Brewer's Tale, The (43 page)

HOLCROFT HOUSE

The day before Hocktide

The year of Our Lord 1406 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV

A
s a household, we attended the early mass, stifling yawns. Entering the coolness of St Bartholomew's as the cock crowed, Father Clement's welcoming smile and the rhythmic chanting of the novices warmed us from within.

Returning to the house before tierce, I downed a small ale and headed into the brewhouse when Adam caught up with me, announcing we had guests.

It was Sir Symond Rainford and his squire.

Astounded the man had the gall to come to the house so early, I was more shocked to discover he was here to demand payment of the rent. Why, he was still a day early. Flustered, I scurried across the garden, untying my apron and dumping it unceremoniously on the kitchen table. It wasn't until I stood outside the office, forcing myself to take deep breaths and collect my thoughts, that it occurred to me this was quite deliberate. Sir Symond had done this with the intention to teach me a lesson. Unable to stomach that I'd managed to outwit him at our first meeting by making him adhere to the original terms of the contract, he sought to turn the tables. He thought to catch me unprepared.

Well, he was about to be disappointed.

Entering the office, Adam on my heels, Sir Symond was seated behind the desk, his squire and, to my surprise, Master Makejoy, hovering on the other side. Sir Symond rose as I came in and, in what was intended to appear an act of gallantry, bowed and kissed my hand. I resisted the urge to wipe it on my tunic.

Pleasantries were stiffly exchanged, poor Master Makejoy having been dragged away from church, clearly wanting to be anywhere but Holcroft House this fine morning. I could hear him uttering prayers under his breath and the cross he carried in his pocket was transferred to his palm.

‘Forgive our intrusion so early,' said Sir Symond, towering over me, ‘but a contract, as you pointed out the last time we met, is a contract.'

‘It is, my lord. And you are a day early.'

‘It isn't convenient for me to attend on Hocktide. It has to be today.'

‘I see. And is it also inconvenient for Master Makejoy, who's obliged to collect rents from Lord Rainford's other tenants on Hocktide?'

The look on Master Makejoy's face revealed he'd made the same argument.

Sir Symond gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. ‘I'm making an exception for you.'

Of me
, I thought, but did not express this aloud. ‘Then it's just as well I'm exceptional, is it not, my lord?'

Without further ado, I opened the cupboard by the hearth and from a small safe within, extracted a hessian bag, placing it before him on the desk. ‘Consider the terms of my contract met.' I gave a small curtsey.

Sporting an expression of disbelief, Sir Symond nudged the bag towards Master Makejoy. Taking a seat, Master Makejoy sighed and, untying the knot I'd securely fastened only the evening before, tipped the coins onto the wood. A few rolled away, Master Makejoy's long fingers grasping them before they collided with Sir Symond's silk-clad elbow or fell on the floor. Taking his time, Master Makejoy counted them, stacking them one atop the other in small piles. Once he'd finished, he gestured the squire over to check his calculations. I couldn't conceal my smile when, finally, Master de Montefort announced, ‘It's all here, my lord.'

‘All?' said Sir Symond, looking down his misshapen nose at the crooked towers of coins, coins that represented over five months of our endeavours, months of heartache and grief as well. Barely able to conceal his astonishment, he simply stared.

‘Every last noble and groat,' said Master Makejoy, recording the amount in the book he'd brought. Pulling a piece of parchment out of his satchel, with a wink he handed me a quill and pointed to a space on the bottom for me to sign. It was a receipt.

I looked at Adam in triumph, returning the quill to Master Makejoy who quickly made a copy. Adam folded his arms and flashed me a grin.

Sir Symond gestured towards the money. Master de Montefort scraped the coins back into the pouch. ‘Well, well, well, Mistress Sheldrake. There's more to you than meets the eye, as delightful as that might be.'

‘There's enough, my lord.' I deliberately misunderstood him, concentrating on folding the receipt and tucking it in a pocket. I would put it with my other documents later. ‘What is owed — no more, no less.' I fixed a bright smile. ‘Now, if you'll forgive me, I've work to do. Adam will escort you to the door.' I dropped another curtsey.

‘Before you leave, Mistress Sheldrake.' Sir Symond was on his feet and in two strides blocked the doorway.

‘My lord?'

Leaning so his mouth was close to my face, he tipped his head slightly. ‘I'm not certain how you managed to do this, but I've an idea. You won't always be so lucky. If you find yourself unable to meet the Michaelmas rents, I want you to know there's always a bargain to be made with another Rainford.' He moved closer. The odour of sour wine enveloped me. ‘That way, we keep it in the family.' His eyes glinted, his meaning unmistakable.

Adam gasped and Master Makejoy cleared his throat.

‘A bargain? With you?' I stepped away, my back against the door. Really, this man was insufferable.

‘You'll find me much more agreeable than my father or my cripple of a brother.'

I drew my breath in sharply and, fumbling for the handle, swung the door open, making it a barrier that came between us. ‘I would rather deal with the devil.' With that, I swept from the room.

