“No. Thank you. I’m not hungry.” Sybil drank thirstily, and set the mug down for Janna to refill it.
“Now that you’ve had time to think about it, can you remember anything about the attack?” Janna was sorry to push her, but knew that they’d all be safer if the culprit could be identified. “Did you see anything? Hear anything? Smell anything?” She remembered, with a shudder, the acrid odor of Mus as he’d held her tight.
Sybil closed her eyes. When she didn’t speak, Janna wondered if she’d gone back to sleep. But it seemed she was just thinking, for finally she said, “I heard a sound. Something familiar, something I’ve heard before. But I can’t remember what it was!” She clicked her tongue in exasperation.
“Don’t worry about it,” Janna encouraged. “It’ll come back to you.” She waited a moment. “Anything else?”
Wearily, Sybil shook her head.
“I’ll visit you later,” Janna promised, and hurried downstairs once more.
As she moved among the customers, several queried when the tavern was going to close. Janna took comfort from the fact that they seemed pleased when she assured them that it wasn’t. It might even have some curiosity value, she thought, if people came to see why the tavern was set to close and stayed to drink ale and order food instead.
Wat was busy clearing dirty mugs and trenchers from the table. She was about to send him back to the brew house to refill the empty pitchers with ale when she heard a query about the tavern’s future.
She stayed silent, wanting to hear Wat’s reply, for it was important that he reassure the customers that it was business as usual. The customer drained his mug and set it down with a bang, licking his lips to taste any stray drops. Janna smiled to herself, pleased that her brew was going down so well. That, more than anything, should entice customers back to the Bell and Bush. She noticed the other patrons sitting at the man’s table had ceased their chatter. They too were anxious to find out the fate of the tavern.
“Who’s to say how much longer we can keep open?” Wat hadn’t seen Janna. She was about to intervene, to set the customer straight, but Wat leaned closer, obviously about to impart something important. Intrigued, Janna quietly shuffled closer. “Mistress Sybil’s been attacked. She’s half-dead now and a-lyin’ upstairs.” He pointed a dirty finger in the direction of Sybil’s bedchamber.
Muttering curses under her breath, for she’d expressly instructed Ossie, Elfric and Wat to say nothing of the attack on Sybil, Janna swept forward. “Go and refill the pitchers, Wat,” she said sweetly, and grabbed the half-full jug he was carrying. “Pay no attention to the scullion,” she told them as she busily refilled the customers’ mugs. “He knows nothing about anything. The taverner is indisposed, that’s all, and this tavern will stay open as long as…as long as anyone has a thirst to quench!” She smiled around the table before hastening out to berate Wat for ignoring her instructions.
“They was askin’ questions ’bout the taverner. I had to tell them somethin’, didn’t I?” he said, with a sideways glance that seemed to hold a hint of accusation.
“That’s no reason to encourage tittle-tattle! I told you to say nothing of the attack on Sybil, or her injury. Just say she’s not well if anyone asks. And the tavern is not about to close; make sure you tell them that.”
Wat shrugged and bent to loosen the bung on the barrel, making a big show of refilling the jugs.
“It’s your job that will go if the tavern closes!” Janna reminded him. “We’ve worked hard to bring customers back here after the destruction of the town and the hardship that followed it. Do you want to put our future here at risk?”
“It’s not you lyin’ up there with your head bashed in! Why’re you makin’ such a fuss about everythin’?”
Janna was about to shout at him for being so stupid, but checked herself, remembering how he’d come to her defense. But for Wat she might well be dead. And Sybil might have been safe. “Don’t talk about Sybil or what happened, all right?” she said, squashing down her unease. “We want customers to have confidence in us, not think they might do better elsewhere.”
“Mebbe they will.” It was said so low that Janna wasn’t sure at first if she’d heard right.
“What did you say?”
