by Karen Brooks
“It’s not the same for them, and you know it.”
“In what way?”
“Proudfellow aside, the others are married. Those women have husbands.”
“Had,” I corrected. “Mistress Scot is a widow.”
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse. My point stands. They’ve a man or men behind them. You don’t—if you did, you wouldn’t be contemplating such a mad scheme. As you’ve had pointed out to you, you’re unmarried. A woman entering this type of venture on her own . . . well . . . you’re vulnerable. It’s dangerous.”
“I’ve Adam, Will, and Westel, I’m not on my own. I’ve men behind me. Men who at least respect my decisions.”
Tobias’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “Respect? Is that what you call it? They’re besotted with you, Anneke, the lot of them. The fact you pay them to hang around and do your bidding is just a bonus.”
I closed the distance between us swiftly. Once again, I was the angry big sister chastising my younger brother.
“Don’t you ever speak about Adam, Will, or Westel in that way again, do you hear?”
“Fine. I won’t. I won’t ever speak about them again if you like.” His voice grew louder, reverberating around the office. “But someone has to tell you what you’re risking because they damn well won’t!”
“And what am I risking, Tobias? Go on, say it.” I wanted to hear it from his lips.
“Your reputation, Anneke. If you open an alehouse then any chance you have of finding a husband is dashed. All the tales being woven about you in town, they’ll not be restricted to a few bitter women or unhappy, jealous men. On the contrary, they’ll spread faster than Greek fire and you’ll be the one to burn. It won’t just be my master calling you a whore either.”
Thunder roared in my ears. Darkness flickered at the edges of my vision. I couldn’t recall ever being so angry. That he might be right infuriated me even more. I flexed my fingers by my side.
“You dare to say such a thing to me?”
“I’ll say whatever it takes to talk you out of this foolery! And, if I can’t, then you better get used to having it said about you. After all, you know what they say about women and alehouses?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I said in a voice that suggested the opposite.
Tobias took a deep breath. The throbbing vein at his temple revealed the depth of his rage.
“When a woman opens an alehouse, she may as well open her legs.”
Unable to bear the reproach in his eyes, the superior tone in his voice, and, if I’m candid, the truth in what he said, I didn’t respond. Returning to the desk, I collected up my papers, running my eyes over the diagrams, the figures, though I didn’t really see them.
“Good God, Anneke.” He ripped the papers away from me. “You can’t seriously be considering this? If you go ahead, it will just be a matter of time before you and the family are dragged into the mire.”
“What else am I supposed to do, Tobias?” I took the sheet back, tearing it slightly as I did.
“Anything would be better than what you’re proposing.”
“Anything? What, even working for Cousin Hiske?”
“Aye, if it would save you from this.” He snatched the papers back and flapped them in my face. His eyes were flashing, and there were high spots of color on his cheeks.
I no longer knew my brother, and he certainly didn’t know me. The accord I’d felt between us was simply a product of my desperate imagination.
“Anyway, this is moot. I’ve made my decision.” Tobias slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. “I forbid you.”
“You what?” My eyes narrowed. Incandescent fury began to unfurl, a great black sail in my gut. “Forbid me? Since when do you tell me what to do?”
Tobias lifted his chin. “I’m your brother and head of this family. I can tell you whatever I damn well please. You’ll not do this and that’s my final word.” He began to tear the paper into pieces. Flinging them into the fire, he slapped his hands together. “This conversation is over.”
I stared at him in shock. He may have had the Rainford blood running in his veins, but at that moment, he reminded me of Father.
Without thinking, I raised my hand and with all my strength struck Tobias across the face. His head snapped back. Blood poured from his lip. Staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief, he tentatively touched the area and his fingers came away carmine.
“You’re right, Tobias,” I said slowly and carefully, my hand burning, the jolt of drawing blood not yet registering. “We’ll not speak of this again. In fact, once you leave here, we won’t speak. Now, I suggest you go.” I pointed to the door, my arm quivering, my eyes glassy. Part of me wanted to stop this now, to run to my brother and fold him in my arms, take back everything. This wasn’t us; this wasn’t how it should be. I hesitated. May the dear Lord forgive me, I was too angry to apologize, too enraged to be the first to concede . . .
“I can’t believe you did that.” Tobias shook his head and gave a bitter laugh, wincing as his lip pulled. Dabbing his mouth with a kerchief, Tobias held up a hand to prevent me coming closer. “What was I thinking? Perhaps Sir Leander was right, perhaps he saw something that I’ve failed to note.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Tobias pushed his face into mine. “You’re a whore after all.”
Inhaling sharply, I stepped back. “Mind your next words, Tobias. By all that’s sacred and holy . . .”
I could see the battle taking place behind his eyes. I prayed we would make things right between us. But the devil was in Tobias tonight as well. “Sometimes people deserve the names we bestow.”
A shudder ran through me. There was no return from this. “Get out. Now.”
“Oh, I’ll leave.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But let me say one last thing. If you go ahead with this, then understand, I won’t be here to protect you—not from gossip or rumor, not from the unwelcome attentions of your guests, or from yourself. If you proceed then you’re on your own.”
