The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  Adam flicked his vessel with his fingers. “Well, you’ve not much competition, I’ll say that.” His eyes twinkled.

  My mouth twitched, then I chuckled. “You, Saskia, and Blanche always said that if Mother sold her ale, we’d run the friary and all the other brewsters in town out of business.”

  “Aye, we did and she would have. But Mistress Anneke, that wasn’t said in any seriousness . . .”

  “Are you telling me that Mother’s ale wasn’t any good?”

  “Good?” Adam sighed and licked his lips. “It was the best I’ve ever drunk, lass, and believe me, I’ve had my fair share.” He rested his arms on the table. “It was said because we knew it would never happen. Mistress Sheldrake made the ale for the household and gave the leftovers to Father Clement to distribute as he saw fit. She never sold it. Doing something like that was beneath her . . . It’s beneath you too, Mistress Anneke, if you’ll forgive me for saying.”

  I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to justify, let alone defend, my decision, that Adam would understand, offer to help. How was being a brewer worse than being a servant? How could I even pose that question to Adam without causing offense? My heart plummeted into my boots. I’d managed to persuade Lord Rainford; I hadn’t really expected resistance from Adam. He had to understand, he just had to.

  “This is different, Adam, and you know it. Everything’s changed.” I pushed back my hood and pulled off my scarf. Anything to keep my hands busy. “Mother had a choice, that’s true. But I don’t, not anymore. I have to do something. I have to find a way to earn enough money to keep Holcroft House, to keep the twins and Saskia, Blanche, all of you, all of us, together. If I don’t . . .” I waved my scarf through the thick air, allowing him to imagine the consequences. “I have to try, Adam. I have to. It may have been above Mother to become a brewer, but it’s not above me. I’m no longer worthy of being considered a wife, at least not without a dowry, and frankly I won’t subject the twins, myself, or any of you to Cousin Hiske. My only option is to find work. Good, honest work. Brewing is a respectable trade. Look at Mistress Amwell and Mistress Scot—why, they’re both brewsters and they’re very respected in Elmham Lenn.”

  “They’re also married.”

  “Mistress Scot’s a widow. Master Anthony died last summer—remember? Anyhow,” I said, my tone becoming sharp as I felt Adam withdrawing, “I know it’s something I can do and, with your help, Adam Barfoot, do well.”

  Beneath fine brows Adam watched me retie the scarf. I could see a muscle working in his cheek. He didn’t say a word. In the silence I didn’t realize how much I needed his approval.

  “Prior to Cousin Hiske’s arrival, we always made our own brew. What about all the offers to buy it that we declined? Mother wouldn’t sell. She thought Father wouldn’t endorse such a thing or it would upset the local brewsters or worse, Abbot Hubbard and the friary.” I looked over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “But that’s what I have to do—become a rival. A serious one. I need to attract customers, take them if I must—even from the good monks here.” I leaned across the table, aware the sleeve of my tunic was sitting in something sticky. “Oh, Adam, I’ve thought of very little else since I wrote to Lord Rainford. Everything is in place already. All we have to do is tidy up the old brewhouse and we can start. The mash tun is fine, I’m sure. We already know the water from the Nene is easily accessible and it’s pure. We’ll buy bigger quantities of barley from Master Bondfield and, if he can’t supply enough, we can ask Master Hamerton. If I talk to Perkyn Miller, I’m certain he’ll grind it for us. The quern stones we have are too small for the amount I intend to malt and dry. And, I was thinking, if I speak to Master Proudfellow at the Gull’s Rise, I’m sure he’d purchase some of our ale. He was always urging Mother to sell to him. Once he does, the other innkeepers might also follow . . .”

  Adam did something he’d never done before. As I was speaking, he lifted my hand from the table and took it in both of his. I was so astonished by the gesture, I fell silent. My eyes became glassy, partly from the fire, but also from the emotions I held in check, that I’d stifled for so long. I hadn’t expected to meet resistance. Not from Adam.

  I was a fool.

