The last step was the most difficult to take — it was a chasm I could not yet cross. For the moment, the alehouse remained closed, though the shop still traded.
Failing to recognise the seal, I broke it and, unfurling the parchment, caught my breath when I saw the familiar script. The few harsh lines took only moments to scan.
If only you’d listened to those who knew from the outset how such outrageous plans, such ungodly behaviour would conclude. You have no-one to blame but yourself, Anneke Sheldrake, for the shame and ignominy you’ve brought upon your family. You forget your place in every regard and so God has seen fit to punish you, as you so justly deserve. That He chose to strike one in your care for sins you’ve committed lies upon your conscience alone. I am writing to inform you that from this day forth, you are no longer my cousin, nor of my blood. I formally and irrevocably sever all ties with the Sheldrakes. Any offers made to you in the past are rescinded. You, your brother and your sister must needs fend for yourselves because you will receive nothing more from this quarter. May God see fit to forgive you, because no-one else will.
Sinking onto the chair, I felt Hiske’s accusations leap from the paper, full of invective. They were also the truth. How could anyone forgive me when I couldn’t forgive myself?
Shame and regret swamped me. Tears pricked my eyes. I shut them to prevent them falling, but my thoughts forced them open again. I wanted to be furious with Hiske but she only stated what others were thinking — what I was thinking. I’d no doubt my name, which was already questionable in town, was now a byword. And whose fault was that? Why, yours, Anneke Sheldrake. I’d brought this all on myself.
Only, the twins would now suffer for my schemes; and Will … Will paid the ultimate price. Who else might?
Folding the letter and its bitter contents away, I rose. Moving back to the window, I stared at my small demesne — the Cathaline Alehouse.
Two choices lay before me: I could either forget the alehouse and brewing and throw myself upon Lord Rainford’s mercy, or, with less than a month to acquire the monies to make the lease, reopen and do everything I could to ensure that not only my business survived, but Holcroft House and all who remained here did as well.
Beyond the shop window, a cart rolled past. Two boys ran after it, beating sticks against the sides, dogs cavorting at their heels. Some pedlars laden with pots, sacks flung over their shoulders, headed in the direction of the square. A grey palfrey cantered along the street, its hooves flinging up mud, earning the rider a scolding from an old woman with a child who tried unsuccessfully to avoid the muck. A couple of dark-robed monks strode by, looking up at the last minute to peer into the windows. I was unable to make out their features, their cowls were so deep, but felt the intensity of their stare … as if they knew I was looking out upon them …
I made up my mind.
If I didn’t continue with the alehouse then Will’s death would have been for nothing. It would mean that whoever killed him had taken more victims; it would mean they’d also murdered my ambitions. If I conceded Hiske was right, that I should have listened to her, to Tobias and those who disapproved of my attempts at independence, that I should have heeded the abbot’s warnings, sold my recipes to Brother Osbert and washed my hands of brewing, then it wasn’t just Will’s life that would be meaningless, but mine, the twins’ and the lives of everyone who supported me. I would be like the oracle who spurned Apollo and broke her promise, locked in an eternity of regret and maybes, ageing into an already withered future.
‘Goddamn it, Hiske Makejoy.’ I gave a bark of laughter at the irony of her new name and screwed the letter into a ball. ‘You’ve unwittingly earned my gratitude. Without this,’ I threw it into the cold grate, ‘I would have given up, surrendered to fate. No more. I’ll take it into my own hands, thank you.’
If no-one would forgive me, then I had nothing to lose.
We reopened the alehouse, but it was subdued. Though there was plenty of ale to sell and barrels of beer, custom was slow, patrons few and coins sparse. As each day passed with only a handful of pennies and groats trickling in, I grew increasingly anxious. Lord Rainford’s monies were due in less than a month.
With just over a week to go to till Easter, I pressed Master Proudfellow for any reasons (apart from the obvious) as to why folk were avoiding us. Standing outside the brewhouse, we watched Westel and Kip roll a barrel of ale out to Master Proudfellow’s cart. I was grateful for his continued support at least.
