The Mistress and the Merchant

by Juliet Landon

  Back in her own room, she found her maid Tilda in her bed. ‘Keeping it warm for you,’ the maid said, drowsily moving over. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aphra whispered. ‘I think so. I don’t really know.’

  Tilda spooned herself into Aphra’s back and rested her arm in the dip of her waist. ‘Try to sleep. You can think about it tomorrow,’ she said.

  But it was already tomorrow for Aphra and dawn came well before those too-recent memories had settled rationally into the corners of her mind. Nor did the sound of hooves from the courtyard and their gradual fading into the distance do anything to help Aphra’s inevitable fears of abandonment.

  Chapter Seven

  Hoping to hide her secret behind a mask of nonchalance, Aphra had no reply to her cousin’s one-word greeting of ‘Well?’ the next morning before breakfast. They tried to read each other’s eyes, but Aphra’s gaze fell before the laughter in Etta’s. ‘Oh, Ettie! Does it show?’

  Etta would not tease her. It was much too serious for that. Instead, she drew Aphra into her embrace for the comfort of her understanding. ‘Only to me, love. Because I know how you must be feeling. Are you all right?’

  It was what Tilda had asked. The reply was the same. ‘Yes, I think so. I don’t know, really. How does anyone feel at gaining something and losing it at the same time? Bereft?’ Then, because she had to speak his name, she whispered into Etta’s neck, ‘Santo’s gone, Ettie. Shall I ever see him again?’

  ‘Of course you will. Now,’ Etta said, holding Aphra away, ‘the best thing for you will be to tackle the problem of Ben. So let’s get breakfast over and then make a start. Shall we? That must take priority. I’m sure we’ll find an explanation.’

  Lord Somerville was of the same mind, and while their kindly efforts to lift her spirits deserved some positive response, Aphra took them up to her workroom where her first investigations had caused her some concern, if not alarm. But the workroom held other memories for her of how, two nights ago, Santo had made her confront her desires and reveal something of the way her heart had changed course more quickly than she had ever thought possible. Never having thought of herself as impulsive, she now reeled from the suddenness and speed of events, alarmed by self-doubt, thoughts of wanton behaviour and that generosity she had disdained only hours before practising it, this time as great as she could make it. Is that what love did? Take her to the heights of joy before plunging her into emptiness? Would he return? Had she given too much? Again?

  ‘Aphie!’ Etta whispered, nudging her gently. ‘The keys? We have to get into these cupboards, love.’

  ‘Oh...yes! Sorry.’ Sorting through the various keys, she snapped them off the chain and handed them over, pointing out the cupboards so far unlocked, still holding their secrets, however innocent. One of them held shelves of books, many of them in Latin or translated from French, two volumes of antidotes as a guide for students and a volume on aphrodisiacs next to The Physicians of Myddfai.

  ‘Aphrodisiacs?’ Lord Somerville murmured, glancing through the yellowed pages. ‘Why would he...?’

  Etta removed it from his hands and replaced it on the shelf. ‘Keep your mind on the task, if you please, my lord. He was an apothecary. Remember?’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, taking it out again. ‘What was that? Cockerels’ testicles? Oysters, asparagus, truffles, candied eringo root? Good grief, the list is endless. But what’s this?’ Reaching into the space behind where the book had been, he drew out a small package wrapped with linen and handed it to Aphra. ‘Do you want to see what it is?’ he said, softly.

  Curiosity overcame her scruples. This was for Ben’s sake, not her own, she told herself. Inside the linen wrapping lay a piece of dark dried wood as long as her thumb and, beneath it, a scrap of parchment with the words Lignum Sanctae Crucis written on it. Reading it out loud, she translated, ‘Wood of the Holy Cross’.

  ‘I suppose it must have belonged to the priory,’ Etta said. ‘Not so surprising, really.

  ‘But beyond price,’ Aphra said. ‘To add to his collection of rare objects.’

