The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  The noise of the barrel on the gravel sent the chickens squawking and set the dogs barking. Thinking we were bringing out more of the spent mash, the draff, the pigs began to follow us and I had to shoo them out of the way.

  Exclamations of glee, followed by the smacking of lips and clapping of hands met our entrance into the kitchen.

  Blanche smiled so broadly, the gaps in her lower teeth were visible. “This is it then!” she cried. “Our first brew. Well done, mistress. You two as well,” she added with a lift of her chin toward Adam and Will, who were out of breath and working up a sweat. Wonderful smells emanated from the feast Blanche was preparing. The plucked goose was trussed and basting in a big copper pan. Freshly baked pies sat on the table, steam still rising from the golden-brown pastry. Dough sat resting in bowls, its smell almost identical to that which permeated the brewhouse. Platters of late-autumn fruits and wedges of soft cheeses sat upon the table waiting our workday to end. Warming on the stovetop was some spiced mead and a huge saucepan of pottage.

  Hearing my voice, the twins ran from the hall, twining their hands in mine.

  “Is that it, Anneke? Is that our ale?” asked Karel, eyes fixed on the barrel Adam and Will leaned against while they gratefully gulped down a drink and tore at a piece of bread Iris thrust into their hands. I shook my head when she offered a piece to me. Karel pouted and was rewarded with some bread of his own. He bit into it hastily.

  “Do we get to taste it too?” asked Betje, reaching out to stroke the metal bands that held the wood in place.

  “Of course,” I said, swinging their hands. “Not this barrel, but the hogshead of small ale, for certes. And soon.”

  Catching Adam’s eye, I led the twins through the house, the barrel following. As they skipped beside me, I marveled that Karel and Betje had been so patient about what was happening. Not only had they suffered the loss of their father and the upheaval Hiske caused, but the last weeks had been even harder on them. Used to having me, if not at their beck and call, at least available, I was gone from dawn till dusk. When I came inside, I’d collapse in the hall each night. Waiting till I’d eaten, only then would they press me for a story. I always found one in my repertoire and, though my voice lacked its usual vigor and my imagination didn’t quite spark, they never complained. Their resilience and good humor seemed boundless. I loved them all the more for it. How proud Mother and even Father would be of their children. The thought gave me pause. Would my parents be proud of me? Of what I was doing?

  I pushed aside the idea they might not be and fixed a smile to my face. Tonight was for merrymaking; not just because of Martinmas, but because of what, together, we’d achieved—the ale. There were five barrels full of the heady liquid awaiting purchase and more lying in troughs in the brewhouse.

  Adam and Will deposited the first barrel in a corner of the shop and returned for the second. The premises might have been bare, having been stripped by Hiske, but they were clean and stools had been found as well as a few wooden mazers for potential customers—most of whom I hoped would bring their own. Extra candles waited to be lit, and plates of flowers and late-season apples and some nuts had been discreetly tucked in corners, to give the place a festive feel. One of the women had even thought to leave parchment, a quill, and bottle of ink to record sales and a small tin in which to place coin. The shutters between the office and the shop had been opened and the fire blazing in the office had taken the chill off the room. I smiled at their thoughtfulness. We’d decided not to light the hearth in the shop, not to waste wood, not until we knew we would be allowed to trade.

  “Market’s finished,” said Karel, his hands and face pressed against the window. Betje and I glanced up to see the train of carts and people ambling past. The wind whipped capes and the rain provided miserable company. Heads were bowed, cloaks swam heavily on shoulders, caps and headpieces were lowered and few words exchanged. Rain appeared to have put paid to the festivities in town. Pursing my lips, I looked at the long ale-stake jutting into the street, announcing to all and sundry that a brew awaited the tasters. Once permission to sell was given, we’d attach a bushel to the end of the sign, letting people know they could buy it as well. If only the ale-conners had come earlier and given permission, these disappointed passersby might have been my first customers. With wistful eyes, I watched potential business drift out of sight and wondered at these men that they were so busy they couldn’t be prompt. A flash of anger toward the abbot and his machinations caught me off balance.