Reluctant to answer at first, Master Proudfellow finally confessed. ‘There be two reasons as far as I can tell, Mistress Sheldrake.’ He waited till the men were out of earshot. Taking his cap off, he scratched his tufted head, squinting in the spring sunshine. It was a glorious day, the first really sunny one we’d had in weeks. Above us, the sky was a soft blue, the clouds mere wisps that garlanded the endless dome. Our chickens roosted beneath the shade of the old wych-elm, the sun, as it broke through the foliage, dappling their feathers. The pigs quietly foraged in the spent mash. Birds wheeled above us and bees hummed among the flowerbeds. With all the colour and new life around, I felt better equipped to handle unpleasant news, though Master Proudfellow clearly didn’t want to be the one to deliver it. Looking around, he drank in our surroundings, as if to draw strength from their beauty.
‘First, Will’s death, may God assoil him,’ he crossed himself and I followed suit, ‘it scared many. His killer or killers not being caught simply adds to the misfortune that some say haunts the place.’ He waved his cap in circles.
‘The alehouse?’
‘Nay, Mistress Sheldrake.’ He twisted his cap into a knot. ‘I mean yourself.’ He stared meaningfully. ‘They swear that fortune is not your friend. They believe God has abandoned you.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s not fair, I know, but then, these things aren’t, are they? Feelings, I mean? We’re a superstitious lot at the best of times and, once the rumour starts that God’s forsaken you, well, even those who don’t normally abide by such nonsense start to consider mayhap they should as well.’
I took a deep breath. Though not surprised, his words were hard to hear. ‘And what’s the other reason? You said there were two.’
‘Eh? Oh. Aye, well … while I don’t like to speak ill of any of your family, there be one not helping matters.’
I cocked my head. ‘And who might that be, Master Proudfellow?’ The way I asked indicated I knew already.
‘Aye, it be Mistress Makejoy. She’s let it be known that she’s cut all ties with you —’
‘Cut? She’s denied me, Master Proudfellow, just as Peter denied the good Lord. So, don’t concern yourself, you’re not speaking ill of anyone related to me.’
Master Proudfellow examined the toe of his boot. ‘If that’s the way the wind blows …’ He paused. ‘She’s also said —’ He pulled his top lip a couple of times.
‘What? I would rather know than remain in ignorance. After all, if I’m to run a business, I need to know what my customers think or what they’re being told to.’
‘Forgive me for repeating this, but she says you’re a stain that will spread and mark any who come into contact with you. That your ale and that sour drink (her words, Mistress Sheldrake, not mine, I’ve grown quite partial to the beer) you make is contaminated. She tells everyone who will listen and, in Elmham Lenn, there’re many.’
We fell into silence, the only sound the rumble of the wood on gravel and the grunts of the men as they hefted the barrel into the cart. A lone bird circled high above.
‘There, I told you. I feel no better for having done so.’ He replaced his cap, giving it a tug for good measure. ‘You’re not to listen to that rubbish, Mistress Sheldrake. That Mistress Makejoy’s poison — one draught and all who taste it will suffer blight.’ With a huff of indignation, Master Proudfellow folded his arms.
I began to laugh.
‘Begging your pardon, mistress, but I hardly see the funny side.’
�
��Don’t you? Oh, Master Proudfellow, according to the town, I’m a stain and to hear you tell, my cousin is poison. Seems to me that between us, we’re an affliction worse than the pestilence.’
Master Proudfellow’s lips twitched, then he too began to chuckle. ‘I doubt she’d see it like that. But I know which disease I’d rather catch.’ We both laughed then and I rested a hand briefly on his forearm, grateful for his frankness. No matter how much I pressed Saskia and Adam whenever they returned from town, they wouldn’t tell me what was being said. When Louisa stopped taking the children to see the troupes of actors passing through on their way up the coast for Eastertide, I knew things were worse than I’d feared. Hiske and her twisted tongue I could live with — I was accustomed to her ways — but not her influence. As for superstition, I could hardly blame folk for feeling that way. Even before Father died, ill-fortune dogged our family — it wasn’t until he’d passed that I understood how much.