“Hell. Heaven. Paradise. They got a lot more customers than us.” Wat kept his back to Janna so she couldn’t see his face. But his backside, as he stooped low over the barrel, presented a tempting target. She itched to kick it.
“And that’s why we have to work twice as hard as anyone else to tempt customers back to us again,” she snapped. She couldn’t believe Wat could be so stupid that he hadn’t worked it out for himself. Not trusting herself to stay calm enough to deal with him, she snatched up a couple of brimming jugs and rushed back into the tavern.
A party of young men waylaid her. They’d obviously been drinking elsewhere and were somewhat the worse for it. As Janna passed, one of them grabbed hold of her sleeve and swung her around so that the brimming jugs slopped ale onto the rushes. Already annoyed with Wat, Janna had to press her lips together to stop herself from shouting at the oaf. She cast a glance of appeal in Ossie’s direction, but he was busy talking to someone and had his back to her.
“Give us some of your best ale, sweetheart.” The speaker kept a firm hold on her sleeve. He seemed to be the ringleader; he was red-faced and sweating; she could smell his foul breath as he dragged her closer to hear his order. His companions grinned inanely and thumped their fists on the table in encouragement.
Janna pulled away, her expression revealing her distaste. “I am not your sweetheart,” she fumed. “And all our ale is of the best quality. In fact, it’s the finest you’ll get anywhere in Winchestre.” She slapped some mugs onto the table and sloshed ale into them, keen to get away from the drunken sots as quickly as possible. They, however, had other ideas. As she pocketed their coins and began to walk away, the ringleader grabbed her once more.
“Don’t be in such a hurry, sweetheart!” He spun her around and, before she could react, pushed her down onto his lap and put his arms around her. He reeked of ale and an acrid sweat that spoke of much labor out in the fields and not enough washing afterward. Janna felt her stomach churn in disgust.
She stamped down hard on his instep and, as he yowled in protest, she pushed herself free of his embrace and skipped out of his reach. “Behave yourself or drink elsewhere,” she told him, pleased that Ossie had at last become aware of the disturbance and was coming her way. Arms folded across his massive chest, he took up a position next to the table and its occupants, daring them to twitch even a finger out of line.
Janna quickly made her escape. She was anxious to reassure the remaining customers that it was business as usual, to counteract anything Wat might have told them. As she moved between the tables, she became aware that she was being watched. She stopped abruptly. Her father. It took all her courage to approach him, thankful that at least he was alone today. She could hardly bear to look at him as she said, “Please take a seat, my lord, and I’ll bring you some ale.”
“I need to talk to you.” His voice, his whole demeanor, was stiff with disapproval, and Janna knew he’d witnessed her humiliation. While she could try to explain it away, nothing would wipe the scene from his memory.
“I haven’t got time to sit with you. I’m alone here, I have to serve the customers,” she apologized.
“You call yourself my daughter, yet you’re a drudge in a tavern and a magnet for any lackwit who cares to take advantage of you!”
“As I’ve already told you, I need to work to support myself,” Janna snapped. If her father thought her rude, so be it. She didn’t have to justify her actions to someone who, until a day ago, had not even been aware of her existence. She poured him a mug of ale and hurried away. If he had anything to say to her, he could do so after the customers had left and she had time for him.
She kept busy serving food and ale, and hovered over the tavern’s patrons with reass
uring words regarding the tavern’s future, while her father remained, watching and waiting. Although she longed to go to him, hoping that in spite of everything he might welcome her into his family, pride kept her away until, finally, she ran out of chores and even the pretense of something to do. She walked over to his table and sat down, not waiting for an invitation. Although her heart was quaking in her breast, she faced him, assessing his features, so similar to her own. Even his mouth was familiar. Although half hidden by his mustache, she’d seen a feminine version in the empress and in herself, and its masculine counterpart in Robert of Gloucestre. If the earl was to be believed, they had all inherited most of their facial characteristics from the old king, Henry. She wondered if her father had at last recognized the resemblance. If so, then surely he could no longer deny her. She waited quietly for him to speak.
