitha most wished to peep inside.

  But today, disappointingly, Nell led them not into the house but to a separate edifice at the bottom of the garden. At first glance, it looked like a summerhouse, but, on entering, Tabitha recognized it as another stone-flagged stillroom. A glass alembic had pride of place on the stove, distilling a herbal cordial, drop by precious drop. Shelves held rows of bottles, filled with distillations, liquors and essences. With ill grace, Nell pointed to a vat of water, and she and Jennet drank greedily from the ladle.

  Tabitha nodded graciously to Nell. ‘I wanted also to thank you, Nell – I have just heard from Willis that you helped my mother cure one of Sir John’s bitches at Eastertide.’

  ‘You’ve got that the wrong way about; your mother may have showed her face, but it was my poultice what did the trick.’

  Let the crone have it her own way, Tabitha thought, biting her tongue. ‘But I could barely believe what Willis told me of old Towler. How on earth might such a wicked deed have been accomplished?’

  As Tabitha had hoped, the question appealed to Nell’s vanity, and she leaned against the table, her thick arms crossed. ‘I’d wager someone lured that hound with a tempting morsel.’

  ‘Willis said he fell into a fit – and stank like perfume. Could it be poison?’

  ‘What else? I’d wager it were another huntsman, grown jealous of the Bold Hall pack.’

  ‘So what did you see of Towler’s death?’

  Nell’s face grew sour with the disappointment of a rumour-monger absent from a public outrage.

  ‘Well, I weren’t exactly there on the spot. But by all accounts he was poisoned. Your mother went to look at him before the rest of them came, but I were that busy I never even saw the hound.’

  Tabitha believed her. Seeing she was wasting time, she changed direction. ‘Is it true that the doctor is sick?’

  Nell’s head jerked up, with a sharp expression. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I heard it from Sir John’s own lips.’

  Nell’s thin mouth pursed tight, as if struggling to keep the gossip stoppered up. Then she burst forth.

  ‘The poor doctor. A saint he is, out at all hours tending to any poor soul as needs him. And so considering – he’d rather dose you from his own bottle than give a twinge of pain. And all the while, he is sicker than most of his patients – his heart’s blood is failing. That puffed-up brother of his won’t hear of it; he says he is the only one who ails, what with Master Francis dead. As for the doctor – it will all be over by Christmas, or so I hear.’

  A sudden sound from the garden made the women stand silent and alert; the next moment, the doctor himself appeared, leading Bess by the hand.

  ‘Look who I found, chasing butterflies through my sweet peas.’ From near the hem of the doctor’s robe, Bess looked up at them with an expression of mischief.

  ‘Pray forgive us, Doctor. The naughty little maid must have slipped away while we consulted Nell.’

  Tabitha bobbed to him and grasped hold of Bess’s sticky hand. It was true, the doctor did have a haunted look; his skin was fading like old parchment, and his shoulders bowed like a packman’s. Could he be another of De Angelo’s victims?

  ‘You are in luck. Let me take a look at you, girl.’ The doctor motioned for Jennet to sit down in the light of a pretty arched window; he felt the girl’s brow and pronounced it clammy.

  ‘Close your eyes. No need to be agitated.’ Jennet played her part well, giving every sign of the sleepiness and vagueness of mind common to that curious ailment. When questioned, she described her strange appetites, unnatural yearnings and melancholy.

  Nell interrupted with her own diagnosis: ‘All she needs is a sturdy village lad to stir up her womb and give her a brood of babies.’

  ‘Is that a rash?’ the doctor murmured, gently lifting her hair to feel the pulse at her white throat. Finally, he inspected the blue veins on the inside of her wrists.

  ‘Chlorisis,’ he said to himself. ‘Morbus virgineus. Do you sleep heavily at night?’ he asked his patient.

  Jennet nodded, her lips pressed tight together.

  ‘She is growing new bones,’ Tabitha said.

  ‘Sleep is good for a mild case of green sickness,’ the doctor concluded. ‘Nell, go fetch a small vial of Black Drop.’

  In search of the remedy, Nell disappeared in the direction of the house.

  The doctor watched fondly as Tabitha lifted Bess on to her hip. ‘She is very fair,’ he said, touching a flaxen curl where it had fallen free from Bess’s cap.

  ‘Do not be fooled, sir. She is a naughty little monkey.’

  ‘What of your plans to return to London, Tabitha?’

  ‘They are postponed, sir.’

  ‘And your duties at Bold Hall?’

  ‘I am no longer needed, now the family are in mourning.’

  ‘Ah. Can you read and calculate Roman numerals – for that is how my accounts are arranged?’

