Brewer's Tale, The (45 page)

I froze, my back straight, my face unmoving, the letter utterly still in my rigid fingers. What was this? Where was the warmth? Our mutual understanding? Our mutual admiration? Or had that been a figment of my colourful imaginings? What happened to, ‘I am yours to command'? Or, ‘All it would take is your expressed need'? It was as if the friendship I believed we'd nurtured had somehow wasted away. What had I done? My chest became heavy, solid. I know it was unreasonable, but until that exact moment, I didn't know how much I depended on Sir Leander to offer me hope — and not just over Karel. I confess, I'd secretly longed for another solution to Karel's situation, one that Sir Leander would provide and for which I'd be most grateful. But instead, he pushed me towards a course which filled me with despair, as it announced to the world that our standing had forever changed. Allowing Karel to become an apprentice to one of Master Makejoy's acquaintances confirmed how far we'd fallen on the social scale.

I put Sir Leander's letter aside and opened Tobias's. It was a few pages and my eyes flew across the untidy words.

Greetings dear sister,

I trust this finds you and the twins well and in God's good graces. Sir Leander told me of Will Heymonger's death and you have my deepest sympathy. It would be remiss of me, Anneke, if I did not remind you that I warned of what might happen if you ignored the advice of those who know better and proceeded with the alehouse. It is therefore God's judgement that you now bear the consequences of your wilful sins and foolish decisions, and I hope you're doing this with good grace and many prayers. I expect that if you've not already relocated to Cousin Hiske's that you will have done so by the time we next meet. Understand, Anneke, there's no shame in companionship, not even to one such as our cousin and, over time, memories of what you did and what your poor choices led to will be forgotten. For certes, if from this day forth you demonstrate the good sense and modesty which I know resides within you, they will be forgotten by me.

If Tobias had been before me at this moment, I think, God forgive me, I would have slapped him again. The self-righteousness, the smugness, was more than I could bear. I scanned the rest of the letter quickly. He wrote about his travels along the Dalmatian Coast, the islands they encountered, the people. Lacking Sir Leander's playfulness and eye for detail, his tales didn't hold my interest, not when he held such a poor opinion of me.

Disheartened and about to toss it aside, the last few paragraphs caught my eye.

I also write to inform you that though we'd hoped to return to Elmham Lenn before the end of summer, another pleasure has been afforded us. Sir Leander and I will be docking in London where, in the first week of August, my master will fulfil long-held plans of marrying his betrothed, the Lady Cecilia, widow of the former Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Walter Barnham …

My vision became distorted. The roaring in my ears grew.
Marrying? Cecilia Barnham? Long-held plans?
I tried to place the name, conjure a face. Why, she was a very wealthy widow, but old … so old … my eyes dropped back to the letter.

Good King Henry arranged this excellent match as a favour to Sir Leander's father for, as you can imagine, being the youngest son and carrying an affliction as my lord does, a suitable union was difficult to arrange. But, typical of my master, who does not let that which would defeat a lesser man discommode him, he manages not only to find an heiress, but a noble one as well.

While Sir Leander wished to bear these good tidings to you and does intend to do so, I would not be fulfilling my brotherly duties if I did not inform you first. Perforce, I am also using this opportunity to call you to task once more. This gives me no pleasure, Anneke, but it must be said. It is apparent to me, and no doubt others, that you harbour improper feelings for my master, ones unbecoming of your station, as your shameless display Christmas Day and frequent missives to him attest. It is my solemn wish that upon learning of his forthcoming nuptials you will banish whatever foolish fancies or imprudent desires you may have accommodated, for such are the vagaries of females I do not doubt that you imagined some romantic attachment between yourself and my lord. Sir Leander was always destined to make a fine marriage and you were prideful to think otherwise. I hope this news reminds you of your place and duties. For now, you must set your sights on restoring your reputation and the name of the family in the hope that one day I can secure for you a match worthy of a Sheldrake.

I know you will add your felicitations to those I've already expressed to Sir Leander and I will be sure to pass these on.

May God have you, Karel and Betje in his keeping,

Written in haste, Trinity Sunday,

Your loving brother,

Tobias Sheldrake

Waves of emotion washed over me. A mixture of disbelief, outrage that Tobias could presume to second-guess my feelings and address me so brutally, and frustration I couldn't defend myself, raged within. Most of all, I felt sadness. Sadness that my brother could write to me thus and sadness that Sir Leander hadn't seen fit to tell me himself about his pending nuptials. I now understood the coldness in his letter. He'd already begun the process of distancing himself, of placing me at arm's length.

Cecilia Barnham. Cecilia Rainford. Lady Cecilia Rainford. Why hadn't he told me?

There'd never been so much as a hint of it. But why would there be? Sir Leander was under no obligation to confide in me, to discuss his private affairs … I knew so little about him. Only that, whatever I may have thought at our first encounter, I was wrong, hasty …
Just as he confessed he'd been about me.

The way he kissed me … I thought … I hoped … I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply. I'd no right to hurt so.

I could hear my heart beating in my ears, feel it hammering against my ribs. It was hard to breathe. Tears pricked my eyes, and I fought them back. The noises from the churchyard next door were more subdued but no less joyous. They simply compounded my growing misery.

Opening my eyes minutes later, the room was darkened, the melting candles throwing only the faintest of lights as the velvet hues of evening and the crackle of the church's bonfire closed around me. I glanced at the letter again and, though it was too dim to make out the words, they were burned into my memory. I wanted to deny Tobias's accusations, point out to him how ludicrous, how priggish … Only … I did have feelings for Sir Leander. But they weren't improper. How could they be, when they sprang from deep affection, friendship and trust?

