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Idalia opened her eyes, staring at the wall in front of her. Others might have a moment to spare for daydreams, but she did not. Standing up straight, she sighed and began the careful walk back down the stairs.

Would Tilly be back from market day? No doubt that was where she’d run off to earlier, pretending not to have seen her. At ten and four, her sister could be trusted with some tasks, but she could never be completely relied upon. Indeed, she was still a child in many ways, and if Idalia could help it, she’d remain so for as long as possible.

Though she would have liked a sachet of citrus blossom and a few other supplies.

As she locked the tower door, two hands covered her eyes from behind. Had her thoughts summoned her sister?

“Do not look,” Tilly said, taking her hands away. “Close your eyes.”

“I assumed that was what you meant me to do when you told me not to look.”

“Smell.”

The directive wasn’t needed. She’d already caught the scent. Smiling, she took the sachet from under her nose and turned around.

“Thank you, Till.”

She looked down at the almoner pouch wondering what else her sister had picked up from the market.

“What did you . . .” She stopped as Tilly pulled two bulbs of garlic from her pouch. How many items did she have in there? “’Tis said if you peel it and place it under the pillow, it may help to relieve a headache.”

Idalia crossed her arms and waited.

“I knew you would be angry. But Idalia, she is in so much pain.”

“And if the merchant asks questions?”

“He will not.” She tucked the garlic back inside. “I’ve not seen him before. Likely never will again.” Tilly rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say, ‘Can you please help with a remedy for my mother.’”

“Shhh,” she scolded. Though the courtyard was not as busy as normal with supper approaching, there were still plenty of servants and men-at-arms moving around them. “Father will not be pleased.”

Even if Idalia did not fully agree with her father’s insistence on keeping the extent of their mother’s illness secret, she understood his concern. And though she herself sought potential cures, Tilly had not quite mastered the art of subtlety. All would know her purpose for the garlic bulbs before long.

Father Sica had hinted, as her mother’s pain increased, that her condition was a spiritual matter that could be treated by no physician—a test from Satan. Idalia knew her father feared the priest would bring his talk of Satan’s influence to the village. He worried such aspersions would ruin not just his wife’s reputation, but the prospects of his two marriageable daughters. He was an earl, a powerful Northumbrian lord who once served as judicar to the king, and yet priests had a power all their own.

If she or her sisters criticized the priest, however, her father would say only, “He is a man of God.”

Idalia sighed. Though her father relied on her, he refused to listen to her counsel on most subjects, their mother chief among them.

“He will not know,” her conspiratorial sister replied.

They’d just entered the great keep, and as expected, her absence had been missed.

“Lady Idalia . . . if you’ll pardon us, Lady Tilly,” said the laundress. “The new girl,” she said, wringing her hands.

“Aye? What of her?”

Tilly used the interruption to wander away, as was her custom.

“She broke a paddle. After comin’ back from market without the lye soap I asked her for.”

“Have you spoken to Dawson?”

Though she asked, Idalia already knew the answer. Although the seneschal was officially in charge of the household staff, everyone came to her first. It had been that way for some time, even when Roysa, her older sister, was still in residence. Roysa had since wed a powerful border baron.

“Nay, my lady. Shall I do so?” the older woman asked, blinking. It was an open secret that the laundress was slightly terrified of him.

“I will speak to the girl. But,” Idalia warned, “you will need to practice patience as well. She is still young.”