  ‘Certainly I can.’

  ‘So might you now assist me? I am not as strong as I was and would like to get my pharmacopoeia in good order by Christmas.’

  Nell had just returned and began to bang about the room, dropping heavy implements. Tabitha felt immense pleasure in replying, ‘It would be my pleasure to assist you, Doctor.’

  ‘Well, I will need a quiet spell to unpack my boxes. Ah, there are scarcely any days this September – and then I’ll be at the Michaelmas Sessions for I don’t know how long. So, to be safe, what say you begin at the start of October? You do understand the new calendar?’

  ‘I believe so, sir. That will be just more than a month, then.’ Privately, she cast a prayer of thanks to Nat, whose explanations had at last led her to understand the mathematics of the matter.

  ‘Quite so. Very well. For each day I require you, would sixpence suffice?’

  Her spirits rose like a lark on the breeze; she agreed at once, overjoyed at the prospect. As Tabitha paid Nell for her medicine, the doctor finally glanced at Jennet.

  ‘Wait until the new moon before you dose yourself, my dear. The end of the Dog Days is an auspicious time for medicines.’

  Jennet nodded and curtsied, but it was Tabitha who received a dry but gratifying squeeze of her hand.

  TWENTY

  A Riddle

  One night, a party round the fire I found

  Pleased with the cheerful blaze it cast around;

  The foremost was a tall and lively lad,

  Nimble of thought he seemed, and lightly clad;

  A radiant nymph did next the circle grace

  Sparkling and brilliant, fairest of her race:

  A sober matron then the circle pressed,

  Who seemed the guardian of a younger guest;

  Apart from all a dreaded warrior sate,

  Whose brows overshadowed eyes of vengeful hate:

  A father joined the throng in belted pride

  And four fair daughters graced his reverent side:

  Next I could mark a greedy dull old beau

  Who strove, with foppish pride, a ring to show.

  Come join me in a heavenly turn,

  These famous wanderers’ names to learn.

  The 29th day of August 1752

  Saint Bartholomew

  Luminary: The Sun runs faster than the year by 3 hours and 14 minutes.

  Observation: The shooting starts of Saint Laurence in the east.

  Prognostication: Friendship and amity amongst neighbours.

  ‘I promised I would help you.’ With a flourish, Nat waved his hand towards an extraordinary collection of papers tacked across the wall of his chamber at Eglantine Hall. Names, pictures and memoranda were displayed like ragged sunrays around the heart of it: the Vox Stellarum almanack. On the cover was a dog cowering beneath a vast Wheel of Fortune, spinning in the sky.

  Tabitha’s eyes shone, absorbing the whirlwind of information. ‘So you did obtain an almanack from
the inn. How long did this take you?’

  He would have liked to confide the truth; that over the past week it had become a mania that engaged his every waking moment. Instead, he said, ‘It is a most intriguing puzzle. I have concluded there are two men working together – Darius who is the minion and De Angelo the master.’

  Pulling a red ribbon from her hair, she pinned it between a paper bearing the date of Francis’s death and the woodcut of the scything men circling a corn stook. Nat had connected other facts this way, using string, laces and even a tendril of ivy drawn in from the window. He approached to help – their hands touched, and she sprang back as if he had scalded her.

  ‘I have a notion,’ he said quickly, ‘that the reason for Towler’s death was to test a dose of poison. What do you say?’

  She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. ‘Yes. But poison intended for whom? Neither my mother nor Francis were poisoned. And yet …’ She removed the paper bearing the name Mistress Dainty. ‘I called upon Nell Dainty and believe we can disregard her. Even better, the doctor has offered me work making accounts of his medicines. Oh, Nat, he is ill. I fear he may be this poisoner’s next victim. I intend to keep a close watch upon him, and anyone else who calls.’

  He watched her slyly as she studied the papers. Yes, he certainly liked her even better in rustic dress than in paint and pearls.

  He moved in closer beside her as she continued speaking. ‘But even if the poisoning was to test the dose, why choose Towler?’

  ‘What if the connection is this?’ he said. ‘Two of Sir John’s most beloved possessions have been destroyed – his heir, and his hound.’

  Tabitha nodded, slowly. ‘So who is it that hates him so violently? A rival for his Parliamentary seat, perhaps?’

  ‘The fellow he is standing against lives down in Northamptonshire. If he sent an assassin to Netherlea, the fellow would have been remarked upon as a stranger.’

  ‘You say Sir John has borne two losses – and, if his brother is being poisoned too, that is a further blow to him. But still, I remember what Nanny Seagoes said – that my mother would not go to Sir John with her fears. I wonder why?’