  “Come,” I said to Betje and Karel, ushering them into the corridor. Hunger and a heavy gloom gripped me at the same time. I thought to satisfy one and ignore the other by returning to the company in the kitchen. I also needed to wash and change, to look respectable in order to conduct business. If the ale-conners arrived soon, I still had a few precious hours before curfew.

  The twins scampered ahead and I shut the hall door, only realizing as I did that it needed to be open for Adam and Will. Pushing it back, I was startled to see two cloaked shapes by the front door, huddled under the awning outside. The ale-conners. At last!

  “Betje, Karel,” I called to the two little shapes darting into the hall. “Tell Adam to make haste, the ale-conners have arrived.”

  Straightening my tunic and clicking at the stains on my apron, which I removed swiftly and pushed under a stool, I went to greet them, when the door was flung wide open and upon a flurry of wind, rain, and leaves, the men stepped inside. The first was so tall he obscured the second, who struggled to close the door.

  Shocked at their presumption, I froze, my hand rising to my throat. I was about to scold them when the first man pushed back his hat, revealing his face. Words caught in my throat. I knew the ale-conners, as they were long-standing citizens of Elmham Lenn, one was even an alderman. But I’d never seen this person before. I would remember him if I had. The gray light formed an aura behind him, giving his features an almost saintly glow. Long dark hair fell over his forehead, coming to rest against straight brows. Beneath these were eyes the color of midnight, of the deepest, darkest blue, like the Virgin’s robe in the church window. Sparkling, as though fevered, they traveled over me leisurely and color rose in my cheeks. I did not, would not look away. Who was this ale-conner to appraise me so? My heart began to thud painfully. Just as I had with Lord Rainford, I returned the regard, with a deliberateness that was not in character but which something about this man spurred to life. Sweeping the rest of his face, I noted the long, dark lashes, high cheekbones, a full bottom lip and strong chin. It was a face that exuded strength and mastery and drew my gaze.

  Aware of how I must look, my hair escaping from its binds, tumbling over my shoulders, my tunic streaked with charcoal, if not my face, and reeking of the brewery, I self-consciously pulled at my dress. That this man needed to shave drew my disapproval. He might be striking but he had no regard for his duties or those whose homes he visited—at least I had an excuse. Contempt began to control my study of his broad shoulders, wide chest, and long, shapely legs. I was staring at his boots, wondering that a man of his station should possess such quality when I noticed that one foot was turned slightly and he leaned against a stick—a polished piece of wood with a metal band at the top, upon which he had a white-knuckled grip. Sympathy rose within me. I was about to speak when the front door banged shut and a slightly shorter man joined him.

  “Anneke!”

  I blinked as I was pulled into the tightest of embraces and quickly released.

  “Tobias?” I said weakly, not wanting to believe. I stared at the beloved face, matured and changed but still recognizably my brother. My heart soared and with a cry of joy I returned his hug, fiercely, protectively, showering his face with kisses, hearing laughter bubble inside him. “Tobias!”

  Over Tobias’s shoulder, my eyes flew to the other man. Amusement and something else, something that was neither polite nor warm but quizzical, shaped his expression.

  Drawing me away slightly so he mig
ht consider me, my brother beamed. “Look at you! You’d be mistaken for a slattern in that dress. Is that an apron over there? What have you been up to?”

  “You’ll never guess.” I smiled.

  Tobias’s eyes slid to the barrel. “Think I might.” He held me again and I became aware that he was broader, harder, taller. This time, I pushed him away and studied him, gripping his forearms to hold him in place. Over two years had passed since I last saw him and the boy had become a man. Taller than me, he had dark curls, gray-blue eyes, and a windburned face. His teeth looked so white against his skin. His body had filled out, grown where it needed and diminished in other parts as well. Gone were the chubby cheeks, the childlike stomach. I smiled at him, tears blurring my vision, and drew him back to my breast.

  “Oh, Tobias, I’ve missed you so . . .”

  Then I remembered.

  “Tobias . . .” I wrenched out of his arms, but kept one hand upon him. “You know about . . . Father?” I could have kicked myself for hesitating over the word.