“What you’ve shown me tonight, brother, is that I always have been.”
Without another word, Tobias strode from the office, slamming the door so hard the windows in the shop shook. I stood staring at the fire, without moving. Slowly, I sank into the chair, my entire body atremble, my throat dry, my mind numb.
Oh God, what just happened?
Like my parents, the hounds, and my reputation, it was evident I’d lost my brother as well. My head dropped and I wept as only one with a broken heart can.
Twenty-Five
Holcroft House
After the Feast of the Epiphany to the Ides of February
The year of Our Lord 1406 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV
I heard through Captain Stoyan that Tobias and Sir Leander arrived safely in Gascony and, after taking on cargo, sailed to the Mediterranean. Neither would be in English seas for at least another six months. In front of Adam and Saskia, Sir Leander bade me a solemn farewell; the way he pressed my hand and searched my eyes led me to surmise he knew that Tobias and I had argued. That my brother had stormed from the house before I rejoined everyone in the hall made our falling-out obvious, but I was too angry to explain or apologize. Promising to keep my brother safe, Sir Leander kissed my hand slowly and warmly, his eyes lingering on my lips as he raised his head. When he didn’t relinquish my hand but squeezed it involuntarily a few times, I gave him a pretty curtsy, despite my shaking knees. Too tense and anxious to understand that this leave-taking was for a goodly time, I said goodbye. Who was Sir Leander but my brother’s master, anyway? And hadn’t he been the one to bestow on me the awful name that Tobias used in the first place? I was glad to see the last of him, I told myself.
Was I a poor sister if I confessed to feeling relieved that Tobias had left? That I did not have to endure another moment in his company? Well, I was, and I stubbornly refused to accept any blame for our disagreement and pursued my plan to open an
alehouse with renewed determination. Not only did I need to pay Lord Rainford, I also had to prove my brother wrong. If I was to earn any reputation, I would tell myself as I scrubbed the soon-to-open alehouse, polished spoons, and cleaned tankards and mazers alongside Iris and Westel, it would be as the efficient and generous manager of an excellent establishment that sold fine ale, beer, and fare.
I didn’t confide in anyone about my fight with Tobias. To tell the truth, as Christmastide drew to a close and we celebrated the Feast of Epiphany with prayer and carousing, I was embarrassed and saddened beyond measure. Then I would remember Tobias’s words. It was tantamount to betrayal. Most of all, I felt utter indignation that he saw fit to forbid me.
While the twins were oblivious to the schism, Adam, Saskia, and Blanche at least knew exactly what had gone on. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t need to—their respectful silence, the additional attention paid to the meals sent to me in the brewery or the way they drew their stools closer at night in the hall spoke of how they felt. I basked in their support, knowing that the alehouse would be the saving of Holcroft House.
Westel was more than usually attentive in the days following the argument. So much so, I became convinced he must have been privy to the words exchanged. This proved to be right when, in an innocent comment, Karel revealed that Westel had followed Tobias out of the hall on St. Stephen’s night.
“He was supposed to be fetching Tobias’s cloak, but he was gone so long, we thought you must have kept him in the office.”
I didn’t explain that I’d neither kept Westel nor been aware of his presence. That little piece of information went a long way to explaining the willing way Westel went about his tasks and more. In what used to be the shopfront and which was slowly transforming into my alehouse, Westel would entertain me by describing the customers we’d have, their manner, their dress, and inventing ways in which they’d laud our ale. He gave me hope, just when I thought there was so little as the pressures of furnishing the alehouse, promoting its forthcoming opening, not to mention increasing the amount of ale and now beer we produced, were taking their toll. Without Westel, Awel, and Delyth, and the quiet cooperation of the twins and the servants, I never would have accomplished it.
I was grateful to them all—but most especially Westel.
* * *
Our original intention to open on Twelfth Night was delayed by over a month. Instead, on a bitterly cold Saturday, just on the ides of February, I announced the Cathaline Alehouse open for business. The name was my choice—I knew it would arouse Tobias’s ire and possibly that of my patron, Lord Rainford, but I wanted to honor my mother. I drew strength from her name.
The morning of our opening, I emerged from the brewery as the sun began to peep through the leaden mist. The smell of moisture clung to everything; the tang of salt was there too, if you dared breathe the cold air deeply enough. Crossing through the snow to the kitchen, my heart contracted as, once again, I missed my hounds. Chickens and pigs did not arouse the same degree of affection, and though the slender church cat would wend its way along the wall, sometimes jumping down to weave between my legs, she belonged to Father Clement.
Spying my approach, the twins raced outside, took my hands and pulled me into the warmth of the kitchen. Inside, Blanche and Iris were preparing small loaves of bread to serve in the alehouse while a huge pottage bubbled away on the stove. The smell was comforting, as were the children’s bodies, pressed close to mine we sat on the bench and drank some almond milk.
Blanche and Iris chatted. They were anxious and excited about the alehouse opening. Adam and Saskia had gone to the market to fetch some last-minute supplies; Louisa was busy in the scullery, pressing tablecloths and attending to the dress I was determined to wear that afternoon to greet my first customers, while Will was laying a fire so the room would be warm. I’d left Westel and the Parry sisters in the brewhouse. I admit to enjoying the guilty pleasure of a pause in my otherwise busy day.
