The Freemason's Daughter

by Shelley Sackier

  The room was strewn with dark wooden tables and chairs, its patrons scattered about. Some were in animated discussion. Others participated in a spirited game of dice in the corner, and it appeared that one or two individuals were already half in their cups.

  A dowdy barmaid cleaned the empty tables, and a boy in a food-stained jerkin shuffled in from another room toward the back, his arm stacked from wrist to shoulder with plates of steaming fare. A short man with a generous girth came from behind the wooden bar to greet them, his eyes shining as he neared Jenna.

  “Rather captivating eyes and a fair complexion,” The chubby man looked Jenna up and down. “A reasonably flattering figure . . . and that hair,” he continued, peering closer to her. “I bet she’s a wildcat, eh?”

  Jenna turned to Daniel and whispered heatedly, “Am I for sale? Do you think he wants to see my hooves?” She lifted the hem of her skirt an inch or two in demonstration.

  The man had heard and bellowed with laughter, his red face wheezing. “Oh, Daniel, lad, are you in for it!”

  Daniel leaned in close to Jenna and smiling, said, “Play nice.”

  She narrowed her eyes but bit her tongue, and turned as ladylike as possible to the innkeeper, a demure smile on her lips.

  “You’ll have to forgive my young wife, Thomas. It’s been a most taxing journey, and we are both weary.” Daniel took Jenna’s hand and led her to a chair to sit down.

  Thomas followed after and said, “I never thought you’d be one to choose the settling-down kind of life. Got tired of all the women, did you? Or are you still hiding them in each port?” His belly rollicked with laughter again, and Jenna had to use every ounce of restraint not to rise up and thump his shiny, balding head.

  Daniel nodded toward the kitchen. “It smells as if Margaret has been busy. The scent of her food comes clear into the street.”

  “And I carry it to bed each night. It clings to every ounce of me.” He rolled his eyes.

  Jenna gripped the sides of her chair. After silently pointing out that Thomas allowed himself more ounces than necessary and could easily reduce his complaint, she grew determined to find another means of distraction. Daniel walked Thomas to the bar, probably with the aim to get them food, so Jenna turned to watch the game of dice, which grew in fevered pitch.

  The men crowded around the table, standing and leaning in above those who had ringside seats. One of the players caught Jenna’s eye as he was about to take his turn rolling and pushed his chair back from the table. “You there,” he called thickly. “Come here, lass. Kiss my dice before I roll them. For good luck.”

  His speech was troubled by copious amounts of booze, and the thought of having to kiss anything belonging to the man made a shiver run through Jenna’s bones. She turned her head, pretended not to hear.

  “Hey, you . . . Red,” the dice man called louder, and stood. “Bring yourself round and I’ll buy you a drink,” he slurred. “I need the favor of a woman to get me fortune back. And I bet you’ve given a fortune worth of favors away to whoever asks for it.” The man slammed a hand down on the table and howled at his own rude behavior, as did his intoxicated cohorts.

  Words rose in her throat. Jenna stood from the table and pushed her chair back. She took three steps toward the group of men, prepared to give them an earful, when she felt two hands encircle her waist.

  “I am afraid you will have to wait for another. This lady’s favor has been given to me, and I am not a generous enough man to share.” Daniel made a courteous bow in the direction of the men. Then he spun about and thrust Jenna under a table, turning back just as the man’s fist made contact with Daniel’s jaw.

  Thomas vaulted from behind the bar and bellowed at the troublemaker. He settled the room and Daniel whisked Jenna toward a table close to the kitchen door. He rubbed at his jaw. “Have you never encountered men who have lost their sense to drink before? Do you not have the good judgment to stay away from such a scene?”

  Jenna bristled at the criticism, but noted Daniel’s split lip with a hint of guilt.

  She’d grown up in a house full of men and their occasional rowdy manners. Of course, there had been celebrations where her family had passed around their flasks, the men becoming flush-faced and more than agreeable, but never had they acted in the way of that man.

  Daniel leaned across the table. “It is like sending a sheep into a pen with a pack of wolves. You must secure yourself from every angle and size up danger quickly. Trust no one.”