  By the time she had finished examining it, Nic had removed several more weighty volumes to see what might be hidden behind where only a tall man would have noticed how the cavity contained more parcels. Lifting them out, he placed them one by one on the bench. ‘It looks,’ he said, ‘as if Ben didn’t want anyone to see these, whatever they are. Touching the rounded top of the largest item, he offered an opinion. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a skull.’

  ‘Oh, Nic!’ said Etta. ‘What would he want a skull for?’

  ‘As an anatomist,’ Aphra said, taking off the linen wrap, ‘he might have needed it. But...oh, heavens! You’re right, Nic. It is a skull. A woman’s, by its size.’

  ‘Or a child?’ he said, looking at the white teeth. ‘No, those are not a child’s teeth. It’s a female.’

  Aphra and Etta were silent, not wishing to speculate on the reasons why such a thing should be hidden away in Ben’s cupboard except for its rarity value. The next item was equally bizarre. ‘A goat’s horn,’ Etta said, turning it over in her hands. ‘Looks as if the wide end has been filed.’ Touching the white smooth patch, a dusting of white powder was left on her finger. ‘Powder of goat’s horn?’ she murmured.

  ‘Sounds magical to me,’ said Nic.

  ‘You must not be frivolous,’ Etta said, passing it to Aphra.

  ‘I was not being frivolous, my dear,’ he replied. ‘The goat has...associations.’

  ‘Associations with what?’ Aphra said. ‘With magic?’

  ‘Yes. So does the powdered female skull, in some societies.’

  Etta and Aphra both frowned at him. ‘Are you serious, my lord?’ Aphra said.

  ‘My dear, I would not jest about any of this, knowing what it means to you. But from what you’ve told me so far about his collection of rare and precious things—the gemstones, the Murano glasses, the mistletoe objects, the rare essences, the words pinned to his gown and so on—I cannot help but think that Ben was striving for something beyond the reach of normal pharmacy. None of these things have anything to do with herbal medicine, no matter how much we may want the connection. We have to start thinking of what else this might mean, Aphie. Clearly, you’ve ruled out his studies of insomnia and pain relief, otherwise he’d not have needed Leon’s research to see him through his lecture, would he?’

  The two women were silent. Etta sighed, shifting uneasily with a discreet rustle of silk. Aphra touched the tallest item, still wrapped. ‘So what will this reveal, I wonder?’ she said. ‘A rare plant, perhaps?’

  As the wrapping fell away with the string that tied it, all they saw was a jar containing two small grey organs with a few fine blood vessels still attached, submerged in a clear fluid. Holding it up to the light made identification no easier until Etta picked up the label threaded on to the string. ‘“Castoreum”,’ she read.

  ‘Castor is the beaver,’ Aphra said. ‘So which bit of beaver is this?’

  ‘Another very expensive item,’ Nic said. ‘Or so I’m told. If one cannot get hold of what’s known as Castor sacs, that is beaver glands, one uses the gall bladder of a dog instead. They look very similar and they’re easier to acquire. I have no idea which one this might be, but it’s not going to be a herbal cure, is it? What would Ben need it for and why would he hide it away at the back of a cupboard? Did he keep his notebooks somewhere, Aphie?’

  ‘There’s one more here,’ she said, picking up a flat oblong wrapped in parchment. ‘Could this be a book of notes?’

  It was not a book, but a small framed portrait of a white-bearded saint whose eyes stared back at them with an expression of deep pity. Beneath, only just visible to Aphra’s keen eyes, was the name Saint Valentin. It was obvious, from the discoloured wood at each side, that the saint had been consulted regularly. ‘Not a saint I’m familiar with,’ sh
e said. ‘I know of Valentine, but this is not him.’ She turned the picture over to look at the back, peering closely at the faded ink in Dr Ben’s handwriting. ‘Ritual of Three,’ she said, reading the words with difficulty. ‘Recite three Paternosters and three Ave Marias.’ Blankly, she looked at Etta, then Nic to see if it meant anything to them. ‘Ritual of Three?’

  ‘Things in threes,’ Nic said. ‘Those names...’

  ‘The three magi. Three precious gifts. Three wings on the Murano glasses. Three objects made from mistletoe,’ she said. ‘In other words, the Trinity.’

