The Lady's Slipper Read Online Free PDF Page A

reason to interfere with it. It is safer in God’s hands than in the hands of any herbalist.’
    God’s hands. Alice felt the familiar dull ache of grief. She still struggled with the cruelty of God’s hand. ‘But…’ She opened her mouth but the words were stuck. She swallowed hard; something seemed to be clotting her throat.
    He showed no sign he had seen her discomfort. His brown eyes regarded her steadily, his hands hung loosely at his sides.
    ‘Let us leave it here where it chose to grow. It looks fine in its own natural setting.’ He smiled. ‘I hear thou art a painter. Perhaps thou wishest to sketch it before the flower fades?’
    Alice kept her thoughts to herself. Only the slight quiver at the corner of her lips betrayed her emotion. Wheeler appeared to be oblivious to it.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I will return tomorrow, by your leave.’
    She walked stiffly up the path.
    ‘Come, Ella. We will return to the house.’
    Was it her imagination, or had the girl been smirking?
    ‘Yes, madam.’ Ella’s face returned to its usual dour expression.
    When she revisited the wood the next day, Wheeler stubbornly resisted all her attempts to make him relinquish the orchid to her. Apparently he had heard rumour that a Widow Poulter, the cunning woman from Preston, had been seen in the village and was treating a boy for toothache. He suspected she would want to dig out the plant for her remedies and so he had forbidden anyone to enter the wood. He was of the opinion that Widow Poulter, though perhaps not exactly a witch, moved in very undesirable circles.
     
    Oh, it was such a beauty! She gauged it with her outstretched thumb, one eye half closed. Her thoughts returned to the task in hand, the drawing of the intricate twisting sepals. It felt good to have the orchid here in the light where she could use the lens and the calipers to check her accuracy.
    She worried, though, that it might die when she tried to split the rootstock. Orchids were complex. Their seeds so small, they were difficult to capture or sow. They needed a fungus for them to germinate–a strange alliance between the light and shadow. This was her little secret, plant lore passed down to her from her father, and she was itching to make use of it. And no one, especially not a rough-hand Quaker like Wheeler, was going to prevent her.

Chapter 3
    Richard Wheeler dropped the few remaining leeks into the sacks and stacked the empty baskets inside each other. He stood up and straightened his back, before bending to tie the ears of the bag. It had been a good day. The sun was out, the autumn wind had held off and the market had been busy. His stall was popular, for he would not haggle but had set a fixed price for each item. Word was out that whoever came to his stall, whether they be master or stableboy, the price was always the same. Takings were up. He caught the eye of the old soap-seller on the next stall and gave him a broad smile.
    ‘Trade has been brisk for thee,’ he said, nodding at the half-empty table. ‘We could do with a few more days like today.’
    ‘Aye, it’s picked up. Folk are coming out more.’
    They fell silent, remembering. When Parliament ruled, the market had been a dull one, with the alehouses all but closed for gambling and all types of merriment quashed. Now there was uneasy peace, the king was back and business was improving. Times had been hard, particularly for the likes of the soap-seller–goods such as soap were purchased only if there was enough money left over after the family was clothed and fed.
    ‘Well, I daresay I’ll be here next week,’ he said. He nodded to Richard and returned to sorting the little faggots of scented lavender and myrtle, the bottles of rosewater and the yellow blocks of sweet-smelling soap.
    Richard watched for a moment as the old man bent stiffly over his panniers. The scent of flowers reminded him of the lady’s slipper. He was disturbed by the recent turn of events. Alice