Page 123 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
She grinned. “I should love to meet them.”
“Then you’re in luck.” They came to the back entrance that led to a secluded garden in the middle of London. The lot was barely the size of two carriages and shadowed on all sides, but it was enough for a small garden and a woman who never seemed to sleep.
He knocked three times in a special rhythm and then waited.
“Who stinks?” came a woman’s raspy voice.
“It’s Bram, and a woman who wants to share some knowledge.”
“Does she know about baths?”
“She does. It’s me who—” His voice cut off as the door was pulled open by a woman cloaked in shadows. Her weight was slight but her hands were strong, and he knew the shape of her would be healthy despite her gray hair and wrinkled face. “Hello Madame Ille.”
The lady held a posset to her nose. “Where have you been that you stink like this?”
“The Thames.” Then before he could say more, Bluebell stepped forward.
“I need to make a drink that will cure an infection. A bad one.”
“A bad infection or a bad drink?” Madame said as she peered at Bluebell. “The one I’ll allow, the other is not for us. But I can give you the address for the poison maker.”
Bluebell smiled. “Really? Oh yes, I do—”
“Not tonight,” Bram interrupted. God, he wanted his bed. And a bath. And not in that order.
“Right,” Bluebell agreed. “Tonight I need mortar and pestle, plus…” She rattled off several ingredients that meant very little to Bram.
Madame Ille snorted. “That won’t do anything for anyone.”
“I know,” Bluebell answered. “I have the other part in here.” She held up her satchel where the mold was held in a heavy clay jar.
“And what would that be?” Madame Ille reached for the satchel, but Bluebell wouldn’t give it up.
And Bram was getting more tired by the second. “It’s mold, Madame. Please, can we come in? If I cannot bathe, at least let me sit.”
The two women looked at him with equal expressions of surprise. As if they had forgotten he was standing right there. Then the madame snorted.
“Fine, fine. But you stay in the garden. Maybe lie down in the dirt and fertilize it for me. Bluebell and I will discuss.”
She opened the door wide and let them step through. Except two steps later, the way was blocked by a large man with Chinese features. He’d obviously been woken by the noise, but he seemed very hale and ready to fight.
“Who is this?” the man demanded.
Bram sighed. He was in no mood to delay things further. “Bluebell,” he said pointing to her. “And you know me,” he said. Then he pointed to the large foreigner. “That’s AhLan. He pokes needles in people and swears it will cure them.”
“Wot?” Bluebell gasped, her language slipping.
“Yes,” Madame Ille said as she pulled Bluebell around. “And she has mold that will cure infection. Come, come. Let Bram stink up my garden. We will talk inside.”
Bram watched them go. He stayed on his feet long enough to hear their conversation. There was no threat in anyone’s tone. Indeed, the discussion quickly passed beyond his comprehension as they spoke about ingredients, treatments, and whatever AhLan did.
Good God, he’d never heard Bluebell sound so delighted except in the throes of passion. She was animated, her words coming fast and clear while the other two peppered her with questions. This was where she belonged, he thought, as he dropped down on the dirt. With others who did not judge but desperately wanted to learn from one another.
He could bring her here, now and again, while she was in London. But eventually, Bluebell would have a husband and Bram needed to be sure the man understood this side of her. The making of possets was not something titled ladies usually did, but Bluebell would need to. She was too passionate about it to cut off this side of her. So her husband must allow her to work her skills whenever she wished and would not cage her into the restricted life of the peerage.
He sighed as he let his legs stretch out. He couldn’t lie down. It would damage the young shoots planted here. But at least he was sitting down as he wondered who in all of London understood what Bluebell needed.
Him.
