The Mistress and the Merchant

by Juliet Landon

  ‘Yes,’ Aphra said, gently. ‘That came as a shock to all of us. But Dr Ben was regarded as an expert on sleeplessness and the relief of pain, wasn’t he? So why did he need...?’

  ‘We were both working on the same subject,’ he said, anticipating her question, ‘but he had not kept up to date with his studies and I had. You will ask why. Because he’d been concentrating more on other areas of research. He’d had meetings with Dr Dee and he’d been following other lines, rather than his own. It’s easily done.’ He looked directly at Paul in whose house Dr Ben had died. ‘Can you tell me how the accident happened, sir?’

  Paul told him, leaving out no detail, not even the half-consumed potion that smelled strange.

  ‘That would have been a tincture of arnica and calendula...marigold,’ Leon said. ‘He took it...well...for various reasons, usually to help him sleep better.’ Reaching across the table, he drew towards him the piece of parchment found on the lining of Ben’s gown, the pouch found hanging round his neck containing the three exotic gifts and the mistletoe items from his satchel. Reverently, he touched them as if they were familiar to him, nodding his head wisely.

  He soon got into his stride as, one after another, mention was made of all the other anomalies found at Sandrock, items that did not surprise Leon as much as the rest of them: the rare metals and gemstones, the vessels in the dining cupboard, the spices and expensive ingredients in the stillroom, the curiosities in his book cupboard. Leon agreed that these had all been part of Dr Ben’s research so, when Paul asked him, quite bluntly, if this had anything to do with the Elixir of Life, Leon’s reaction was to sink his head slowly into his hands, elbows on the table.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Santo said. ‘Need a rest?’

  Leon shook his head, recovering himself. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all right. I owe it to these good people to tell them everything. It’s obvious that all these things have nothing to do with pain relief and I cannot blame anyone for thinking it has more to do with magic than with medicine.’

  He took a deep breath and sat up straight and, in that moment, Aphra saw again the Leon she had known, bright, intelligent and in control of the situation. She caught Santo’s eyes, but could not read their message. She wondered if he was remembering, as she was, that night in the workroom at Sandrock when he had exposed her feelings for him after she had worn his cap. Surely, she thought, that had not been an act, put on in order to get what he’d come for. Had it? A tremor shivered its way down through her body as she recalled his masculine closeness, his arms, the warm scent of him, making it an effort of will to drag her mind back to the business in hand. As she must.

  Leon was speaking while all of them watched and listened. ‘The Elixir of Life would appear to explain this,’ he said, ‘and indeed that’s what it was all about. In a way.’

  To those of them who had known Ben best, however, this did not ring true and the first to say so was Nic. ‘Master Leon. We have known each other well and, although I am not doubting your interpretation of this mystery, you have not yet suggested how this Elixir of Life theory could have led to his death. How could a man like Dr Ben, an authority on pain relief, have abandoned such an important subject to chase after something as foolish as the hope of living for ever? It is totally out of character, isn’t it? And if I may say so, I believe there may be something you’re not telling us. In a way, you said. In what way?’

  Leon heaved a sigh, then took a sip of water from his glass. ‘My dilemma, my lord,’ he said, looking at Nic, ‘is that I was sworn to secrecy on a certain matter that I have always been careful to honour. But now he is no longer with us, I believe his grieving relatives should also share his secret.’ He took another sip as everyone at the table leaned forward, as if to anticipate the revelation of some unethical dealings of which Ben may have been ashamed. ‘I first encountered the problem one evening when we were studying alone in his workroom. He had been reading aloud when his voice tailed off and stopped, and he simply fell off his stool.’ Leon slapped the table. ‘Just like that! I went to pick him up, but he was shaking and trembling uncontrollably, his legs...his whole body convulsed...his eyes rolling...foaming at the mouth. I’d never seen anything like it, but I recognised it to be...’

  ‘The falling sickness!’ Paul whispered. ‘Lord have mercy upon us!’ The colour had drained from his face as Venetia gave a cry. Her hand stole across to his, grasping it tightly.

