The Apothecary’s Apprentice 40
The Apothecary's Apprentice
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- 1. The Apothecary’s Apprentice 40
It was Tuesday evening and Thomas had contrived to get away early to tell Ned what he had learned before the mine worker reformists gathered for the meeting.
“It was Maynard?” Ned sat bolt upright in his chair, his eyes blazing. “You are certain?”
Thomas spread his hands.
“As certain as can be. Butts had no reason to cook up a tall story.”
Jennet and Alice, overhearing, moved closer to learn more.
“Ned, do nothing rash,” Alice began.
“Rash? I shall have the rogue’s guts for garters for the damage he’s caused.
“I shall make sure he never trades anywhere again!”
“Peace, Ned.” Thomas spoke with a quiet fervour.
There was a light in his eyes that had not been there for a while.
“Accusing Maynard outright, when the matter has been carried out officially, might not pay off. This calls for a more subtle approach.”
“A written confession, signed by the perpetrator,” Jennet put in.
“If he can be persuaded to make his mark,” Alice added.
Ned snorted.
“That’s no problem. Jed Bates, Matt Carew and Daniel Crossgates can do the honours.
“A chance encounter in a dark alley is all it will take.”
“I could draw up a written confession, Thomas,” Jennet offered. “Just a cautionary measure.
“Your own penning might be called to question, but mine is less well known and unlikely to be so.”
Alice sighed.
“Ah, Jennet, there could be danger for you.”
“Thomas would do the same for me. For all of us.”
The low call of a blackbird’s song from the open casement intruded.
Ned looked up.
“That will be the men. We shall discuss the matter later.”
On this occasion, Ned was under a misapprehension.
Gryce had made a show of leaving for a Tuesday session at the Black Lion with the apothecaries of the town, then doubled back.
He stood in the shadow of the garden wall, watching the stealthy procession of men take the flight of unlit steps and disappear into the kitchen of his house that the Parrys’ had made their living quarters.
Gryce looked grim. So the exchange of words on the stair a few evenings ago that he had overheard had not been without substance.
Ned was up to no good. A case of while the cat’s away, the mice will play.
The utter gall of the man!
A word in someone’s ear might not come amiss here. Perhaps the matter could be used to his advantage.
His mood lightening somewhat, Gryce directed a final glance at the kitchen casement and left for the Black Lion.
In the luxury of his study, Reynard Venables sat at his desk and listened intently to what his caller had to say.
A fire crackled cheerfully in the vast inglenook and a sudden gust of wind huffed down the chimney, puffing a small cloud of smoke into the chamber.
Venables steepled his fingers in thought.
“I was aware of the proceedings at your premises of a Tuesday eve.”
“You knew?” Gryce stared, fighting alarm. “Sir, you do not imagine I have known of this all along?”
“Nay, naturally not.
“You will appreciate that a man in my position is required to have eyes and ears in all parts of the town.
“Parry was a thorn in the flesh when he worked for me at the mine. It appears that nothing has changed.”
“I had no idea,” Gryce admitted. “Otherwise I would never have offered them a home.”
“Oh, come now, fellow. You acted out of the goodness of your heart and that does you credit.
“Be seated a moment. Wilt take a sup of Rhenish?”
Needing the sustenance, Gryce accepted gratefully and took a chair by the desk, while his host moved to a carved oak cabinet to pour the drinks then returned to his chair.
Settled again, Venables continued the conversation.
To be continued…
