The Alchemist's Daughter by Eileen Kernaghan Read Free Book Online Page B

hint of autumn in it. It toyed with his beard and blew his long white hair into his eyes. Absently he pushed it back. “I remember,” he said softly, “how I polished the golden candlesticks and chalices, and the brass on the tombs, and every stroke of the chamois was an offering to the Lord God in heaven. It fair broke my heart to see our treasures carried off, and the walls crumble, and the winter wind blow between the arches.”
    â€œAnd yet . . . ” said Sidonie, looking around the derelict Abbey garden. Steeped in the hazy yellow light of evening, there was a pleasant kind of melancholy about it, and a hint of magic. She could almost imagine voices in the pillaged choir loft singing evensong; and the scent of sun-dried grass was as sweet as incense. “It seems a peaceful place,” she said.
    â€œAye, that it is,” the old man said. “No one comes here now. I’m left to myself, with only the birds in the trees and the hares in the grass for company. We keep our secrets. Now I am an old man, and will take those secrets to the grave. But I dream sometimes of the Abbey rebuilt and its treasures restored. When that day comes, when the true faith returns to England, then I know that peace and plenty will for a long time endure.”
    He fell silent at last, as though lost in contemplation. Sidonie bade him a courteous goodnight, and received no answer. At last glance, in the fading light, he was gazing up at the broken tower atop the Tor, rapt and far-seeing as some ancient prophet.
    As soon as they were out of earshot Kit remarked, “He may rhapsodize as he likes, but his true faith brought little enough peace to England.”
    There was an edge of bitterness in his voice that made Sidonie turn to look at him. He said, “You have a gentle heart, Sidonie, and I can see his fine words have seduced you. But honest men and women aplenty died in Queen Mary’s martyr fires, my own kinfolk among them.”
    Sidonie was taken aback. “You never told me that.”
    â€œNo. My father never speaks of it. But our family has been Protestant since King Henry’s time, and suffered greatly for it under Mary.” He shrugged and smiled at her, as though in apology for his tone. “So you see, I too have secrets.”
    Sidonie felt they had stumbled onto dangerous ground, and made haste to change the subject. “As does the old monk, it seems. What do you suppose he meant?”
    â€œWhere your red powder is to be found, perhaps?”
    Sidonie could not tell if Kit was speaking seriously, or not. “The thought occurred to me,” she said. “He has lived all his life in this place. Who better to have discovered its secrets?”
    â€œAnd if true, he means to take the knowledge to the grave with him. Nay, Sidonie, I know you are loathe to look into that glass ball of yours, but that is what you came to do.”
    Sidonie sighed. “Tomorrow,” she said. “The light is almost gone, and we have not found a place to sleep.”
    â€œWe could take shelter in the Abbey,” Kit suggested.
    Sidonie felt a small shiver of unease run down her spine. She shook her head. “There are too many ghosts,” she told him, “not least the shade of the unfortunate abbot.”
    In the end they found an outbuilding with its stone roof still intact. While there was still light enough to see they gathered grass and bracken for their beds, and filled their waterskins from a stream; then they shared a little bread and cheese from Kit’s pack, wrapped themselves in their cloaks and fell instantly asleep.

    In the clear morning sunshine the business of scrying frightened Sidonie less. She put her hand into her apron pocket and drew out the crystal, wrapped in its layers of felted cloth. Then, with Kit watching curiously, she spread the felt over a flat stone and set the crystal on it. Crouching to gaze into its centre, she let a question, and an