  ‘Yes indeed, sir,’ said Leon. ‘He was having an epileptic fit. He was quite unconscious. I knew what to do. I put my gown under his head, laid him on his side, shoved something between his teeth and sat by him. In a few minutes, he stopped thrashing about and then he slept for a while, holding my hand. That, my friends, is what he feared more than anything in the world. If it had got out that Dr Ben Spenney was a victim of epilepsy, his career would have been ruined.’

  If the effect of Leon’s story was like an earthquake to the others, to Aphra it was more like a painful ache deep within her heart for the terrible secret Dr Ben had carried alone for so many years. Why could he not have shared it with her? Had he not trusted her quite enough? Or had he hoped to cure it before it was discovered? Had he been afraid of her reaction, and could she have contained it without revealing the slightest sign of her deep concern? Questions too new to answer. Too soon. Too painful. Too heart-achingly tragic. Dear Ben. Poor dear forlorn Ben, dying alone. Tears poured silently down her face. Shattered was their memory of the man who had appeared to have the most brilliant future with every material advantage to take him as far as any professional man could go. But fate had taken a hand in it. By now, Paul and Venetia were quietly sobbing and shaking in each other’s arms, the rest of them either holding their faces or staring down at their clenched fists, feeling the horror of such a serious affliction. Believed to be caused by malevolent diabolical sources within the body, sufferers were never accepted by hospitals because of the disruption they were likely to cause. Mostly, they were shunned as being possessed by demons. And now, all those unexplained possessions found in Dr Ben’s workroom were, apparently, supposed cures for this condition or preventatives against it. All of them there that morning could easily imagine what might have happened if Ben had had an attack while he was lecturing.

  ‘Yes,’ Leon said into the silence of the room, ‘the portrait of St Valentin, patron saint of epileptics, the Ritual of Three, the desperate search to find antidotes however strange or expensive, the time taken away from his other research, all this was to ward off another attack which he dreaded might happen in public. There was no theory he neglected to investigate, however bizarre.’

  ‘Why didn’t we know sooner?’ said Sir George. ‘My wife and Paul and Ben didn’t grow up together because Ben was kept at Sandrock for his first twenty years or so. But his uncle the prior said nothing of it. Why?’

  ‘I believe the answer, sir, was that it only started later in Dr Ben’s life. It can do that, I’ve heard. When he was preparing for the lecture, he may well have taken too strong a draught of his tincture that brought on a fit while he was alone and made him fall...’

  ‘No...no!’ Paul shouted. ‘That’s not the whole story.’ Tears flooded into his eyes as he clung to Venetia’s hand. ‘There’s another explanation. You tell them, my love.’

  Venetia knuckled away a tear. ‘Paul is referring,’ she said in a trembling voice, ‘to that evening, the day before Ben’s lecture. In hindsight, if we’d known what we know now, we would not have told him...but...’

  ‘Told him what, dear?’ said Etta.

  ‘That our son Marius, Flora’s twin, also suffers from epilepsy. This is why we have the boys educated at home. He could never go to school. Oh, if only we’d known. We would not have told him at that time. He was very upset. Oh, Paul, what have we done?’

  ‘Uncle and nephew,’ Sir George said. ‘The sins of the fathers.’

  ‘Then why not me?’ Paul sai
d, his voice breaking with grief. ‘Why Marius?’

  ‘Because the affliction can skip a generation,’ Leon said. ‘Or sometimes it fades out altogether. It can appear for no apparent reason. But whose sinful father do you refer to, Sir George?’

  ‘My wife’s,’ he said. ‘Paul and Ben’s. Sir Walter D’Arvall. The boys’ mother was not Lady Agnes D’Arvall, but a local abbess. Sir Walter was unfaithful. “The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children,”’ he quoted, rather pompously.

  ‘As an apothecary, Sir George,’ Leon replied, ‘I would prefer to believe that epilepsy, or any other ailment, for that matter, can afflict anyone whether they have sinful parents or not. I find that theory more comforting. It’s a medical condition we don’t yet understand, so we can hardly blame Dr Ben for being so determined to hold it off, can we? He even wore a cramp ring on his finger to ward off convulsions, but no one would have recognised it as such.’

