Apothecary Rose: The First Owen Archer Mystery by Candace Robb

Author:Candace Robb [Robb, Candace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781446457993
Google: f-mQ1_kY4cEC
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2011-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

A Piece of the Puzzle

Tom’s words haunted Owen the next morning. Made a mess of it. Aye, he’d done that. Owen walked through the awakening city to Holy Trinity Church. Overnight the wind had changed, bringing warmer air that had turned the refrozen streets to slush. He slogged through the icy mush, which seeped through his boots and made his feet ache with cold. Chill mist clung to his face and neck. Wretched North Country. How much colder must Digby have been, plunging into the rushing waters of the Ouse. Owen shivered and stepped into the candle-lit church. It smelled of beeswax, smoke, but, most of all, of damp stone. The flickering candle flames bothered his eye. He moved off to the side, into the darkness.

The priest’s heart was not in the words he spoke over the coffin. He acknowledged the need for Summoners, spoke of God’s grace in pulling Digby up so far from his beginnings, out of the vermin city and into the minster. Saying this, the priest cast uneasy glances at Magda Digby, who stood on the other side, glaring at the small group of mourners. Across the church stood Archdeacon Anselm’s clerk, representing the Archdeacon. Near Owen was Jehannes, representing the Archbishop. Widow Cartwright, draped in black, stood directly in front of the pulpit. Perhaps ten more, mostly the white-haired women who attend every service in a parish, made up the congregation. Their responses echoed hollowly in the stony space.

Out among the graves, the river mist cast a proper pall over the mourners. The priest said a few words, dropped dirt on the grave, and withdrew. To a warm breakfast, no doubt. The others departed, all but Magda Digby, who knelt by the gaping hole to drop dried leaves, twigs, flowers on the coffin. She whispered as she worked.

Owen watched, filled with a heaviness he could not account for. He’d made a mess of it. That must be what bothered him. He’d been clumsy, obvious. Though unpleasant, he could live with that. What he could not abide was that his ineptitude had cost a man’s life. Even in war, one despised the manoeuvre that cost more lives than necessary. But Digby was no soldier. This was not war. No one should have to die here for Owen’s mistakes. He’d been wrong to use Digby. Wrong. Lazy. Arrogant. He had considered the man a thing to be used. A Summoner. Already dirty. Already guilty.

Magda, one gnarled hand pressed to her lower back, one on the muddy ground, struggled to rise. Owen offered her his hand. Dark, shadowed eyes peered at him.

‘Thank ye. Magda knows about thee. Potter explained. Thou’rt Thoresby’s man, just as Magda said.’

Owen looked around, worried that someone might hear. He saw no one, but the mist could deceive. ‘I am Wilton’s apprentice,’ he said loud enough to reach all ears.

‘Oh, aye’ She chewed on her gums, considered him. ‘Magda’s lad helped thee. Potter judged thee a good man.’ She nodded, patted Owen on the shoulder, and shuffled away.

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