  “Mistress Anneke,” he said finally, his voice harsh, scratchy. “It breaks my heart to hear you talking like this. To know that you’ve put such thought into what no lady of your station, your birth, should ever have to.” He stared at our conjoined hands. “It would break your mother’s heart as well.”

  My shoulders slumped.

  “You might not believe it, but it would rend your father’s in two.”

  A tear escaped and trickled down my cheek. I let it fall.

  He gripped my hands more tightly. “I understand you’ve no choice but to do something, you’ll get no argument from me in that regard. But it’s the choice you make that will define your life from this point. Do you understand that, child?”

  I flashed him a smile through my tears. “I’m not a child, Adam.”

  “To me you are. Do you understand?” he repeated more firmly. “That if you choose this path, then it will be nigh on impossible to turn back. Once you begin it, you must keep going. Are you prepared to do that, no matter what obstacles you face? Resistance and misunderstandings, even from folk you think good and reasonable?”

  I sniffed. Loudly. “Of course I am.”

  “People will judge you. They’ll make assumptions—about you, the twins—and they won’t be . . . nice.”

  I gave a wistful smile. “I know to what you refer.”

  Adam gave a derisive snort and shook his head. “Only as rumors about others, gossip in the marketplace and halls. You don’t know them as one day you will. It’s like a sackcloth you can never shuck. Once you step in this direction, you can never go back.”

  Taking a deep breath, I released it slowly. “This is the right choice, Adam. I know it.”

  “A brewster, Mistress Anneke?” I almost didn’t hear him, so quiet were his words.

  Dropping my forehead onto our linked hands, I whispered, “I really don’t have a choice.” I dropped a light kiss on his fingers as I pulled away and released him, staring as he sat across the table from me, doubt on his features.

  He leaned back, his arms outstretched, regarding me with a look I couldn’t fathom. Drumming his fingers on the table, he stopped, picked up his beaker and drained it, slamming it back down. “Forget Master Hamerton—he carries too many fines for my liking. Bondfield’s the one we want. As for Perkyn Miller, I’ll speak to him. And, regarding the mash tun, if we can convince Mistress Saskia to release Will from his duties for a couple of days, I’ll see to its repair as well. But you’re right; they’re in good condition considering they haven’t been used in nigh on six years.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll need to look to getting some barrels to transport the water. The skins we once used will never do for the quantities you need. And as for old Proudfellow—let Iris have a word with him. He’s her uncle, did you know? He’s a sweet spot for her—”

  Adam talked for ages, organizing the staff, assigning duties to each member of the household. I sat there like a coney struck by a stone, unable to move, think, or speak. I saw Adam’s mouth moving, but I could no longer hear the words; the wave of happiness that enveloped me prevented it.

  “Are you listening, lass?” asked Adam after a while.

  I blinked. I nodded, my throat tight. My eyes welled and overflowed.

  “Ah, don’t do that,” said Adam, reaching into his jerkin for a kerchief. He dabbed my cheeks until I took the scrap of fabric from him and tended myself. “I thought you’d be happy?”

  I choked back a laugh. “I am, Adam. I am. It’s just that I thought you weren’t going to help, that you didn’t approve.”

  Adam shook his head, a grin splitting his face. “I don’t. But that’s all the more reason to help. To stop you getting into trouble—well, more than I think you will anyhow.”

  Drying my eyes, I smiled at him. “Shal
l we go, then? Tell the others what our new life’s to be?”

  Adam looked into his beaker, pushed it away with a grimace, and rose. “Aye, let’s be on our way.”

  He waited for me to stand and then, depositing a few coins on the counter, led us out of the friary’s taproom and into the busy yard.

  As we rode out the gates and back into the glorious sunset, Adam turned to me. “You don’t ever have to doubt me, Mistress Anneke. Not ever. For as long as you need me, for as long as you want me there, it’s by your side I’ll be.”

  It was some moments before I was able to respond. “I’m sorry, Adam. It won’t happen again.”