As for my shameless display at Christmas, why, Sir Leander had initiated that kiss.

Aye, but you did answer his passion with your own …

Oh God. And I would do it again — over and over …

Holding Tobias's letter at arm's length, I stared at it, the words beginning to blur. Leander Rainford was getting married. Soon. He was my confidant, a friend, nothing more. Nothing more … I wasn't a fool. I wasn't.

Except in your wildest and most secret imaginings …

Perhaps there, but only there, where dreams could run free …

‘You're wrong about my feelings for Sir Leander Rainford, Tobias Sheldrake,' I spoke to the empty room, my voice quivering. ‘I do not love him. Love and even imprudent desires have never entered my reckoning, nor will they. Not ever. Not where your master is concerned. Marriage is a call for celebration, not rebuke, nor false fancy.' I picked up my goblet and drained it. ‘Do not concern yourself with my heart or, for that matter, my reputation, Tobias. They're mine to give, mine to make; and I will do so.'

Tossing my head, I walked slowly from the solar, proud that I'd shed not one tear.

Not yet.

HOLCROFT HOUSE

Midsummer's Eve

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

I
perched on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. As the moon slowly travelled its arc across the sky, the revels next door ceased. The bonfire subsided and the unseasonably cool summer's night wrapped itself around me as the house descended into slumber. The servants had made their weary ways to bed, Adam slipping in through the mews door, Blanche closing the kitchen one below. There was the creak of stairs, followed shortly after by the rustle of the curtain behind me. Saskia entered my room with the familiarity of a servant of longstanding, hesitating briefly by the curtained doorway before kneeling and throwing more wood on the fire Iris had lit earlier.

‘Are you all right, Mistress Anneke?' she asked.

‘Of course. Why wouldn't I be?' I didn't turn around.

She sighed and, boring a hole into my back with that stare of hers, willing me to meet her gaze, stood to one side of the hearth.

‘Because it's not like you to come to bed without bidding us goodnight.'

‘It's not, is it? Forgive me. A headache prevented it.' My lie was as apparent as the flames licking the wood.

‘A headache?' She tutted in false sympathy. ‘That's too bad. It's no trouble to fix you something. Or,' her tone altered, ‘I could comb your hair like I used to when you were small and we would chat. You found that soothing.'

I twisted and gave her a weak smile. ‘It's not necessary. I'm hoping it's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure. Goodnight, Saskia.'

Her face revealed how hurt she was by my abrupt dismissal and how unconvinced she was by my words. It didn't make me feel any better.

Waiting till the curtain fell into place and Saskia's soft tread faded, I rose and clambered onto the window seat. The window was open, the shutters flung back. Inhaling deeply, the tepid scents of evening entered — mostly sweet, tinged with woodsmoke, salt, ale and the faint ordure of the animals. High in the sky, the moon showed half her face, casting a silvery glow over the garden, forging dark shapes and unmaking others. Stars twinkled, scattered over the blanket of night like tiny treasures. Over the garden wall, a light bobbed within the church; Father Clement preparing for the midnight prayers, matins. I offered my own swift one to the Lord and to Mother Mary, though my heart wasn't really in it.

Despite what I claimed, my heart was with Sir Leander Rainford.

Burying my face in my hands, I resisted the urge to weep, to fling myself upon the pillow and cry the way one does when senseless, short-sighted dreams are dashed. Dreams that, until Tobias announced Sir Leander's forthcoming marriage, I didn't know I'd had — or did I? According to Tobias, they were obvious to everyone.

How could I be so stupid? I cringed with shame.

Resting my chin against my shoulder and wrapping one arm around my belly, I concentrated on quashing the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. An owl hooted, its movement swift against the starry firmament, making me jump. Releasing a deep shuddering sigh, I let go of my stomach and traced mindless patterns on the sill.

When Father was alive, I'd always hoped that one day a suitable husband would be found for me. Oh, we'd had offers. As soon as I turned sixteen, Father and Hiske were approached by the likes of the cloth merchant's son, Robert Mercer, a cocky, ill-mannered man who spent his father's money faster than he could make it. Father rebuffed him and Robert married Ellen de Lys, daughter of another merchant who specialised in fragrant unguents and oils. They'd taken their business to Saint-Germain. That was four years ago and I hadn't heard anything of them since. Then there was Sir Abel Orped, an old knight who had lost an arm in France and four wives besides and was given land and a small annuity by Lord Rainford for his services. Making no secret that he wanted a wife and sons to farm it for him, I was his third effort at securing a woman in a month. Fortunately, despite Hiske's assertions he'd be a fine husband, Father rejected his offer as well. I wonder if it was because of the man's association with Lord Rainford rather than his violent reputation.

There'd been others too. None had been right according to Father.

I'd always believed he was waiting for the best offer, the right man, before he gave me away in marriage.

And now? As an orphan and eldest child, I'd no-one to speak for me, to tender a dowry which might compensate for my shortcomings: namely, two young siblings, brewing, an alehouse and a blistering reputation.

All that aside, was there ever a time when I could have attracted the legitimate attentions of a nobleman? Once, mayhap … But ever since Mother died and Father made the contract with Lord Rainford, the best I could hope for in a husband was a struggling merchant or mayhap a poor knight … Never a peer of the realm, not even the youngest son of one … Not even a cripple …

I sighed. It was long, drawn from the depths of my being. Truth be told, before I decided upon brewing, Sir Leander was unavailable to me no matter what. The son of a lord forming a union with the eldest child of one of his vassals wasn't possible. Though we'd all heard stories of nobles marrying farm girls and kings taking housemaids as mistresses, they belonged in the realm of make-believe, not my reality.