  Thomas interrupted their conversation with two plates of steaming food, held in each hand with the edge of his bar cloth. “Well, it may not be a wedding feast, but it’ll take the chill out of your bones.” He set the plates in front of them, grabbed two glasses and an emerald-green bottle from the bar’s shelf and placed them between the plates. He thumped a hand on Daniel’s back. “A wedding present—my finest brandy. Now how long have you been wed? A day? A week? The blush of marriage is ripe on her cheeks yet,” he said, waving a hand toward Jenna.

  “About a week,” Daniel said, wincing as he took a swallow of what Thomas generously poured.

  Thomas nodded. “I figured as much. Well, we’ll have you fed and upstairs in no time, my friend,” he said, pounding Daniel on the back again.

  Jenna nearly choked on her food, and brought the edge of her cloak to her mouth to stifle her mortification.

  “It must be a good match, Daniel; your lass is trying to hasten the meal as much as you.” Thomas looked at her slyly and winked a puffy eyelid in her direction as he left.

  Jenna’s face must have been like young Tavish’s, scrubbed raw and red, clean from the day’s work. “Why couldn’t I have been your sister or your cousin?”

  Daniel gave her an incredulous look.

  “All right, then, you could have been my servant,” she countered.

  “Your clothes are not fine enough and this man is already aware of what I do.”

  “I’m hardly old enough.”

  Daniel met her gaze, holding it. “You are more than old enough.”

  She fumbled for a reply, but found nothing. Instead, she worked to control the flush of warmth that spread up her neck and settled on her face. She was immediately reminded of what it felt like when Daniel’s hands had wreathed her waist. The words of my young wife echoed in her head, and she hastily picked up her spoon so she’d have something to do.

  The food was delicious and hot. Of that, Thomas spoke the truth. His wife had made a mouthwatering lamb casserole, filled with onions, raisins, and prunes, and simmered them together in strong dark ale. The chunks of lamb and fruits were made even more delectable by the abundant herbs she had mixed into the stew. The pungent scents of rosemary, thyme, and clove reached Jenna’s sensitive nose. She closed her eyes and took the next bite. She appreciated Margaret’s efforts, even if they were wasted on her rude husband.

  When she reopened them, she found Daniel staring at her, humor apparent on his face. He leaned forward and said,

  “At meat her manners were well taught withal;

  No morsel from her lips did she let fall,

  Nor dipped her fingers in the sauce too deep;

  But she could carry a morsel up and keep

  The smallest drop from falling on her breast . . .

  And she would wipe her upper lip so clean

  That not a trace of grease was to be seen

  Upon the cup when she had drunk; to eat,

  She reached a hand sedately for the meat.”

  He fell back against his chair.

  “Well, I see your youth was not entirely wasted on learning the ins and outs of criminal conduct, but what I’m to make of your excerpt from Chaucer, I’m not sure. Are you commenting on my fine table manners or the fact that I’m so famished I refuse to waste one scrap of food?” Jenna asked, sipping from the glass of brandy, which sent circles of warmth spiraling through her.

  “Perhaps I am only suggesting you are as chaste as a nun,” he said playfully, taking up hi
s own drink.

  When Jenna had cleaned her plate she lifted her cup. Daniel continued to speak, but his words became lost to her, as she now found herself staring at his lips as he spoke. They were a sculptor’s muse, an exquisite shape, and she wished to reach out to touch them. The room had grown heavy with the modulating sound of men reaching the pinnacle of their evening’s entertainment. Raucous laughter, the occasional lewd jeer at the poor barmaid as she dodged an overfriendly hand, and calls for another round circled her head.

  When at last Jenna stood from her chair, she found her legs had trouble remembering how to walk. She wobbled and clutched the side of the table, then took a faltering step.

  Daniel caught her arm to steady her toward the stairs. “Perhaps it is time to retire?”

  She looked up at him, his eyes glittering, and felt the rest of the world around her grow spellbound and out of focus. “Do you know that I have never been kissed?” She put a hand on his chest and leaned toward him, but he took hold of her shoulders and spun her to face the stairs.

