SIX

BETWEEN SCALES HALL AND HOLCROFT HOUSE, ELMHAM LENN

The same day in October

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

As Adam and I left Scales Hall, the chapel bells sounded, their chimes echoing around the valley and following us through the village, a joyous song that matched the one resounding in my heart. I’d been granted the time I needed to earn a living, to keep the house and thus prevent us from becoming little more than Cousin Hiske’s servants. That this came at such a cost, being beholden to the man I’d come to regard as the source of all our woes, that I was placing myself in a situation akin to that which Father had, was not something I wanted to consider. Not until it was forced upon me. In the meantime, I’d plans to make and work to do. In order to achieve any of this, I needed the help of the servants.

We rode in silence but my thoughts were so loud and busy I wouldn’t have been surprised if Adam had begun answering the conundrums I posed myself. We left the village and travelled along the muddy road that ran beside the river, careful to avoid the deeper grooves so as not to bog our vehicle. Swaying from side to side, I replayed the conversation with his lordship, still not quite able to believe I’d managed to reverse his initial refusal. Sending a swift prayer of thanks to the Holy Mother and my own, the thing that struck me most was Lord Rainford’s reluctant acknowledgement of his affair with Mother; that he’d used her so disgracefully. I hadn’t expected that and, I confess, it hurt. I’d half-hoped he’d scoff at my accusation and demand I leave his house. But one would only have to see Tobias next to him to know any denial of paternity would be moot. My stomach lurched. Others must realise what to me was now so apparent: the resemblance was uncanny. I glanced at Adam, his concentration fixed on the road, on guiding Shelby onto the slightly higher ground. Was it possible Adam knew? That he’d known all along? That Saskia, Blanche and the entire household knew what I’d only just confirmed? That Tobias was a Rainford? I chided myself. My brother was only partly a Rainford. He was also a de Winter — just like me.

No wonder Papa not only kept away as much as he could but also sent Tobias from his sight at the first opportunity. That must be why he’d resigned all his offices, withdrawn from public service and taken to the oceans; his pride wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise.

Bringing Cousin Hiske into the household simply gave him less reason to come home and face his shame. Torn between pity for my father and angry disappointment that he could treat us in such a fashion, I was conflicted. Did Cousin Hiske know? She’d never met Lord Rainford as far as I knew … My chest went cold and I gripped the cloak at my throat, the parchment of the contract rustling as it was crushed.

But Master Makejoy would know …

The idea that Mother’s dreadful secret had never really been one made me feel peculiar. It was a mixture of both release and acute humiliation. But what about Tobias? Was he yet to discover the truth of his birth? And what about Leander Rainford, Tobias’s master and his lordship’s youngest son? He must know. How did he feel? Did he even care? If Sir Leander was anything like his father, it would make not one iota of difference to him; men of his rank sired bastards everywhere and he no doubt had a brood of his own being raised around the countryside.

Or was I creating drama where there was none? If the truth of Tobias’s birth was known, why had no-one come forward before? Of all those in my small circle of acquaintance, Hiske wouldn’t have remained silent. I could just imagine how she’d deploy such knowledge. Saskia would have intimated something before now as well. I glanced at Adam. Perhaps no-one knew after all — and, really, what difference did it make? Mother was dead, so was Father. Tobias was secure and, just as Mother intended by confessing to me, it had given me an advantage and I’d been able to attempt to shore up a future.

The lilac hues of approaching evening began to transform the blues of the sky into something softer. Knowing we still had a while before vespers and spying the friary wall looming in the distance, I asked Adam if we might stop for refreshment. The friary ran a guesthouse that offered passing travellers cheap ale and some nourishment. I needed to order my thoughts before we arrived home and Adam deserved to know that had happened in Scales Hall. He wouldn’t ask me because he was far too circumspect and aware of the differences in our station — a situation Father’s death had made more apparent as overnight I changed from being the master’s daughter to mistress in my own right. I started to piece together what I would tell my steward about the contract I’d made, knowing that portions of what Lord Rainford and I’d discussed, the leverage I’d used to persuade him to aid me, would never be revealed — not by me. Not until there was no choice.