  A dark look flashed across Tobias’s face, and in that second I saw and felt pain, anger, and quickly stifled resentment. Tobias may appear a man, but like a child, he’d not yet learned to guard his emotions.

  “Of course. I’m sorry, Anneke, sorry I wasn’t here for you, the twins. I came as soon as I could.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m just so glad you’re here.” I took a deep breath and noticed for the first time the state of his clothes. “What am I thinking? You’re soaked. You’ve traveled to get here. From London? The docks? Don’t answer. Come through to the hall, please. There’s a fire and food. We have to get this sodden cloak off you, dry your hat, get you some wine and—”

  The other man cleared his throat and I swung back to him in horror. Here I was daring to be critical of his manners when my own were so lax. I’d completely forgotten about him.

  “My humblest apologies, Master . . . ?” I released Tobias and turned to face the handsome stranger.

  Tobias came to my rescue. “It’s me who should be apologizing. In the excitement of seeing you again, I quite forgot. Anneke, allow me to introduce Sir Leander Rainford, son of Lord Hardred Rainford, and my master.”

  My eyes widened as I absorbed who it was that stood on my threshold. Not only the son of a man I’d learned to despise despite my sense of obligation, but Tobias’s master. Of course. Who else would it have been? I just hadn’t expected him to be so . . . so . . . My eyes slid from his rugged face to his foot. Disadvantaged. A memory arose unbidden of a young boy in breeches and a coat, moving along the corridors of Scales Hall . . . Even then, he’d possessed the same dark hair and those remarkable eyes. I’d chased after him in the hope of distraction, a friend with whom to explore the grounds, the house, on a long, lonely day while my mother kept his pregnant stepmother company. I vaguely remembered catching up with him. His affliction made it difficult for him to move swiftly, though walking was not a problem. He’d frowned at my chatter, pulled a face, and then shut the door on me . . . It was his other brother . . . Symond, who, older and less embarrassed at entertaining a child, found me in a crying heap outside the door. Picking me up, he’d looked to my amusement that day. For the youngest son of Lord Rainford, I’d been beneath contempt.

  I’d not thought about that moment for a long time, not since Tobias left to be his squire and I’d prayed that the dour young man of recollection had changed—for my brother’s sake. And indeed he had, apart from the forbidding expression upon his face. But I’d not expected him to be so . . . so . . . comely. I looked from him to Tobias. Did he know what Tobias was to him? When they stood side by side, as they did now, the resemblance was there. Strong, once you knew what to look for.

  Aware I’d remained mute beyond what was polite, I dropped a deep curtsy. “My lord, forgive me. Welcome to Holcroft House.”

  Sir Leander bowed and, reaching for my hand, pretended to kiss it, releasing it swiftly, as if touching my flesh burned him.

  Puzzled, I gripped my hands together to cover my discomposure. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, my lord,” I said and flashed my teeth.

  “Again?” When he frowned, his eyes darkened.

  “Aye, my lord. We met many years ago, at Scales Hall. I was but a child.”

  Raising his chin, he looked around the room, plucking at his gloves as he did so. “I don’t recall.” His tone suggested that even if he did, it was something he wanted to forget.

  Arching a brow at Tobias, I chose to ignore his master’s rudeness. “When did you arrive in Elmham Lenn? How?” I asked, peering outside, looking for horses.

  “A few hours ago,” said Tobias. “We’re staying at Lord Hardred’s house in town. Sir Leander insisted we walk, despite the weather.” He shot his master a look of mock disapproval, and in the one Sir Leander returned I could see affection and even pride. I admit, that surprised and pleased me. “Trying to shed our sea legs,” added Tobias, and did a little jig as if to prove it had worked. He froze suddenly mid-dance. Neither Tobias nor I looked at Sir Leander’s leg. “I know I should have warned you, Anneke,” Tobias continued quickly. “Sent a note, but”—he gestured to the barrel—“we heard about your plans—they’re the talk of the town. Brewing? Really? Seems I’m back just in time. We’ve a great deal to discuss.”