  “No,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

  Indignant heat flushed her face, and she wrestled her arm free from his grasp. He struggled to maintain his hold on her, but she twisted around to face him and grabbed him with both hands. Forcing his head down to hers, she kissed him soundly amid the garbled noises in the room. He tasted of brandy and faintly of blood, as well.

  Her knees, already in a weakened state, defied her as they buckled under the pressure of trying to stand. Daniel grabbed her by the waist to keep her steady, and she clutched at him, trying to right herself. When at last she felt the security of her feet, she pushed him back and straightened her skirt. With shoulders squared, she moved cautiously toward the stairs and refused to look behind her.

  “Chaste as a nun,” she muttered, ascending the steps. “Not anymore.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  JENNA PUT HER HEAD INTO HER HANDS AND GROANED. Her fingers waded through the clusters of knotted hair. One strand after another snapped free from her scalp as she created a small red nest, like a bird depluming. She peeked at the bed out of the corner of one puffy eye. The events of last night were foggy, but Jenna could easily recall how uncomfortable she’d been, sleeping in a foreign place with none of her family to hand. And she could hardly refer to what she’d done last night as sleeping. Rolling about on the mattress was more like it.

  Her mind, dizzy and distorted, had startled with every sound of boots above her, or creak of floorboard outside the room. She’d reprimanded herself for being so jittery and wrestled with the true reason she could not close her eyes.

  Daniel. Why had she kissed him? She asked the question a thousand times. The first kiss she would ever give—or receive—an event she had built in her mind as an occasion that should matter, had been handled as carelessly as the dice the drunken men tossed through their hands. Used to make a point and prove her fortitude, what she had actually demonstrated was how she couldn’t hold her liquor, and that Daniel was right. She did ask for trouble. But trouble, as it turned out, had been soft and warm—and magnetic.

  And now she stared at the door, willing him to be on the other side, to knock and tell her it was time to go. There was nothing but silence. Except for the throbbing echoes in her head. She wondered if he was angry.

  He’d been silent coming up the stairs behind her last night, and when they’d reached the second floor he’d simply said, “Left. To the end of the hall.”

  She’d crept down the corridor, and kept her hand on the dusty wainscoting to aid her balance until she’d come to their room. She slouched against the doorframe, taking in the cramped space with its one curtained window. Two lit candles perched on a spindly-legged table near the window and bathed the room in a muted glow. Daniel retrieved an iron key from the coin purse at his belt and held it out to Jenna. She looked at it stupidly and he grabbed her hand, pressed it into her palm.

  “I will not leave until I hear the lock engage. Go to sleep and I will wake you tomorrow.”

  He nudged her inside and began to close the door. She snapped with alertness, grabbing the handle. “What of the men downstairs? Need I be worried?” She searched Daniel’s face.

  His eyes narrowed darkly. “I assure you, all who are downstairs assume you are unavailable.” He pulled the door closed and sighed audibly as she fumbled with the key. When the lock clicked into place, he tried the door, and presumably satisfied with its resistance, walked away down the hall.

  She refused to think back on his words. She had behaved brazenly last night, and deserved everything that followed his leaving.

  She had moved to the bed and eased herself on her back. The room was spinning. This was not nearly as fun as it sounded. It reminded her of the days when she would do it for entertainment, to whirl in a circle and flare her skirts only to collapse onto the ground and clutch at tufts of grass so she wouldn’t fall off the earth. But the spinning always ceased within a few moments, and she could continue the game, only if she wanted. This rotating room, however, was intent to maintain its course, and even closing her eyes would not stop the dizzying effect.

  She leapt suddenly from the bed, located the chamber pot, and after a few horrific moments, let her head rest on the cool, plastered wall, plagued with bitter thoughts of a good meal wasted. Apparently, sherry, ale, and brandy did not make for good bedfellows.

  Her head rose at the soft tapping on the door. Daniel appeared surprised to find her ready when she opened it. She moved past him without a greeting. “Jenna. Where are you going?”

