The Queene's Cure by Karen Harper

him, the sot.
    “All right,” Meg told Bett, as she laid out the first linen piece on the counter and smoothed it open, “put a spoonful of that here, and I'll show you how to spread and roll them. Then when the customer steams them, the grace plaster is moist again to cure anything from the ague to chest cough.”
    Bett Cotter, nee Sharpe, was of slender but sturdy frame, with flyaway blond hair and pale eyes. Whenever her temper flared, like at Nick just now, the jagged, puckered scar on her chin reddened, and the bigger scar on her thumb where she'd had her “T” brand for thief burned off by a surgeon several years ago was alwayshurting her. Bett indeed might just be the first recipient of Dr. Clerewell's Venus Moon mixture.
    Bett laid a good dollop of the thick medicinal plaster on the linen, and Meg adroitly spread it over and through, however much mess it made on the counter. “You've got to work quick with this or it hardens fast,” she explained, “and then you have to heat it again.”
    “Mm,” Bett said, as she hung over Meg's shoulder, then jumped back to stirring. “Gil signaled something about wanting to learn to paint on plaster, but it couldn't have been this mushy kind. He was a bit secretive about making some gift for Her Grace.”
    At that scrap of knowledge, Meg forced herself to roll up the linen carefully, then spread out another. She tried not to cross-question Bett overmuch about the queen because she didn't want her to suspect how sad—and furi-ous—she was about being dismissed.
    “Her Grace hasn't been sick or out of sorts, has she?” she asked, keeping her voice calm. “Here, you do this next one, but get that pot off the flame first.”
    As Bett plopped another glob of plaster between Meg's caked hands, a shadow filled the doorway. Meg jerked so hard when she saw who it was that she ruffled the linen into sharp folds. Why in heaven's name did she always have to look out of sorts the rare times Ned Topside came calling? At least Ben wasn't here, but who knew when he'd be back?
    “Good day to you, Master Topside,” Bett sang out asshe took the mixture off the small cauldron fire and plunged her hands in the mess Meg had made.
    Meg tried to scrape off what she could and plunged her hands into the bucket of water, hoping to wash off the rest. Working with plasters always dried her hands. She thought longingly of Dr. Clerewell's soft skin, but then Ned never so much as took her hand.
    “Ned, how are you—and everyone?” she inquired, hoping that sounded nonchalant as she rolled her sleeves back down in place.
    “I'd like to talk with you privily,” he said only and didn't smile.
    “I guess I don't mind,” she replied, hoping he wouldn't note her bad case of trembling. She dried her hands on her apron and walked as slowly as she could to the door. Damn the rogue. She'd never yet seen a man with such a fine turn of leg, ruggedly handsome face, and clever mouth to boot, and he knew it.
    “Gracious, it's gone foggy out,” Meg said, peering past him into the street. Weather was always a safe topic.
    “Take a little walk with me, then, to cool off.”
    “Cool off?” she challenged.
    “You were working hard in there, weren't you? I thought I saw steam coming from the counter.”
    She breathed a bit easier. Always fond of wordplay, he could easily have meant that she was angry with the queen or him, or that he made her go hot as a brass kettle when he looked assessingly at her like that. “I could use abit of air,” she said, grateful to get away from the shop in case Ben came back. Bett knew not to squeal about her being with Ned.
    They strolled down the Strand toward the palace, past Ned's horse a hired neighbor boy was holding. “How is she then?” Meg blurted, unable to hold back.
    “Her Grace?” the jolthead asked, knowing full well that's who she meant. “Better now that Kat's cured, but busy as you know, going hither and yon to keep folks' spirits up and keep a sharp