  My heart sank at Tobias’s tone and protests took shape in my head. And why was his master here anyway? If he wanted to become accustomed to land again, he could have walked anywhere. And who chose to walk in this weather? Before I could reassure Tobias, Adam and Will rolled the second barrel through the door and into the shop. We had to jump out of the way as the barrel hit the lip of the step and bounced against the floor, flattening the rushes. I found myself on the same side of the room as Sir Leander. Adam and Will maneuvered the barrel next to the first and righted it slowly. Delight creased their faces when they saw Tobias, and they stepped forward to greet him.

  As they did so, Sir Leander leaned toward me. “When you discuss your plans with your brother, I ask that you not mention the arrangement you have with my father.”

  I looked up at him in surprise. “You know of this? Oh, of course you do. Forgive me, my lord, why on earth wouldn’t I?” I spluttered before I could prevent myself.

  Sir Leander’s eyes were filled with repugnance. “Because I wouldn’t want Tobias to discover that his sister’s no better than a common whore.”

  My mouth fell open and I stood gasping like a market fish as Tobias introduced Will and Adam to his master and then, beckoning me to follow, led Sir Leander down the corridor and into the main hall, as if he hadn’t left this house when he was seven. Tobias behaved like he was the master returned. Will scuttled after them.

  Heat and then ice filled my veins. Tears threatened to spill as fury rose in my chest. Not at Tobias’s actions—of those I was glad. I wanted him to treat this as his home. It was, after all. It was all any of us could claim, for now. It was Sir Leander Rainford who made me lose my equilibrium.

  Pausing on the threshold before he followed Tobias, Adam looked at me inquiringly.

  “Are you all right, Mistress Anneke?”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak. I fixed a grim smile, nodded, and waved my hand for him to go ahead. Adam hesitated, then strode down the hallway.

  How dare he. How dare he.

  It was only the delighted shouts of the twins and the joy in the servants’ voices drifting down to the shop that enabled me to move again, to put on a public face and join them.

  If I seemed stiff and formal, no one either noticed or cared, not even Sir Leander, who, as the afternoon wore on and the shadows darkened, acted as if I didn’t even exist.

  Fourteen

  Holcroft House

  Martinmas

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

  Squeezing themselves onto Tobias’s lap, where he sat before the hearth, the twins were unable to believe that their brother, whom they barely knew exc
ept through infrequent visits, letters, and my tales, had returned. Unwilling to let him out of their sight, they begged him to regale them with his adventures since he’d last been in port. They bombarded him with questions, which they failed to give him adequate time to answer. Our best chair was found for Sir Leander and Adam poured him a drink of the finest wine we possessed. The fire was quickly stoked while Saskia procured a blanket for his lap. Blanche ordered Iris into the kitchen and they swiftly reappeared with a platter of food. I stood in a corner, my arms folded across my chest, and watched and listened, a mixture of bemusement, pride in my household, and anxiety about Sir Leander’s words swirling within me.

  Intending to leave the family with their noble guest, the servants began to retreat into the kitchen, but Tobias and, much to my surprise, Sir Leander quickly dispelled them of that notion and insisted they remain.

  Uncomfortable at first, they looked to me for permission, which of course I gave and, joining Tobias and the twins by the fire, soon added their own questions to the children’s. Stools and a bench were dragged closer, and we made a neat semicircle around the hearth. Struck dumb by fear and disbelief, the entire house was spellbound as Tobias told of the storms that claimed not just Father’s life and the crew of the Cathaline, but of many other ships and men besides, wreaking destruction along the North and Baltic Seas. Entire fleets had been sunk, houses and businesses dragged into the raging waters, and even, along the coastline of Norway, a cliff collapsed, raining rocks and soil into the churning water. Cries of dismay accompanied Tobias’s story, as did swift prayers. Unprecedented and therefore unexpected, no one had been prepared for the violence of the weather that early in autumn. Sir Leander’s insistence they remain upriver till the weather calmed meant the crew of the Sealhope didn’t meet the same fate as that of the Cathaline.