Chapter 18

Apolline smiled as she watched Sidonie stare at the basket of mushrooms, a small crease forming in the centre of her brow. She had spent the morning hunting in and around the hermitage for the mushrooms. Some had been in plain sight, others hidden at the moss-covered bases of beech trees or in the spaces between rocks. When Sidonie had arrived, they sat together on the ground with the basket between them, while Apolline took them out one at a time and explained how they could best be used.

‘There are so many,’ Sidonie said. ‘How can I distinguish between the edible and the deadly?’

‘It would be a mistake you only make once,’ Apolline offered.

Sidonie gave her an unamused look. ‘This one’ – she picked up a pale-yellow mushroom with white gills and a white stem – ‘looks the same to me as this one.’ In her other hand, she held another pale-yellow mushroom. ‘How can I tell them apart?’

‘Do you see the shape of this second mushroom? See how the stem is broad at the top and gets thinner further down. This is safe to eat. The other mushroom has a flatter top, and the stem stays the same width. This one could kill a man.’

Sidonie compared the two mushrooms. ‘If I think of the deadly mushroom as a man wearing a flat cap then I might remember.’

Apolline laughed. ‘Are men wearing flat caps dangerous?’

Sidonie looked thoughtful for a moment, as if she were remembering something, or someone, before shaking her head. ‘Why do you teach me about mushrooms? I am neither a cook nor a forager. I want to heal.’

‘One day you may need to kill a man. You should know how.’

Sidonie threw the mushrooms back into the basket and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I don’t want to kill anyone.’

‘The need may be greater than the want.’

‘Can we return to healing? What did you give Monsieur Chéreau to ease his pain?’

‘The drops were made from belladonna. It only takes a small amount to ease the pain. Never give more than that. Not unless you want him to never wake. The herbs in the poultice were a blend of yellow sweet clover, valerian and chamomile. Mild, for recovery.’

‘What about syrup of the poppy? Do you use that?’

‘I don’t often come across poppies. If I find them, I use them.’

‘You use the belladonna instead?’

‘That and others.’

‘Show me.’

Apolline led Sidonie to the kitchen where she retrieved a small chest made of smooth, polished dark wood. Her fingers tightened reflexively. It was her greatest treasure. Taking the chest over to the table, she pulled out roots of various colours, bundles of herbs and flowers wrapped in cloth, and even some bottles filled with liquid.

‘What are all of these?’ Sidonie asked.

‘There is the belladonna. Also, hemlock, mandrake and henbane. All of these can ease pain. All of these can kill.’

Sidonie looked at the items laid out before her, a mixture of horror and curiosity playing out over her features. ‘Why do you have so many?’

‘They’re not easy to find. When I find them, I take them. Then I have them if I need them.’

‘Do you use these often?’ Sidonie eyed the twisted mandrake root so like a perversion of the human body.

‘When I must.’

‘To heal or to hurt?’

‘Depends on your point of view,’ Apolline said carefully. ‘Many of these herbs are thought of as poisons. But in small amounts, they can do a lot of good. For the mandrake, the taste is terrible, so you need to hide it. Water is no good. Wine is best.’

Sidonie was a curious one, always asking questions, always wanting to know the why and the how of a thing. Apolline was content just knowing what a thing was, what it could do and where to find it. The rest didn’t matter. But it seemed to matter to Sidonie, so she tried her best to answer the questions. She was so eager to learn, and when she got excited she smiled so wide her eyes would crinkle. That’s when Apolline could see the girl she had known. The little girl who had loved to laugh and play make-believe. But all too soon, the smile would fade. Like someone was telling her that being happy was wrong and she should be proper and not ask questions, to be something she was not, to hide who she truly was – a wild girl with a good heart who wanted to help everyone who crossed her path. That girl was in there, but buried deep, like her memory of the black-haired girl she’d found in the chicken coop in Poligny. Apolline had thought of telling her – had wanted to – but something held her back. A niggling thought that worried at her like a burrowing tick. What if Sidonie blamed her for what had happened to her parents – for bringing trouble to her door? She could bear a lot of things, but losing her friend all over again wasn’t worth risking. She’d let Sidonie come to it in her own time, and until then, she’d enjoy these moments together.

‘Where did you learn all of this? From your maman?’ Sidonie asked.

‘I didn’t know my maman. I’m an orphan. Everything I know I learned from other women, mostly in the Magdalene house.’

She could tell that Sidonie had heard of Magdalene houses, although Apolline would be surprised if she’d ever had cause to enter one.

‘I’m an orphan too,’ Sidonie said.

‘I know.’