With a sigh, I pocketed the pennies Master Proudfellow paid and, saying my farewells, set Westel to stirring the mash. I went to the office to deposit the coin in the tin and, for the umpteenth time that week, add up the ledgers.
Not even Good Friday and Easter Sunday broke what had become a daily habit: tallying up the coin, adding up the columns, hoping and praying for an increase in sales that would allay my growing fear. The figures barely changed from day to day, but so long as there was something to place into the credit column, I could persuade myself that our goal of paying the lease was coming closer, even as I knew the only person I was fooling was myself.
Just before sext on Easter Monday, I left Westel tending the boiling wort and went to the house. Saskia met me at the door to the kitchen.
‘There’s a gentleman to see you.’
‘Who?’ I wasn’t expecting anyone.
‘Sir Rainford.’
‘Sir Rainford?’ My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ I quickly undid my apron and threw it on the bench. ‘Does he have refreshment? Where is he?’
‘Adam is with him and ja, he and his squire have drinks.’
Bending in front of a large upturned pot, I tried to see my reflection, straighten my kerchief, tidy my hair. My heart was beating and my throat dry. It took a moment to register Saskia’s words. ‘His squire? Is Tobias here too?’ I swung around.
‘Mistress Anneke,’ said Saskia, shooing Blanche and Iris who, seeing me so flustered had paused in their tasks. ‘Anneke,’ she lay her fingers against my wrist, ‘it’s not Sir Leander Rainford who’s here. It’s the other one.’
‘The other?’ I stared at her. ‘Who?’
‘The elder brother, I believe, Sir Symond. He says he’s here on behalf of his father. Mistress,’ she lowered her voice, ‘he told Adam he’s here to collect the lease monies. That it’s time to honour the contract.’
I stared at her in horror. ‘Today? But he’s at least a week early.’
Saskia bit her lip.
The blood fled from my face. ‘If that’s the case,’ I said, my shoulders slumping, ‘we’re doomed.’
TWENTY-NINE
HOLCROFT HOUSE
Easter Monday, eight days before Hocktide
The year of Our Lord 1406 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV
Erasing the despair from my face, I took a deep breath and entered the office. A tall man with dark hair, grey eyes and a grossly misshapen nose rose languorously out of my father’s chair. Across his hips he wore a thick belt, and from it hung a huge scabbard from which an ornate and bejewelled hilt protruded. The size and evident seriousness of the weapon was at odds with the fashionable, almost frivolous, garments he wore. I noted the open ledger before him, the half-drunk mazer of ale. This man had made himself comfortable indeed.
In the corner stood another well-dressed, younger man.
‘Sir Symond?’ I asked, and bobbed a curtsey. ‘My lord, you are very welcome.’
‘Indeed,’ said Sir Symond, giving me a small bow and looking me up and down in the invasive manner particular to his family. ‘Sir Symond Rainford. This is my squire, Michael de Montefort.’ I nodded to Master de Montefort, who barely acknowledged me, a look of disdain on his features. Shocked at such contempt from someone who was, at the least, my social equal, I turned back to Sir Symond. ‘And you must be Anneke Sheldrake.’
‘My lord.’ I lowered my head. I gestured to Adam who stood to one side. ‘You’ve met Adam Barfoot, my steward.’
‘I have.’
Before I could invite him, Sir Symond sat back down. I perched on the stool opposite, rearranging my tunic to cover my unease. Behind me, Adam and Master Michael stood at either end of the cold hearth. ‘How can I help you?’ I asked.
‘Come, come. I think you know why I’m here, Mistress Sheldrake.’ Tipping his head to one side, he smiled, but it never reached his eyes.
‘Even so, to avoid confusion, I’d be very grateful if you would inform me, my lord.’
Sir Symond appraised me as I imagined he would a horse or fatted calf. I wanted to rub my arms, my neck, but I forced my hands quiescent in my lap.
‘Very well. I’m here on my father’s behalf to collect the annual dues for Holcroft House and lands. It’s my understanding that you,’ he dwelled upon my décolletage which I resisted covering, ‘and my father have a contract which expires at Hocktide.’