  ‘It went with him,’ Venetia said, quietly.

  ‘Then may he rest in peace,’ said Leon.

  Aphra had watched Leon closely as these disturbing facts were uncovered, peeling back each layer of their understanding, putting each item in its proper context, stemming the awful doubts that each of them had carried. As the distressing enquiry progressed, she had seen the change in Leon’s posture and the light in his one good eye shine more brightly as he answered the queries and then, at the end, voice an opinion to her father that in any other setting might have sounded remarkably like a contradiction. Unforgivable in a young man to his elder, but Sir George had accepted it like a lamb because, Aphra believed, Leon had said it with an authority they all admired. Herself included. She had thought, perhaps they all had, that he would flounder under the pressure of so many sensitive questions but, as she watched, his discomforts fell away and his stature grew, making it easy for her to see how he would shine as a teacher, sure of his subject. She had not seen him in this mode for some time, capable, assured and articulate.

  How much of this was down to his brother’s presence at his side Aphra could only guess. She was the first to move as the rest of the party sat in silence, too stunned to speak. She held out her hands to Leon again, holding them firmly, like a friend. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That was not easy, but you handled it well. I cannot explain what a difference this makes to our family to know what was concerning Ben so much that he could abandon his studies. We can all understand it now. But would his so-called remedies have worked, do you think? Did he discuss them with you?’

  For the first time that morning, he smiled. ‘Thank you, madonna,’ he said. ‘It was a disappointment to him that I would not enter into any discussion about his remedies and he was bound to realise that I had no belief in them. For a man like him, a down-to-earth realist, it is quite ridiculous to put one’s faith in charms and chants and such.’

  Santo, who was listening, tempered his brother’s opinion. ‘Ah, but if one is as desperate as Dr Ben was to keep his position, it’s any port in a storm, as they say. Who knows, we might all at some time have to believe in the intangibles, if we cannot find anything else.’

  To Aphra, this had a ring of something personal to them alone, but she did not want to explore his meaning at that moment. ‘Then will you try, before they leave, to explain to my uncle and aunt what you know of this falling sickness? I wouldn’t like them to think that all the things Ben collected were in any way beneficial, if they’re not. And what danger is there of Flora being affected, too? Could you put their minds at rest on that? They believed he had a problem with his heart, too. Perhaps you know something of that?’

  ‘I will talk to them, I promise. I feel so sorry for them, but I still think there are worse illnesses than epilepsy.’

  ‘I cannot imagine any,’ Aphra said, sadly shaking her head.

  ‘I can,’ he said. ‘Believe me, I can.’

  He was an apothecary. He should know. Aphra let the matter rest.

  As refreshments arrived, Leon was now in demand to add details to some of the matters already touched upon and, as the comforting process continued, Santo took Aphra’s elbow to lead her away into the garden.

  ‘Where are they going?’ said Sir George, suddenly protective.

  ‘They’re going for a walk, George,’ Nic said, pressing him back down into his seat. ‘They’re adults. Leave them be.’

  Under the table, Etta nudged her husband’s foot.

  * * *

  For the first time in many weeks, Aphra’s personal concerns were slowly being replaced by those of others who, that morning, had shown her the darker side of fate’s dealings. Her aunt and uncle were distraught and shocked to discover what they would prefer to have known years ago. Then perhaps they might have been of some comfort to the brother they had loved. And so might Ben to them. Santo was clearly concerned about his brother and had now convinced Aphra about Leon’s continuing love for her. Apart from the injury to his eye, his sadness was plain to see. The Datini parents, for all their courteous hospitality, were concerned about the reason for their visit and Aphra could tell, even after a brief acquaintance, how the father’s authority was a powerful force to be reckoned with.

  The huge garden, ordered and peaceful, had a calming effect on Aphra’s earlier confusion. More than once, during that discussion, she had told herself how unlikely it would be that both her objectives in coming to Padua would be resolved in her favour. That would be too much to expect. ‘Santo,’ she said, once they had moved well away, ‘I’ve come to realise that...well...some of what you said is quite true. I have, in the past, been remarkably critical...’

