by Karen Brooks
“But Mistress Anneke . . . the house . . .” said Saskia, only now daring to release what was in her arms. Parchment, linen, and a goblet tumbled onto the table.
“It doesn’t matter.” I laughed. “I was likely going to have to sell most things anyway. We will make do. All that matters is that I have this.” I clutched the small book. “And that we have each other.” Looking at their faces, I beamed.
“Not Doreen,” said Will. “She went with Mistress Jabben.”
“She even had the gall to offer me and Blanche a position in her house—Mistress Jabben, that is.” Saskia sniffed and raised her chin.
I studied them, my loyal servants, my family, and my heart filled. I looked at the table, scattered with odds and ends. Karel was twirling an iron object. Will was watching me with his one good eye, his other closed completely now. Louisa’s tears had ceased and she reached for Betje and encouraged her off the table and onto her lap. Saskia appeared resigned, Blanche and Iris perplexed. All of them were looking to me, bewildered by my sudden composure after my frantic search amid what they perceived as another disaster. But this was nothing to me . . . if anything, it was cause for celebration.
Hiske was gone—the last obstacle to my plans—or so I thought.
Crossing to one of the cabinets in the corner, I shoved the books and blankets aside with my foot, opened the door, and peered inside. I could sense the glances and frowns behind me, the slight apprehension that had started to fill the room.
“What are you looking for?” asked Blanche finally. She didn’t like anyone prying in her cupboards—not even me.
“Ah, here it is,” I said, and removed a jug of wine. Setting it on the table, I looked around. “Pass some goblets and mazers, would you, Iris?”
Checking with Blanche first, who nodded brusquely, Iris made some space and lined them up.
“Adam, if you would be so kind?” I gestured to the jug. Adam took his knife out of its sheath and knocked the wax and cork off the top.
“Shall I pour?” he asked. I nodded.
“Mistress Anneke, begging your pardon,” said Saskia as Adam handed her a brimming goblet, waiting until she took it before passing a mazer to Blanche. “But have you heard a word we’ve said?”
“Every single one, Saskia.”
“Are you sure?” she examined my face. “On top of losing the house, you’ve been robbed blind and instead of demanding restitution or sending Will for the watch, you stand there with some bits of paper, flashing those dimples of yours and offering drinks around like it’s the Last Supper!”
I smiled. “Not the last. On the contrary, it’s the first. The first supper in our house. You see, something very important happened today and I want to share it with you.” I quickly explained what eventuated at Scales Hall and my plans. Adam, as I’d hoped, filled in the gaps and informed everyone what their duties would be over the coming weeks. As he spoke, I watched their faces. There was surprise, confusion, a little nervousness—all of which I shared. But, most of all, there was excitement and determination. Bless them, they wanted my venture to succeed as much as I did.
Adam finished and I lifted my goblet. “So, let’s raise our drinks, shall we? For, as of tomorrow, we’re no longer Holcroft House, traders of fine goods. When day breaks and the cock crows, we begin our transformation.”
“Into what?” asked Saskia.
I rested my eyes upon each of them in turn. “Into Holcroft House, the home of Sheldrake brewers—makers of the finest ale in all of Norfolk.”
There was a beat before everyone raised their vessels and in voices ringing with excitement, chorused: “To Sheldrake brewers, makers of the finest ale in all of Norfolk.”
“Nay!” cried Will, spluttering as he swallowed his wine too quickly. “Not Norfolk. Why stop there? As God is my witness, Mistress Sheldrake will be the finest brewer in all of England.”
As the servants cheered and Karel and Betje clapped, I met Adam’s eyes across the room. In England, he mouthed and raised his mazer.
“In England,” I echoed.
With the love and support of these people, that night I believed anything was possible.