  Seven

  Holcroft House

  That evening

  The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV

  Adam and I returned to Holcroft House that evening to find the entire household crammed into the kitchen. Even the twins were there, one each upon Saskia’s and Blanche’s knees. Iris held an inconsolable Louise, while Will looked on, one eye obscured by the cloth he pressed against his face, his mouth twisted by violent words. I stood in the doorway, my body gripped by an invisible vise that squeezed the very breath from my lungs. My heart pounded painfully as my imagination tried to come to terms with what I saw. Clearly, bad news had once again touched the house. My only thoughts were for Tobias. I tried to speak, when Karel looked up.

  “Anneke!” He bounded from Blanche’s arms. Betje wriggled out of Saskia’s and I barely had time to kneel before they flung themselves against me, howling.

  The rest of the staff clambered to their feet; Adam finally managed to hold and silence the hounds.

  “Thank the good Lord you’re home, Mistress Anneke!”

  “Master Adam, it’s so good to see you!”

  “Oh, Adam, if only you’d been here . . .”

  “The wickedness of people . . .”

  “Evil, pure evil . . .”

  “If I get my hands on them, I won’t be responsible . . .”

  The cacophony of voices was more than I could stand. “Quiet! Please, all of you!” I shouted from the floor. The voices ceased. One of the dogs whined. Saskia stood wringing her hands; Blanche screwed her apron into a ball while Will glowered at a spot on the wall. Louisa looked up and Iris shook her head in sorrow. The twins huddled closer.

  Words stuck in my throat. I was aware of everyone staring at me, concern shaping their features.

  “Saskia,” I gasped. “Tobias? Is he . . . What have you heard . . . ?”

  “Tobias?” said Saskia, puzzled. “Oh, you poor lamb.” She swooped and raised me to my feet, pulling me against her breast before holding me at arm’s length. “Nee, Mistress Anneke, nee. It’s not Tobias. God love you. It’s her.”

  “Her?”

  “Mistress Jabben,” said Blanche sourly.

  I moved out of Saskia’s embrace. The twins clutched my skirts. “What’s wrong with her?” My heart began to beat strangely.

  “Wrong?” spat Saskia. “Where do I begin?”

  Adam stepped forward. “Enough. What’s happened?”

  Saskia pushed her hair, which was in disarray, from her forehead. “To her? Nothing. Though, may the good Lord forgive me, I wish it had.”

  Will made a noise of agreement.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress Anneke.” Saskia’s face was drawn, old. “We couldn’t stop her. We tried, but she said it was her right and that we were to do nothing. We thought about fetching you, or the sheriff, but you were too far away and mayhap the sheriff would’ve prevaricated . . .”

  Fear was swiftly replaced by a cold, hard shell. “For goodness sakes, Saskia, what are you talking about?”

  It was Blanche who answered, sinking back onto her stool. “Mistress Jabben has left the house. Normally, we’d be celebrating our good fortune—oh, don’t look at me like that, Adam Barfoot, you know we would. Mistress Anneke here too, if I’m not mistaken.” The twins exchanged a look. I frowned in warning. “It’s true,” Blanche added with a defiant huff of air.

  “Please, just tell me what she’s done.” I sat on the bench and pulled the twins closer.

  “What she’s done,” said Saskia, coming forward to stand in front of me, “is rob you blind, Mistress Anneke. She’s taken everything she could lay her hands on—all the merchandise from the shop, what was left in the warehouse and more. A cart came this morning, not long after you and Master Adam left. There were two men, hired by Master Makejoy, I’ve no doubt. Marched through here like they owned the place and began loading up under Mistress Jabben’s directions.”

  “We tried to stop them,” said Will. “But they threatened us. Said they were working within the law. And when I said I wanted to see something in writing, one of the men punched me.” He removed the cloth he’d pressed against his face to reveal a very swollen, half-closed eye. “Said I’d find it harder to read with only one . . . Fool didn’t know it’d make no difference, can’t read nohow.”

  “But that’s not all,” continued Blanche. “The evil chicken-necked cow took as many rugs, goblets, linen, and clothes she could lay her greedy hands on. You name it, she claimed it. Said it was her due, that the Sheldrakes owed her, and she was going to take what was rightfully hers.”