  ‘You certainly have, mistress.’

  ‘Yes...well...thank you, but now I see...’ She floundered. She ought to have rehearsed it. ‘Oh, dear, I don’t know how to say this.’

  ‘That’s new. You usually manage to say what you feel without too much trouble.’

  ‘And that’s not helpful, is it? You could help me to...’

  ‘What? Help you to apologise? Not I. I did that once before.’

  Aphra came to a stop on the gravel and the sigh she gave was meant to be heard. ‘I was not going to apologise. I was going to explain why I came here and what I hoped to achieve, and why I now realise...’

  Santo had continued walking slowly ahead of her. ‘I know why you came,’ he said without turning round. ‘You came to find out about your beloved uncle. I was under no illusions about that. Did you think I might be?’

  Desperately, she searched her mind for a suitable, sensible reply while her heart dropped like a weight inside her, slowing her reasoning to a standstill. ‘Santo,’ she whispered. ‘Santo, I knew you might think so, but that was not the only reason I came. And now I wish I had not expected so much. I have embarrassed you and made you angry. But I had to see you again. That’s all. Just to see you. Even though you have someone else, I had to take that risk. Perhaps I should...should not have done, because now...my heart is...’

  Santo had turned ahead of her and now he approached, treading like a cat, stealthily so as not to startle her. ‘What did you say? What is your heart doing?’

  ‘Hurting me,’ she whispered, pressing the back of her hand under her nose to stop the gathering sobs. ‘I love you, Santo...oh...don’t listen...you have your lady here...’

  Reaching her, he took her wrist away from her face in a grasp so fierce that her feet trotted forward of their own accord to follow his growled instruction. ‘Come with me,’ he said, pulling her along the path to where a white marble wall sheltered them from all prying eyes. The wall pressed hard against her back as he held her with both hands, his face lowering to hers, his eyes searching her soul. ‘Say it again!’ he commanded. ‘Say it!’

  ‘I must not,’ she said, watching his beautiful mouth. ‘You have another...’

  ‘Never mind that. Say it, Aphra.’

  ‘I love you, Santo. I love you.�
�

  His kiss was soft, tender, warm and very prolonged, his arms supportive, his thighs hard against her softness, melting her, making her cry his name as her arms wrapped around his head. ‘I am not angry,’ he said between kisses, ‘or embarrassed. But we have both been dogged by misunderstandings and now it’s hard for us to see things as they are, sweetheart. I have been just as guilty as you in that. Forgive me if I’ve shown my jealousy. I loved you from the very beginning, you see. You must have guessed that, madonna.’

  Guessed? Wondered. Hoped. Doubted. Dreamed. Yearned.

  ‘I found it hard to trust,’ she said against his lips, ‘after what happened. I wanted you to love me, but I didn’t make it easy for you, did I? I couldn’t trust my emotions, either. You say you’ve been jealous, Santo, but I’m still suffering. It’s tying me in knots. Is she your mistress, the woman you say was a pilgrim?’

  To her relief, he did not laugh. Instead, he took her face between his hands, kissing it from forehead to chin, lingering over her mouth. ‘No, she isn’t,’ he said.

  ‘But they said she was...wait...una bellezza...is that right?’

  ‘Very beautiful, yes, but nowhere near as beautiful as you, my love.’

  ‘But you and she were together on your galley.’

  ‘And you think...? Oh, my beloved Aphra, do you really believe...? No, I’m not even going to tell you how wrong you are except to say she’s a relative. I’ll explain the rest all in good time. And believe it or not, my love, I am free and so are you, now you’ve discovered about your uncle.’

  ‘I was free before, Santo. My heart, I mean. But if I had not come here to follow up Ben’s problems, Uncle Paul would not have been any wiser about the epilepsy, would he? And that would have been serious. You can see why it mattered, can’t you? But I never wanted to cause problems for Leon and I think I might have, even so. What caused his black eye, Santo?’

  ‘I did. He was about to thump me, but I got there first. Nothing new in that.’