  “To the market, of course.” She stopped in the hall but did not turn around.

  “The stalls do not open for another half hour. We shall breakfast first,” he said quietly.

  “I’m not hungry, thank you,” she said, ignoring the lurch of her stomach.

  “Perhaps you do not like the food here. Did it not sit well with you?”

  She turned to face him and saw his eyes, alight with mischief. “Of course I’ll have breakfast. I loved Margaret’s cooking.” She forced a smile and turned to the stairs.

  The room where they’d eaten last night was almost empty of customers, but it irrefutably held the scent of those who’d occupied it hours earlier. The smell of ale and wood smoke, unwashed males, and grease filled the air. Jenna tried to breathe as little as possible until her nose could adjust to the unwelcoming assault, but she was not about to admit to Daniel she was suffering with a delicate condition. In that he would, no doubt, take great delight.

  He pulled out a chair for her to sit in and made his way to the kitchen. A moment later he came back with a smile on his lips. “Margaret is making us one of my favorite dishes. She always starts it the night before so I can have it for breakfast before I go. Muy delicioso!” He rubbed his palms together and sat across from Jenna.

  The plump, red-faced woman came out of the kitchen with two steaming bowls in her hands. “Here you are, love. I’ve made it just as you like. Olios stew.” She put the dishes in front of them, beaming.

  Jenna looked at the muddy liquid and asked in a wretched voice, “What is it?”

  Margaret laughed and put her hands on the broad hips that supported her frame. “Well, what isn’t it, is more like it. Let’s see, there’s mutton and fowl, pork and beef and veal, all slathered in a broth made from every leftover vegetable I’d had in back. Then, Daniel always likes for me to top it off with a couple of eggs, not quite cooked through. I guess it thickens it a bit.”

  This was more than Jenna’s stomach could handle. She pushed back from the table and made a mad dash for the door.

  Twenty minutes later, Daniel found her sitting by the stable’s entrance, pale-faced and eyes closed. He made a clucking sound, emphasizing his disapproval, “I do not understand it. Most people love Margaret’s cooking.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him dully. “Isn’t all of France waiting for you?”

  He laughed and offered his hand to help her up. “Come on
. Let us go to the market.”

  As they drew near the center of town, Jenna heard the bell tower pealing its announcement of the start of trade. The town’s crier spread news to the public and the reek of animals began to mingle with the smells of cooking sausages, dried hops, and sour pickles. Unfortunately, they couldn’t compete with the squalid stench of unwashed bodies.

  Jenna’s eyes swarmed with the sights. Preston was a variable feast of animation, and made Hawkshead’s market seem pitiful and spare. The minstrels and tumblers, quack doctors and fortune-tellers all laced themselves through the motley arrangement of livestock and booths. The stalls were set up by vendors who were experts at enticing buyers to release their coins. They passed a street seller with earthenware jugs of fresh milk, and another advertising newly baked pies stuffed with meat and dried fruits of apple and pear. She watched a merchant selling newspapers, rags, wool fleeces, and doormats. Whatever odds and ends his customers needed he pulled from a remote corner of his cart.

  Servants, sent out by their employers to buy kitchen goods, loitered about the tinkers selling cookware. Couples ambled, their heads bent over tables with bits of ribbon and jewelry. The sounds of a pennywhistle slithered in between those of cattle bells and children’s squeals.

  During the next hour and a half, whatever they took off Henry’s back to sell was soon replaced by other goods they purchased. It was a fair outcome, and although it wasn’t everything they requested, whatever was missing would be bought later with the weighty pouch of coins Jenna would be bringing back. Her father would, undoubtedly, be pleased.

  Last, they needed to meet the printer, William Way, and procure the other list. Then, finally, she could make her way home. Daniel noted the address and Jenna followed behind as he wound his way through the tangle of back streets. Although it was early, the paths were clogged with people who jostled about on their way to or from the market. They had to be careful with the horses, especially Henry, because he wasn’t used to children darting in front and underfoot. It unsettled him, and Jenna did her best to keep him from becoming too skittish to control.