  My heart began to pound. The chest in my room . . . My stomach lurched and nausea rose in my throat. The irony that, after all, Hiske may yet have ruined my plans was not lost on me. A bitter laugh escaped, earning me surprised glances.

  “When we realized what was happening, that it wasn’t just Master Joseph’s and thus Lord Rainford’s unsold merchandise she was claiming, we whipped through the house and brought as much as we could in here—” Saskia’s arm swept the kitchen.

  Searching the room with new, frantic eyes, I noticed how crowded it was—not just with people, but objects. There was the rug from the solar and some of the tapestries that had adorned its walls were rolled next to the door. There were the instruments from Father’s office, a small table and some Venetian glass by the stove. Near the door to the main part of the house stood the chest containing the twins’ clothes. There were furs, blankets, and decorative plates, a brush and mirror and so many other things piled on benches or on the floor. Even the table was groaning under the weight of dishes and implements. I studied the earnest, indignant, and furious faces of those around me and imagined them rushing through the house, trying to snatch things before Hiske could and racing with them down here to protect them. I could see Hiske’s face when she understood her intention to strip the house was thwarted. But of my chest, there was no sign. Prying the twins from my side, I stood hastily and began to push things out of the way, lifting bundles, ignoring the mess as they tumbled on top of each other and struck the floor.

  “Whatever we could salvage from her clutches, we did.” Saskia lifted a stack of scrolls into her arms as I tried to shove them off a counter. “We figured she wouldn’t dare touch a thing with all of us to guard them, and we were right.”

  “I rescued that,” said Karel, pointing to one of Father’s old sextants on top of a box.

  “I took that!” said Betje, indicating Father’s rather crumpled star chart. Blanche moved it out of my way.

  “We did what we could, Mistress Anneke,” said Saskia softly, watching me sadly as I sorted through the chaos, not understanding my purpose.

  I searched the mounds and muddles of cloth, uncovering what I could, each discovery fueling my growing sense that all was lost.

  Then I saw it.

  Over by the milk pail, peeping from under the furs that had been stripped from a bed, was my chest. Wading toward it like one possessed, I knelt and hefted the furs to one side. I was aware of Saskia and Blanche trading glances. Will’s mouth was hanging open; Iris backed away, confused and alarmed. Louisa sought Karel. Only Adam was unperturbed by my behavior, and Betje, who clambered over things to join me.

  “What’s wrong, Anneke? Why are you messing everything up?” asked Betje quietly.

 
Everyone waited for me answer.

  Slowly, I raised the lid of the chest. Lifting the tunics, kirtles, undergarments, scarves, and hoods out of the way, I rummaged around, brushing against some leather shoes, a tightly wound curl of ribbon, and a couple of books. Then, my fingers found what I so desperately sought. Lifting it out carefully, I brought the bound pages into the light. With a sigh of relief, I sank onto my heels and sent a swift prayer to the Holy Mother that this had been spared.

  Within the yellowing pages I clutched so tightly were the recipes my mother used to make her special ale. Though I was sure I remembered how, knowing I had these was the closest I would ever come to having Mother beside me. They’d been passed down through generations of de Winter women, all of whom had made ale and other brews to delight their kin and neighbors. All the quantities, additions, timing, and measures that my Dutch ancestors had used for centuries. Upon these pages, painstakingly recorded by Mother and hers before her and so on, were the recipes I believed would be my salvation; what would make our ale more desirable and sought after than any other brewed in town. The moment Hiske banned me from brewing, I’d hidden this book, knowing that if she found the recipes, she would have had them destroyed. Never believing I was shoring up our futures, I’d thought I was preserving a beloved keepsake.

  Relief flooded me. I pressed the pages to my chest and bowed my head. The scent of marigolds, lavender, sunshine, laughter, and love seemed all around me. “Mother,” I whispered. It was a moment before I was able to face the others, but when I did, it was to hold the pages aloft triumphantly.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Betje. Nothing.” Adam smiled and nodded at my little sister. She grinned at him.

  “Not anymore,” I agreed and swept Betje into my arms and carried her to the table and perched her upon it. She wriggled till she cleared a space.