Eight
Holcroft House
October
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV
The next few days passed in a blur. After returning what had been salvaged from Hiske back to where it belonged, I was faced with the bleak reality of how empty, how hollow, the house seemed. The night I’d returned from Lord Rainford’s, drunk on excitement that my bid to secure us time had succeeded, it had been easy to be indifferent to what my cousin had done, but in the gaps and spaces in every room, I was forced to confront Hiske’s avarice and spite. Almost all of Tobias’s possessions—from a knife and sheath to a Lancastrian pennant his lord had given him to commemorate his first battle at Shrewsbury that he’d sent home for safekeeping, to clothes he’d worn as a child that were being kept for Karel, as well as a book that belonged to Mother—all had been seized. The old sea chest and carved stool in his room were gone. The furs from his bed, the curtains that surrounded his mattress as well. In the solar, apart from a couple of stools, the rug, and two tapestries, Hiske had claimed everything—the cabinets, the two chairs, and the cushions that adorned them. The tables filled with curios Father had collected on his travels, the mementos Mother had brought with her when she came to England as Father’s bride were no longer there. Even the main hall and Father’s office hadn’t been spared. The shop and storeroom at the rear of the house, which had held what were now Lord Rainford’s goods, were completely empty. As far as I could tell, only the contents of my room, the nursery, and the kitchen had been saved in their entirety and for that I was grateful. Trying not to be despondent, the starkness of the rooms simply gave me another reason to make my enterprise work.
Though part of me wished to seek justice, it was easier to surrender a few possessions and believe I’d never see Hiske again than have her charged and deal with the very public consequences of that. A court would cause a scandal none of us could afford. And, I told myself, as much as I may not like it, she was family. I couldn’t bring the law down upon one of my own. Mother wouldn’t want that.
A few days later, we heard through Master Jacobsen that Hiske and Master Makejoy had married and were staying in rooms above an inn near the law courts until they could lease their own premises.
With the house returned to some sort of order, Saskia and Blanche tended to the gardens. Though it was late in the year to plant, there would be some vegetables that would yield in early spring and they set about ensuring we’d reap that small harvest. In the meantime, Adam, Will, and I set to restoring the brewhouse.
Entering it for the first time in six years was not the joyous moment I’d imagined. As we pushed open the old door, snatching it swiftly as it almost came away from the hinges, the smell of dust, bird droppings, and the odor of stale wort assailed us. A stream of light filtered through the filthy windows, striking the aged mash tun, exposing the garlands of cobwebs suspended from the wood. Colonies of dust spiraled into the sunlight like tiny moths chasing a flame. In the far corner, a huge kiln loomed. Under the windows, two shallow troughs sat, dark and empty. A row of barrels squatted between them and the kiln. The good news was their wood appeared sound and the metal hoops that girthed them weren’t rusted. I might yet be spared the cost of a cooper.
Leaning against one of the barrels was the mash stirrer. Hefting it off the floor, I upended it so I could examine the laddered paddle for any splintering or rot. Mother had brought this with her when she came from Holland and, though it was a deceptively simple piece of equipment I’d seen deployed in other brewhouses, she insisted on using this stick to stir the mash and wort. She claimed it carried within it her family’s talent for brewing. I didn’t doubt it and proposed to use it as well. Satisfied it was intact, I set it down and continued my survey.
Gathering dust on the table in the middle of the room were bu
ngs for the barrels, a copper hand cup, spigots, and a mallet that, when I picked it up, was lighter than I recalled. Putting it down carefully beside a dull funnel, I flexed my fingers.
As I crossed the room rats scurried before me, and from the shadows and dark corners came the sound of small feet and high-pitched squeals. I opened the door at the far end that led to the small shed Mother had used as a malthouse. The hinges were stiff, and I used my shoulder to thrust the door open, almost tumbling down the steps. It was too dark to see clearly—not even the small window admitted much light. Propping the door open, I descended the few steps and bent down to touch the floor. It was, thankfully, dry, but filthy with grit and dirt. I shuddered and, not for the first time, doubt engulfed me. I went back up the steps and stood in the doorway, hands on my hips, facing Will and Adam.
Will shook his head, arms folded. He didn’t believe we could do it. I took a deep breath and the disturbed dust made me cough. I resolved then and there that I would prove Will wrong. I swung to Adam and, to my great relief, saw only calculation on his face.
“How’s the malthouse?” he asked, putting down the old tundish.
