“I understand. Do you know Rebecca Hooke?”
“Yes, my lady, from her days as a midwife.” If he knew my role in driving her from the profession, he gave no indication. “But I’ve not seen her in months.”
“What about an Italian?” Martha asked. “He goes by the name of Bacca?”
At this Richard perked up. “I don’t know his name, but an Italian came in last week, looking for Mr. Penrose. He had a scar on his face, like this.” He drew a line along the left side of his face.
“Did he buy any ratsbane?” I asked. I was quite sure my face betrayed my excitement.
“Not from me, my lady.” He seemed surprised at the question. “But as I said, he wanted to speak to Mr. Penrose in person. It would be irregular, but he may have bought some outside the shop.” We would have to find Penrose, then, and the sooner the better.
“Has anyone else purchased ratsbane in the days since the suburbs burned?”
“Nobody, my lady. We have not sold any ratsbane in some weeks. Or at least I haven’t.”
“Do you have any?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “However, we keep it locked in the back. When I first came to Mr. Penrose there were some … unfortunate errors.” I looked at him in shock. A mistake with ratsbane could be dangerous indeed. “Nobody was hurt,” he added quickly. “Not seriously. I saw to that. One of the soldiers just got a bit worse before he got better. I moved the ratsbane and other dangerous powders so it could not happen again. When Mr. Penrose returns, may I tell him what the matter is?”
“Thank you, Richard, no. But can you tell me where I might find him? I need to speak to him in person.”
“You might try the Black Swan on Peasholme Green,” he said. “It is across the street from St. Anthony’s Hall. He is frequently there.” The Black Swan was an alehouse, not far from the shop. St. Anthony’s had been a workhouse for the poor but now was occupied by the King’s forces, who used it as a hospital, armory, and prison. I imagined that the garrison provided the Black Swan with plenty of customers and wondered why an apothecary would spend his time in such a disreputable house. Whatever the reason, I lamented Richard’s misfortune to find himself with so dissolute and cruel a master. I looked again at the bruises that covered Richard’s face and realized that I could help him just as I had offered to help Ellen.
“Richard, when will you earn your freedom?” I asked.
“Just after Michaelmas in October,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Have you the money to start up your own shop yet?”
“I have saved some,” he said. “I can only hope that Mr. Penrose will find it in his heart to loan me the rest.” I looked again at his bruises. I think we both knew this was a fond dream.
“Richard,” I said, “if you need a loan, I will give it to you.”
“My lady!” he cried. “I … I don’t know what to say. I cannot…”
“Don’t decline just yet,” I said, enjoying his reaction. “It would be better to take a loan from me than to put off opening your shop. You do intend to stay in York, don’t you?”
He struggled briefly for an answer. “Yes, of course,” he said at last.
“Excellent,” I said. “The city needs good apothecaries.”
I thanked Richard again, and Martha and I left the shop and began to walk toward Peasholme.
“What do you make of that?” Martha asked excitedly as soon as we exited the shop.
“If the bottle came from the shop,” I said, “the ratsbane probably did as well. We’re that much closer to finding the murderer.”
“You know the apprentice. Could he have forgotten selling it? Or could he be lying?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “He is too conscientious to forget such a thing, and you saw him try to lie on behalf of his master. He’s a good lad. Besides, there’s no crime in selling ratsbane, so he has no reason to lie. That leaves only Mr. Penrose—with any luck we can find him at the Black Swan.”
We passed the entrance to the Shambles and continued toward Peasholme. As we neared the northeast wall of the city, we saw fewer city residents and more soldiers. The occasional thump of rebel guns grew louder, and we saw more and more houses that had been hit. I don’t know what the rebels hoped to achieve by this—destroying citizens’ homes would not bring the siege to an end any sooner.
Within a few minutes, St. Anthony’s Hall and the Black Swan came into view. The Black Swan ranked among the oldest alehouses in the city, and while its half-timbered frame was solid enough, the cracks in the plaster walls showed that it had enjoyed better days. As we neared the entrance, we stepped over a soldier who lay in a stupor against the side of the building. Suddenly the alehouse door flew open and yet another drunken soldier stumbled out, shocked by the bright sun. He bumped into Martha and drew himself up, ready for a fight. He stopped short when he saw two women and that I was a woman of quality.