  Etta was examining the piece of wood from the Holy Cross. ‘This has a small hole at one end,’ she said. ‘Looks as if he may have worn it as a pendant.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ Nic said. ‘I never got the impression that Ben was any more religious than the rest of us, even though he was brought up by the monks. He was certainly not pious, or he’d not have kept a book on aphrodisiacs, would he?’

  ‘That doesn’t follow,’ his wife said. ‘He would need to know such things. But all this makes me think of the Elixir of Life that so many men seek. Remember Dr Dee and how he was obsessed with the idea? Still is, I suppose. He and Ben would talk for hours, closeted together.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Aphra said, looking out of the window. ‘That’s the way my thoughts have been heading since I began to look into why Ben died so suddenly. I still cannot believe it was simply a problem with his heart. I think it’s more likely to have been accidental. Except that Ben was always so careful.’

  Succinct as ever, Nic could not contain his opinion any longer. ‘Elixir of Life. Elixir of Death,’ he said, under his breath. But the two women heard it.

  ‘Oh, Nic!’ said Etta. ‘We don’t know enough to be sure of that.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t. But I know someone who might.’

  ‘Who? Doctor Dee, you mean? Or Paul?’ she said.

  ‘No, Leon. Master Leon of Padua. Sorry, Aphie. But surely you agree?’

  ‘Well,’ she said in a small voice, ‘knowing that is not going to help us much, is it? I shall not be sending a request for his help. Let’s see if we can find those notebooks.’

  The notebooks, although plentiful and full of information, meant very little to them, even to Aphra whose knowledge of herbs was better than theirs. There were notes in his diary to record two visits from Dr Dee, the Queen’s astrologer, and another showing that Ben had been called to London to arbitrate over a dispute of medical negligence, all of which indicated that his reputation had never been better. They packed the notebooks away, still clinging to the only conclusion that seemed to make any sense to them, that Dr Ben’s research, beneath a cloak of pain relief, was all about a desire to prolong life by some means more mystical than herbal. Knowing Ben as they did, however, they found it almost impossible to reconcile the dear sensible man they had loved with the strange discoveries made by Aphra and Santo, then by themselves. And was it only coincidence that Ben’s set of Murano glasses had come from a factory owned by Leon’s father? Like other skilled men, apothecaries were sometimes paid in kind instead of money, so could they have been a payment from someone in Italy, during Ben’s travels?

  * * *

  Later that day, after making an assessment of all the high-value items and substances in Dr Ben’s store, stillroom and cupboards, Aphra and Etta went to sit at the table out in the garden. The sky was cloudless, skimming with swallows catching at invisible food. The women wore their hair loose, letting the thick tresses hang down their backs as they raised their faces to the sun. ‘We shall be very unfashionably sunburnt,’ said Etta. ‘And I don’t care.’

  ‘Santo will be almost at Southampton by now,’ Aphra said.

  Etta reached out a hand to her. ‘Yes, love. He will indeed.’

  A servant brought a tray of glasses, jugs of ale and elderflower wine, warm biscuits and chunks of fruit cake, reaching them only moments before Lord Somerville. ‘Just received some news,’ he said, stepping over the long bench, ‘about your good friend Master Pearce.’

  ‘Oh? He’s on the mend?’ said Aphra.

  ‘Afraid not. He died this morning. Just spoken to your steward. He seems to have his finger on the pulse of the village. No more trouble from that quarter then, Aphie?’

  ‘May his soul rest in peace,’ she whispered. ‘That’s very sad.’

  ‘They’ve caught the two men,’ he continued, passing a glass of the pale wine over to her. ‘In fact, they were not far away, so that will save some time. Wine, or ale, Etta?’

  ‘Does anything move you?’ Etta scolded. ‘Wine, please.’

  Nic’s mouth twitched, mischievously. ‘Occasionally,’ he said. ‘Now, Aphra, my dear, tell me how committed you are to finding more out about Dr Ben. You may not wish to send to Leon for help, but there is another way of doing it, you know.’ He poured the wine while waiting for Aphra’s response, which appeared to be taking some time.

