“As was my sister Frida,” Esme interjected.
“Aye, but Frida came here determined to live a different sort of life.” Agnes wiped her hand on a cloth, wincing a little.
“What has happened to your finger?” Esme moved closer, noticing the jagged edges of a clean cut, stretching all along the cook’s index finger.
“Naught but a scratch.”
“A deep one,” Esme countered. “Frida would pack it with honey, I am sure.”
Agnes screwed up her nose. “Honey is no good. It sticks to everything, and I cannot get about my work for it.”
Esme’s mind raced. There were other herbs that Frida would suggest on such an occasion, but she had never paid much attention to her older sister’s healing abilities.
She had never thought she would have the need.
“I will go to her store and see what I can find.”
Agnes shook her head. “’Tis a kind thought, milady. But I would not put you to any trouble. Besides, Lady Frida took her salves with her up to Scotland.”
“She will not have taken all of them.” Esme was renewed with purpose. “And in all honesty, Agnes, I would welcome a little trouble. My day has been dull indeed, thus far.”
The cook smiled. “As you wish.”
Esme pulled her sister’s cloak from the hook by the back door and set off into the gloaming. Frida’s cloak billowed about her, for Esme was the smallest of the de Neville sisters, but the scent of sage—trapped in the woolen folds—reminded her of times past, when Frida would bathe her childhood cuts and caution her against jumping from the stone basin of the Wolvesley fountain. She found the store quickly, unfastening the door and breathing in the aroma of so many dried herbs. Bunches hung from the ceiling and glass jars gleamed from the narrow shelves, but Agnes was correct; Frida had taken at least half her stock with her.
Esme put her hands on her hips and looked about. She should have thought to bring a candle. It was hard to make anything out in the twilight.
Think, she told herself.Try to remember.
She did not want to return to the hall empty handed.
Perchance there was something in here that would help Jonah with his pain.
Esme resolved to return in the daylight. But thoughts of her brother had helped her to recall what Frida used to treat his many injuries.
Mint on an open wound. Comfrey once it had closed.
Esme could not have identified comfrey in a darkened room if someone offered her coin to do so. But mint had a distinctive smell. She stood on her tiptoes and sniffed at the bunches of dried herbs until she was satisfied, she had the right one. Smiling, she lifted it free and all but ran back to the kitchen.
“Here,” she thrust the bunch of dried mint toward Agnes.
At the cook’s surprised look, Esme shrugged her shoulders. “I am not certain what to do with it. But mint is what Frida would choose in place of honey.”
Agnes’s eyes creased at the corners as she smiled. “Thank you, milady.” She took the herbs. “I shall work things out from here.”
More light of heart than she had felt for many days, Esme prepared to leave the kitchen. The sliver of fish in the corner caught her eye as she turned.
“Where is Felicity?”
“The little cat?” Agnes put down the mint and looked about her. “She was here just a minute ago.”
“I left the back door open.” Esme froze, flooded with horror. Flora had explicitly said that Felicity should not go out at night.
I have failed her.
“I daresay she will come back if you call her.” Agnes did not look convinced.
Nonetheless, Esme ran back into the darkening night, Frida’s cloak slipping over her shoulders.