“Can we come to the alehouse too?” asked Betje, leaning over the table with a wet finger, daubing the salt that had spilled on the table and bringing it to her mouth. It was satisfying to me that she defined the alehouse as a separate space that required permission to enter. I’d worked hard to maintain the division between commercial and domestic parts of the building as we’d always done.
“Oh, please say aye, Anneke!” begged Karel, widening those big blue eyes.
Ruffling his curls, I shook my head. “I’m afraid my answer today is the same as it’s been every other day you’ve asked that question.”
“Nay, my darlings, you cannot,” said Betje in a perfect imitation of my voice, grinning at me.
I threw back my head and laughed and the others joined in. Karel jumped off the bench and began to strut around the kitchen, giving orders to imaginary staff, adopting my walk and stance with remarkable accuracy.
“I do not look like that,” I objected, as he placed one hand on his hip and shook a finger.
“You do,” said Betje, applauding her brother.
I was about to join the mummery, when Will entered waving a letter.
“Mistress Sheldrake. This just arrived.”
I didn’t recognize the handwriting or the frank. “Thank you, Will.”
“Open it,” said Karel, clambering back up next to me.
“Read it to us,” said Betje, looping her arm through mine, making it difficult for me to break the seal. It was very good quality paper, the ebony ink pronounced against the creamy surface.
“Right Honorable Mistress Sheldrake.”
“Who’s it from?” chimed Karel.
My eyes dropped to the signature at the bottom. My stomach fluttered. It was from Leander Rainford. My cheeks began to pinken.
“Sir Leander,” I said quietly.
Beside me, Blanche and Iris stopped talking. My heart thundering, I slowly rose to my feet. Why would Tobias’s master write to me? I scanned the contents quickly.
I commend myself to you and trust this missive finds you well. I pray you do not think this presumptuous, but I wanted to reassure you about Tobias.
My veins turned to ice. Oh dear God, what’s happened?
“What is it, Anneke? What’s wrong?” asked Betje, crawling along the bench to reach me. She touched my cheek. I pressed her hand against my face. It was warm, solid.
“Nothing, nothing,” I lied and kept reading Sir Leander’s bold, tidy script:
Though Tobias has not been forthcoming about the manner in which he departed Holcroft House the night of St. Stephen’s, I gather there has been a disturbance in your good relations and I wanted to express my sorrow and hope that my unforgivable behavior on first making your acquaintance, never mind the deplorable liberties I took on Christmas Day, have not been in any way responsible.
I burrowed my cheek into Betje’s hand, a small smile tugging the corners of my mouth. If only Sir Leander knew . . .
I further pray that one day, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.
Looking up from the letter, I pulled Betje’s hand away and kissed her palm warmly.
“What’s that for?” She extracted her hand and wiped it on her dress.
“No reason,” I said, and tugged her plait before continuing with the letter.
Above all, I wanted to reassure you that I will continue to look to Tobias’s health and well-being as I have always done so that you need not cast your mind in our direction but focus on what needs be done at Holcroft House.
There were a few lines about the ports they would be calling upon and the weather they were anticipating before he signed off.
I wish you every good fortune in what is a brave venture for a woman, more so one on her own. With that in mind, I invite you to call upon me for assistance or advice at anytime. May the Holy Trinity have you and your family in their keeping always, yours in blessed Christ’s name, Leander Rainford.
Aware of everyone’s eyes upon me, I folded the letter quickly and tucked
it against my breast.
“Anneke! You said you were going to read it to us.” Karel folded his arms and pouted.
“I said no such thing.”
“Is Sir Leander well, mistress?” asked Will, who’d lingered in the hope of news.
“Very, Will.”
“What does he say?” said Betje, her voice demanding.
I spun on the bench and stood, taking a crust of bread from the trencher. “That all is well with him and he sends his best to you.”
“That’s it? What about Tobias?”
A shadow flitted across my mind. “He’s well too.”
I glanced at Blanche and Iris, who both found the dough and pottage very interesting.
The bells for sext sounded. Midday. Adam and Saskia entered, creating a welcome diversion. Flushed from walking quickly, Saskia heaved her basket onto the table, pulling off her mantle, hood, and gloves, brushing bits of snow from the fabric.
“Well, that should be everything,” she said, using the ends of her scarf to wipe her face. Adam hefted two laden sacks onto the table.
“I placed a poster up near the pillory, Mistress Anneke.” He removed his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “As you can imagine, there’re a few people in the stocks with it approaching Lent, so I figured they would draw a crowd.”
“I told him we didn’t want that sort coming here,” chided Saskia, shaking her head. “But would he listen?”
“All sorts stroll by the pillory, Saskia.” I laughed. “It’s those locked into it whose custom we’d decline, not those who choose to mock or study folk foolish enough to break the law.”
“Ja, well, I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Saskia wrapped an apron around her waist and shot Adam a smile. He winked at me. Saskia began unpacking her basket, while Adam unwrapped the additional candles and haunch of mutton he’d bought.