  At last, she said, ‘What other way? You write to him, you mean?’

  ‘No, we don’t write. We go. To Italy. To Padua.’

  ‘Nic!’ Etta said, sharply. ‘Don’t tease! You know very well—’

  ‘Wife!’ Nic barked at her. ‘I am not aware that I have done anything to deserve a reputation for teasing a lady on such a sensitive issue. Well, not lately, anyway. So calm down and allow Aphra to speak, if you please.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Aphra said. ‘I’m just not sure of what you’re suggesting, Nic.’

  ‘I’m suggesting that there’s now no good reason why I should not take you to Padua to find out what you need to know. I have ships waiting at the port of London and I’m due for a visit to Venice.’

  ‘Venice?’ Etta said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘Venice? I’ve always wanted to go there...oh, Nic...do take me...please?’

  The thudding inside Aphra’s chest made her breathless at the thought of having to speak to Leon, to see his wife, his family and, most of all, his elder brother. Here was her chance to ask Leon what he knew and, at the same time, to see again the one from whom each day apart was going to be torture. How could she turn down such an offer? But how could she accept it while her duty as mistress of Sandrock demanded her presence here?

  ‘Ettie,’ said her husband, good naturedly, ‘Aphra is trying to think. If I might remind you, Aphie,’ he said, ‘the problem of Master Pearce and his bullying has now disappeared. Your men are more than capable of running the place while you’re away, just as they did for Ben. This is the perfect time of year to sail, and I have the means to get us there in reasonable comfort, if you don’t mind a few weeks at sea. Of course it would be more than my life is worth to leave my beloved wife behind, so I’m afraid we’d have to take her along...but—’

  His beloved wife chose to stop his explanation by launching herself at him in the most unladylike manner, almost strangling him with her arms while covering his face with a thick mantle of hair.

  Aphra made a grab at Nic’s ale before it was knocked flying. ‘It’s a very kind offer,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know. I’d like to give it some thought.’

  But Etta had already done that. Sitting down close to Nic, she set about planning the voyage and its passengers. ‘And we’d have to take Aunt Venetia, Nic. She has family there...we could stay with them...and Uncle Paul could call it a business visit for fabrics...well, yes... Aphie’s father, too, for the same reason, and little Flora...she’s learning to speak Italian, and...’ Suddenly she found that a large strong hand had clamped itself over her mouth, shocking her into silence. Prising it away, she rolled her eyes towards her husband in mock meekness. ‘Sorry, Aphie,’ she mouthed, her eyes dancing with laughter.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Nic said with a stern glance at Etta, ‘we could get there and back well before the autumn storms. It seems to me that this is going to be the only way to find out what
we need to know. Ben trusted Leon and no one would know more about his studies than him. Now, would you trust me to look after you? We can take your father along, too, if you wish. There’s plenty of room on board.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Aphra said. ‘Yes, Sandrock can do without me for a few weeks and I like the idea of taking my father. I think it might help. And I owe Uncle Paul and Aunt Venetia a favour after cutting short their visit. That would be a nice touch, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘So, a day for you to pack and organise things here. A day to reach London. Better send some messages straight away. We can set sail by the end of the week.’

  Reaching for cake and biscuits, each of them thought from different angles of the same event. ‘Velvets,’ Etta whispered, ‘and those Italian brocades and Venetian lace. Some of the women bleach their hair in the sun to make it even paler. Did you know that, Aphie?’

  Aphra smiled and shook her head, already imagining too far ahead how the Datini family might regard this invasion—with surprise, embarrassment, or annoyance at the intrusion, perhaps? How would she face the deceiving Leon while asking him for information? Was that really her prime reason for accepting Lord Somerville’s offer, or did she dare to admit to herself that it was not so much to solve the mystery of Ben’s death, but a chance to be reunited with the man she had come to adore? Yet the terrible doubt lurked in her mind that she was taking a huge risk in supposing that Santo would be pleased to see her. What if he already had a relationship with a woman? She knew so little about him. There had been so little time to find out.