“Dry.” I clapped my hands together to rid them of debris. “For now.”
Adam nodded. “That’s a start.” He turned slowly. “Well, at least all the equipment appears to be here.”
“Aye. But the truth is, it will take more work than I first thought . . .”
“More work, Mistress Anneke?” griped Will. “It’ll take the king’s army.”
“Rubbish,” said Adam. Propping the outside door wide open so more light flooded the space, he knocked his fist against the mash tun. The sound reverberated. “This merely needs a good clean.” He bent down and examined it from below. “There’s a piece of wood wants replacing, but nothing Jasper Cooper won’t be able to tend quickly. I’ll go and see him shortly, ask him to have a look.”
I wasn’t to be spared a cooper after all.
Adam strolled to the troughs and inspected them as well. “You weren’t a part of this household when the brewhouse was used almost every day, Will. It was a sight to behold and one we’ll see again.” He smiled. “Just as the equipment is coated in dirt, disguising its value, you’re allowing first impressions to blind you to what’s before your eyes.” Wiping away a cobweb, he used his jerkin to clean part of the metal. Mimicking Adam, I went to the kiln, passing a hand across its surface and rubbing it on the apron I’d thankfully thought to don. My hand left a dark gray streak on the fabric.
“This is the same, I think.” I opened the door and was enveloped by a cloud of ashes and soot. Caught unawares, I fell backward, coughing and spluttering. I began to laugh. Adam hauled me to my feet, chuckling, his eyes studying my face.
“Nothing a good scrub won’t fix.”
Self-consciously, I raised my hands to my face.
I chortled and coughed again. “I’m sure.” I applied my apron to my cheeks. “I’ll ask Iris to help me clean this and the oven,” I added, noting the grime and rodent droppings across its surface as well. “We’ll fetch a couple of buckets and brushes and tend to them immediately. Perhaps I can persuade Blanche, if she’s not too busy, to help scrub out the troughs.” I ran my hands along their solid edges and then, leaning over, tried to clear the thick glass above with the end of my sleeve, leaving a greasy smudge. “These windows too.” I sighed as the amount of work began to add up. I pressed my back against the trough and reexamined the room. It was hard to imagine it free of all the filth, let alone functioning. With a deep breath that ended in a volley of coughs, I began to recite all that was needed, counting chores off on my fingers. “Oh,” I added, looking toward the stove and kiln and the crooked chimney breast in which they sat. “We’ll need a sweep as well, Adam. And someone needs to scrub the malthouse. I’m not laying grain until the floor is spotless.”
With good humor that owed nothing to false bravado, Adam slapped his hands together. “Let’s be about it then,” he said.
Setting Will to clean the mash tun and the barrels, Adam left to organize their repair with Master Cooper, commission a chimney sweep and the other trades we’d need, as well as purchase supplies of coal and collect enough wood to get the brewery in working order again. Hauling pails of hot water from the kitchen, Iris and I set to cleaning out the kiln and stove. Outfitting the twins in leggings and shirts that had seen better days, Louisa led Betje and Karel to attack the cobwebs before sweeping and scrubbing both the brewery floor and the malthouse. It wasn’t long before Betje and Karel looked more like coal merchants than trader’s children.
Breaking before sext sounded, we sat on the garden walls outside and savored fresh-baked bread, wedges of cheese, and crisp apples, as well as some cold rabbit. We were joined by Jasper Cooper, who, after replacing the rotten wood on two barrels, much to my delight, gave a good report on the state of the mash tun. Adam passed around a jug of small ale and mazers and, from the grimaces on everyone’s faces as they drank, I knew the beverage had come from the friary.
“How the ale-conners let Abbot Hubbard sell this pig swill is beyond me,” said Master Jasper before he remembered the company he was in. “Forgive me, Mistress Sheldrake,” he said. “But it riles me that they pay the same tax as the folks in town and churn out what I wouldn’t give my dogs to drink.”