“You took me completely by surprise yesterday,” he began awkwardly. “After all these years of thinking Emanuelle had died, and that an important part of my life was over and forgotten, I hardly knew what to say to you. Or to my son, when I had to give him an explanation of the past. But I do apologize if I offended you.”
Somewhat mollified, Janna made a concession of her own. “I should have waited until you were on your own before speaking, sire,” she admitted. “It was just that I was so…” Her voice faltered. She took a deep breath and plunged on. “I was so delighted to see you, to meet you at last, when I’d almost given up hope. I saw you in here before, you see, but had no chance to speak to you then. I didn’t want to risk losing you again.”
John chewed on his lip. Janna thought he was a man used to action, to making decisions, and that being at a loss was probably a new experience for him. She began to warm to him, to feel again the excitement of meeting him at last. But she should guard her heart, she reminded herself. She would not set herself up for more disappointment. So she stayed silent, giving him the chance to say what was on his mind.
“I’ve spoken to Blanche,” he mumbled. “She denied it at first, but finally she admitted to receiving your letter. She said she thought it was a jest, someone chancing their luck, perhaps. She said she didn’t want to worry me with it, and so she destroyed it.”
“You were away at the time, sire.” Even though she didn’t believe the excuse, Janna was prepared to give Blanche the benefit of the doubt.
John nodded slowly. “Of course, your presence changes everything. Blanche knows that now. And she will not readily forgive me for what I have done.” He sighed, and opened his purse. To Janna’s great delight and relief, he withdrew the brooch and placed it into her upturned palm. At once she pinned it to her tunic, quickly, before he could change his mind.
“I accept you are my daughter, Johanna.” A quick flash of humor momentarily lightened his face. “In fact, I only had to look at you to know that.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, he caught hold of her hand and held it between his own. “I thought I’d lost your mother forever,” he said brokenly. “I can’t – I can’t believe that we made a child together!”
Janna felt helpless in the face of his distress. What did he want from her? What did he expect would happen next? She wished she knew. But her hand lay within her father’s clasp; she felt his warmth. The prickly barrier she’d raised against him began, slowly, to dissolve.
“Tell me about your mother,” John implored, when he’d mastered himself once more. “Tell me about her life, your life together. And tell me also why you were so determined to find me when you had no idea who I was.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Janna saw someone enter the tavern. It took her a moment to refocus, to recognize Hugh, but he noticed her at once and stepped her way. She watched him check as he saw her companion, and read the dawning realization on his face. He turned aside then, and sat down at an empty table. Janna was about to go to him, but saw that Ossie had picked up a jug of ale and was ready to serve Hugh himself. Nodding her thanks to him, she turned back to her father.
The brief pause had given her time to think, time to plan her strategy. She would tell him what he wanted to know, tell him about her life with Eadgyth. But she would not tell him how her mother’s life had ended, not yet, not until she knew that she could trust him with the truth, and with her need to avenge her mother’s death.
John listened intently to her reminiscences, occasionally asking questions or interrupting her with little anecdotes of his own. There seemed no doubt now that he had accepted her story. Janna began to relax, and even laughed occasionally, although the story of the hard life she’d shared with her mother stirred an aching misery that Eadgyth was no longer alive to be reunited with her one true love.
“You say your mother died from drinking tainted wine?” John still looked perplexed.
Janna hesitated. It was not yet time to tell him everything, lest he scoff at her suspicions and immediately ally himself with the lord of the manor. She needed to know that he trusted her judgment enough to act on it. “There was something wrong with the wine. By the time my mother realized, it was too late to counteract the harm,” she explained, giving him something of the truth.