I willed him to look upon my face. When he did, I answered. ‘This is true, my lord. However, if I may be so bold, you’re a few days early. I assumed that collection would not take place until the day itself and so have not prepared my dues.’ It was hard to keep the remonstration from my tone. ‘I was expecting to make payment on Hocktide. By my calculation, I still have eight more days.’
‘You’re mistaken, Mistress Sheldrake.’
‘I do not think so, my lord. Your father —’
‘Entrusted me to examine your books and collect all monies owing and that’s what I’m here to do. You have too much to say for yourself, Mistress Sheldrake. He warned me as much.’ He struck the desk with the flat of his hand, the noise loud and violent in the small space. I almost leapt off my seat. A vein in Sir Symond’s temple began to throb. It was then I noticed the scar that ran down the side of his face and across the upper part of his cheek. It was white and jagged, pulling the flesh into a ravine. I wondered if he’d received it in battle or from being struck across the face for want of manners. Certainly, he didn’t possess the charm of his younger brother or, for that matter, the polish of his father. What he did possess was an awareness of his social status and an ability to make me acutely aware of where I stood.
‘Good,’ he said, his lips, which were also ravaged by a deep split, curving into what might have passed for a smile. ‘Now that you’re listening, I will say this one more time only: I’m here to collect the rent.’
‘My lord,’ Adam stepped from the hearth.
‘Was I addressing you?’ snapped Sir Symond.
‘Why, no, but my lord, I —’
‘Will mind your place.’ Sir Symond glowered at Adam. ‘As much as it disturbs me to do business with a woman, I’ll not discuss these matters with a servant.’
I inhaled sharply. Anger flooded every part of my body and it took all my control not to order this man from the room. I needed his cooperation, not his irritation. I could ill afford to give offence.
Half-twisting in my chair, I gave Adam a reassuring smile, even as I burned. ‘It’s all right, Adam, thank you. I’m sure Sir Symond and I can settle this.’
‘There’s nothing to settle,’ he drawled the last word and stood. ‘Michael, take Master Barfoot and conduct an inspection of the premises, would you? Father wants a report on the condition of the house.’ The lie was as evident as his nose, but Sir Symond didn’t care.
Adam hesitated. Propriety demanded he didn’t leave me unchaperoned. Sir Symond clearly didn’t see it as a problem. To him, I was a mere tenant and due no such courtesy.
With a slight brush against my sho
ulder, which Sir Symond observed with an arch of his brow, Adam ushered Michael de Montefort from the office.
Waiting till his squire closed the door behind him, Sir Symond sank back into the chair and drank. ‘Where were we?’ He smacked his lips together. ‘This is uncommonly good,’ he muttered. ‘Oh, aye, the lease.’
Taking my time, I rose from my seat and moved to the hearth. I wanted distance between us. ‘The facts are, my lord, I cannot pay the lease in full today. I’m short by a small amount. However, I hope that by Hocktide I’ll have the requisite monies.’
Putting down the mazer, Sir Symond rested his elbows on the table and pressed his palms together in an attitude of prayer. He possessed long, thick fingers with calluses across the palm — the hands of someone used to wielding a sword. Famous for his bravery across Elmham Lenn and beyond — how he’d ridden at the king’s side at Shrewsbury, masqueraded as our monarch to confuse the enemy, single-handedly saving him when an arrow struck him in the face — stories of how Sir Symond earned his knighthood were well known. It was rumoured he was about to be endowed with a greater honour as well, reward for his courage against the Welsh and his loyalty to the House of Lancaster. This was a man accustomed to victory.
I swallowed, feigning indifference to his bold gaze.
‘Despite what Father and Leander told me,’ his voice was quiet, amused, ‘you’re not what I expected.’
Leander had spoken of me to his brother? I knotted my fingers together. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint.’
‘Disappoint?’ Pushing back his chair, he stood and came around to the other side of the desk, the mazer small in his huge hand. ‘On the contrary, that’s not the word I’d have used. You’re nothing like your mother, not really …’
He knew my mother? His eyes were the colour of the sea as it lapped the ships in port. I lowered mine. The conversation was heading down a dangerous path.
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