“You’re not the only one dissatisfied, Jasper,” said Adam, placing his mazer on the ground. “The good news is, as soon as Mistress Sheldrake has her brew ready, you won’t have to tolerate the abbot’s ale any longer.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” said Master Jasper, raising his beaker toward me. “There’s many of us will. It’s not much to ask, surely? All we want is food in our gullets, something decent to wet the throat, and a warm place to rest our weary heads at night.” With a wink, he drained his vessel, shaking his head and pursing his lips as he finished. “Proudfellow always said you and your ma, I mean, Mistress Cathaline, didn’t just make ale, you made magic. I’m looking forward to tasting me some of that.” With a loud belch and a quick apology, Master Jasper went as red as a beet.
We all laughed and my spirits, which had flagged a little as, despite our hours of work, very little impression was made on the brewhouse, were lifted. I liked the idea that, together, Mother and I “made magic.” The good Lord knew, I needed some of that now.
Laboring throughout the afternoon we stopped only when the light was so dim, shadows engulfed the interior. By then, not only had Master Jasper ensured the mash tun was ready for use, the copper had been brushed out, scrubbed, and was shining. Will, the twins, and Louisa had thoroughly swept the drying floor in the malthouse, and the barrels, which had been rolled out into the yard, were cleaned, checked for leaks, the new wood sealed then brought back inside and stood next to the troughs. Instead of looking like remnants of a forgotten past, they were poised to be filled.
My fingers kneaded the small of my back as I examined the fruits of our work. I was more than pleased. It was with great cheer tempered only by the exhaustion of a good day’s work that we retreated to the kitchen. The smells drifting through the open door had been tantalizing us all afternoon. Blanche not only ensured there was warm water in which we could wash, but she’d excelled herself by roasting a capon, fish, and potatoes, and she’d bought some almond-paste sweetmeats from the market as a treat. She’d also baked apples infused with cloves and some cinnamon, steeping them in almond milk. My mouth watered and my stomach clenched in hunger. From the wide eyes and moist lips of the others, I knew I wasn’t the only one. Shooing us away with orders to tidy ourselves, Blanche finished preparing our feast.
Louisa took control of the twins while I ascended to the bedroom to use the waiting water. Crossing through the hall, I noted that while it was no longer decorated with tapestries and scattered with benches, the chair from my father’s study had been placed by the blazing hearth and a tattered cushion I couldn’t recall left on the seat. In place of the usual stools, Blanche and Saskia had l
ugged in some tree stumps. Topped with patched pillows, they gave the hall a rather jovial, informal air and I was deeply touched by their efforts. Upstairs, apart from the rug and a couple of wall hangings, the solar was bare. Only a few objects remained. I resolved then and there to take these downstairs to adorn the hall. The solar would remain unused for the time being.
Pulling off my tunic and kirtle and throwing them to one side, I stood before the crackling fire and removed my underclothes, dipped the washing cloth in the hot water, rubbed the soap into it, and scrubbed myself from head to foot. The water turned dark quickly.
Wrapped in a drying sheet, I sank onto the bed and began to undo my hair, disentangling the plaits and letting it flow over my shoulders. I reached for a comb and teased it through the thick strands. Lord Rainford had commented on my hair, how different it was to my mother’s. Many people did. Whereas Tobias, I’d always believed, inherited Father’s dark curls and the twins Mother’s flaxen hair, I was the paintbox in which the colors had been mixed—at least, that’s what Mother always told me. When I’d been tormented by other children for my autumnal hair, even cursed as unlucky, Mother would tell me that only special children were graced with such a color. That Blessed Mary too had possessed fiery hair, akin to dragon’s breath, and she’d been beloved by Jesus. I’d always thought she meant the Virgin Mary—until Hiske set me straight.
Not long after Cousin Hiske arrived, she’d taken offense at my tresses, what she claimed was my vanity, and threatened to cut them. Distressed that she would consider such a thing and give the other children yet another reason to mock me, I’d pleaded with her, saying that she couldn’t cut hair that was like the Virgin’s.
“Like the Virgin’s?” she’d scorned. “Who told you such nonsense?”
“Why . . . Moeder told me.” My bottom lip started to tremble. I’d not yet learned to hide from Hiske the power her words had to hurt me.