John was silent. Janna read the sadness on his face. But he seemed to accept her explanation, for he didn’t question her any further. Instead, he drained his mug and set it down. “You must leave the tavern,” he said. “Come away with me now, for I won’t have you molested by any more drunken louts. Besides, I want you to meet my wife and my other daughters. They can’t visit you here, it isn’t seemly. Nor do I want them to know how you’ve been living and what you’ve been doing.” He surveyed Janna with an anxious frown. “But I’ll have to find you something else to wear before you can meet them,” he muttered.
Almost speechless with embarrassment and anger, Janna struggled to find her voice. “I can’t come with you, my lord,” she said, as politely as she could. “I’ve already explained to you that I cannot leave the tavern while the taverner is – is indisposed. I’ve helped her build up a good business here, and I would not jeopardize that.”
“But – ”
“Nor will I leave her in the lurch.” Janna spoke over him. “I owe her my loyalty for taking me in when I had nothing, and giving me work, food and somewhere to live.” She was about to add, Which is more than you’ve ever done, but thought better of it.
Offended and displeased, her father glowered at her. “I will not have you disgrace my family by continuing to work here as a tavern drudge,” he said stiffly, and rose to his feet.
Janna stared at him, then jumped up to face him directly. She gripped the table, needing its support in order to defy him.
“I am who I am,” she said.
John glared at her. “And I am who I am,” he said pointedly. “I am also your father, miss. You would do well to obey me.”
“Just as you obeyed your father when you married my mother?”
John winced, but Janna felt little pleasure in wounding him. Nevertheless, she was sure she was doing the right thing in defying him now. “For all these years I have lived without a father,” she said, “and I am who I am because of it. It’s too late now to wish me different.” It was as well for her father to know from the start that she was used to being independent and living as she chose. There could be little future for them together, unless he understood that.
“You have a choice, Johanna,” he said. “You told me you’ve searched a long time to find me, and now you have. But my position comes with certain expectations and obligations. Unless and until you are prepared to accept them, I believe we have nothing further to discuss.” He gave a brief bow and strode out of the tavern, leaving Janna with her mouth agape, stunned as a fish floundering on dry land. She had felt so sure of herself, so justified in her bid to repay Sybil’s kindness. Yet it seemed that in trying to do the right thing by Sybil, she had put her quest for justice in jeopardy and, even worse, her own future along with it.
Chapter 12
As soon as he saw her father leave, Hugh rose and came over to her.
“I’m so pleased that you’ve met up with your father at last, Johanna!” he enthused. “I came to tell you that he was in Winchestre, but it seems you already know that.” As he studied Janna’s expression more closely, his enthusiasm evaporated. “Is something wrong? Did the meeting go badly?”
“Yes.” Janna felt wretched, yet she didn’t know what she could have said or done differently. Surely she was in the right? And that meant her father was wrong. She shook her head, wishing she could make sense of what had just happened. Was this the end of her quest? Would her father decide not to upset the life he had with Blanche for someone so wayward and unyielding?
The answer seemed to be yes, at least while she continued to work in the tavern. But once Sybil was back on her feet, and if she could find someone else to take her place here, what then? Would her father welcome her into his life? Or, by refusing to bow to his will, had she poisoned their relationship forever? Janna’s spirits plummeted further as she realized that, even if she knew how to mend things between them, it was too late. She didn’t know where he resided so she had no way of contacting him.
Her panic began to subside, as she recalled what Hugh had just said. “Do you know where my father is staying, my lord, for I forgot to ask him?”
“He’s staying with his cousin.”
“His cousin?”
“Henry of Blois. The Bishop of Winchestre.”
Janna’s thoughts reeled as she digested the implications of what Hugh had just said. “Does that mean my father supports King Stephen?” she ventured at last.
“Everyone does nowadays. It’s too dangerous to do otherwise.”
Janna acknowledged the truth of Hugh’s words. The tide had turned against the empress; there was no longer any future in supporting her against the king. Janna still held a secret hope that the empress might yet prevail in her bid to win the crown from her cousin, Stephen, but Hugh was right. It was not safe to say these things any longer.
Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 Page 20