Making the rent monies as well as what I owed in arrears had a remarkably liberating effect — not just upon me, but the entire house. We went from despair to exhilaration, from anxiety to confidence, the latter helped by Captain Stoyan placing additional orders, meaning I was now to supply any of his fleet leaving from Elmham Lenn with beer. He also sent me a note announcing my beer had been well received in Flanders and that he would require more barrels to take on his next voyage there. I was ecstatic. Though business had slowly picked up in the Cathaline Alehouse, I'd no longer any need to rely on it exclusively for income. Freed from the urgency to bring in custom, it's a rich irony that patrons then came. As it was wont to do, word spread that not only were the foreign sailors swallowing my beer like drowning men do the sea, but I was exporting the drink as well. Not wanting to miss out on what those on the other side of the sea, ‘the damn Dutch', were clearly enjoying meant that not only the curious but also the indignant chose to frequent my establishment.

The weeks flew by and as the tragedy of Will's death became less immediately painful, my visits to his gravesite became more an act of honour and remembering than a desperate desire to seek atonement. The entire house fell back into old rhythms that suggested normalcy had once more taken roost in Holcroft House. The only discord in an otherwise peaceful time involved the office and the brewery. Just as the feeling of being watched as I performed the ancient rites would not leave me, so too when I entered the office each afternoon, the sense that the ledgers and books had been disturbed grew daily. There was nothing obvious — a sheet of paper askew, the ink bottle moved, a book placed where I was sure it hadn't been a day earlier. When I asked Adam about it, he shook his head. ‘Perhaps you should lock the door?' Loathe to do this because of the lack of trust it suggested between me and the servants, I waited for the right moment to ask the others if they'd entered. They all denied it.

Only Saskia, when I mentioned it to her, studied me over the hem she was lowering. ‘Strange that you should notice such a thing after Will mentioned Westel's habit of sneaking about the house when we're abed.'

‘Why on earth would Westel slink into the office? For what purpose? He sees the ledgers weekly. He enters the office regularly. I oft request he fetch something for me. Secrecy isn't necessary.'

Saskia shrugged. ‘I don't know. The same reason he's always sneaked about. I've heard him too. I told you, you allow him too much leeway, Mistress Anneke. You have from the moment he came into this house. I just hope you don't live to regret it.'

‘You've never liked him. Why, you even said he smiles too much.'

‘He does.' She paused. ‘I don't like him. Nay, that's not right. It's that I don't trust him. And to make matters worse, he's replaced all that smiling with prayers. Have you noticed? Always muttering and asking the Lord for this and that God forgive him that. There's something wrong with Westel. That behaviour isn't normal for a layperson.'

I had noticed. How could I not? ‘A commoner raised in a priory.' Yet again, I defended him.

Saskia sighed.

‘What do you suggest I do about it?'

‘Do? If it were up to me, I'd pay him for his services and send him on his way. I know, I know, you can ill afford to do that. He's a good worker and God knows, with the Parry girls gone and others too scared to work here, we need all the hands we can get. But if I were you, I'd keep a closer eye on him than ever. He's up to something, mark my words.'

‘Perhaps he's a spy,' I scoffed at the notion.

‘I thought they were supposed to fit in, not draw attention to themselves by flashing their teeth all the time and calling upon God. If he's a spy, I'm the Queen of the Muscovites,' she said, and chuckled at the very thought.

For a couple of days, I found myself watching Westel and indeed he did frown and mutter prayers a great deal, crossing himself, smiling and then muttering some more. It was as if he were conversing with the Holy Spirit or debating with his conscience. But when he caught me looking at him, he'd always give me a huge grin. I took to locking the office door but, as the days grew longer and other thoughts occupied me, I forgot and I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary again.

Though within the brewhouse it was another matter …

The twins thrived as the weather grew warmer and Louisa would take them for walks along the Nene, down to the bay and to visit Master Perkyn and Olive. Karel underwent a growth spurt and I sent Saskia to the mercers for cloth for trousers and a new shirt, acutely aware the time for both the twins to leave the nursery was fast approaching. Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, it was Master Makejoy who forced me to consider the implications of having two growing children under my roof.

Not long after Whitsunday, one day late in May, he was preparing to leave after checking the books when Karel, with nary a knock or by your leave, burst into the office.

‘There you are, Anneke!' he exclaimed. ‘You should see the harbour, why it's full of —' He stopped when he caught sight of Master Makejoy. ‘Forgive me, sir,' he said quickly and doffing his cap, bowed. ‘I didn't know we had a guest. God give you good welcome.'

Master Makejoy nodded agreeably. Though his wife abjured the family he was forced to reckon with, he was always pleasant, especially since the incident with Sir Symond. ‘That's all right, lad. Master Karel, isn't it? My, you've grown, haven't you?'

Karel puffed out his chest, the laces on his shirt pulled to their ends. ‘I'm seven now,' said Karel.

‘Seven! We'll have to put you to work then, won't we?' Master Makejoy leaned over and ruffled his hair.

Taken aback, I stared at Karel as if with fresh eyes. Tobias had been squired at seven; all the tenant farmers' children were out in the fields by this age. Master Makejoy was right, it was time to consider Karel's future. But surely, I thought, looking at the way he smoothed down the hair Master Makejoy had disturbed, noting the dimples on the back of his hands where his knuckles would one day protrude, not yet. There was time for Karel and Betje to just be children, surely? Ushering him out with promises I would come and see what delighted him so — a fleet of caravels, as it turned out — I closed the door upon him, just as I did the disturbing thoughts Master Makejoy's observations aroused.