Adam touched his cap in response to my suggestion. ‘Good idea, Mistress Anneke. It will give the road a chance to clear.’

It wasn’t long before we were inside the walls of the friary. An ostler took Shelby’s head and, after tying him to a post, provided a nosebag. Dismounting, Adam tossed him a coin as another servant ushered us towards the guesthouse. Sat at table, we were swiftly brought beakers of watery ale and asked if we wanted something to eat. We both declined. Through the smoke haze filling the room, others enjoying a rest from the road could be discerned. An older couple sat next to each other on a bench, a trencher and pints of ale between them. Nearby, a group of merchants, wool from the colour of their hoods and insignia, gathered around a table arguing, their brows furrowed, their greasy fingers stabbing the air. Remnants of a meal sat on the table, hardening in the heat of the fire. A mangy dog lay by the hearth, its head resting on its paws, its eyes fixed on an old man sitting on a stool, his chin lowered to his chest as he slumbered. Apart from the merchants, conversation was low, the room stuffy and the atmosphere constrained. I waited until a servant carrying a tray passed us, then brought my stool closer to Adam.

I quickly filled him in on my meeting, mentioning Lord Rainford’s initial reticence, but omitting anything to do with Mother or Tobias. ‘In the end, Lord Rainford agreed to give me until Hocktide to find the monies needed to pay the lease.’

‘He will underwrite the costs of the house until then?’

I nodded. ‘He will. And, providing we manage the crofts, we can continue to take a percentage of the rents as well.’

Adam eyed me carefully before drinking from the beaker. Pulling a face at the sour taste, he put it down. ‘Six months give or take a few days,’ he said slowly, swiping a hand across his lips. ‘I didn’t expect such generosity from his lordship. It’s more than he’d do for your mother or father.’

What did Adam mean by that? Before I could ask, he continued.

‘It’s a goodly time … depending on how you intend to find those monies.’

It was time to announce my plan and pray that Adam didn’t laugh in my face or walk out the door.

I wrapped my hands around the beaker, staring into its yellow depths. The scant foam that had sat upon the surface had already dissolved. ‘I intend to become a brewer, Adam.’ I lifted my chin and met his steady gaze. ‘I’m going to make and sell ale.’

Adam flicked his vessel with his fingers. ‘Well, you’ve not much competition, I’ll say that.’ His eyes twinkled.

My mouth twitched, then I chuckled. ‘You, Saskia and Blanche always said that if Mother sold her ale, we’d run the friary and all the other brewsters in town out of business.’

‘Aye, we did and she would have. But Mistress Anneke, that wasn’t said in any seriousness …’

‘Are you telling me that Mother’s ale wasn’t any good?’

‘Good?’ Adam sighed and licked his lips. ‘It was the best I’ve ever drunk, lass, and believe me, I’ve had my fair share.’ He rested his arms on the table. ‘It was said because we knew it would never happen. Mistress Sheldrake made the ale for the household and gave the leftovers to Father Clement to distribute as he saw fit. She never sold it. Doing something like that was beneath her … it’s beneath you too, Mistress Anneke, if you’ll forgive me for saying.’

I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to justify, let alone defend, my decision; that Adam would understand, offer to help. How was being a brewer worse than being a servant? How could I even pose that question to Adam without causing offence? My heart plummeted into my boots. I’d managed to persuade Lord Rainford, I hadn’t really expected resistance from Adam. He had to understand, he just had to.

‘This is different, Adam, and you know it. Everything’s changed.’ I pushed back my hood and pulled off my scarf. Anything to keep my hands busy. ‘Mother had a choice, that’s true. But I don’t, not any more. I have to do something. I have to find a way to earn enough money to keep Holcroft House, to keep the twins and Saskia, Blanche, all of you, all of us, together. If I don’t …’ I waved my scarf through the thick air, allowing him to imagine the consequences. ‘I have to try, Adam. I have to. It may have been above Mother to become a brewer, but it’s not above me. I’m no longer worthy of being considered a wife, at least not without a dowry, and frankly I won’t subject the twins, myself or any of you to Cousin Hiske. My only option is to find work. Good, honest work. Brewing is a respectable trade. Look at Mistress Amwell and Mistress Scot — why they’re both brewsters and they’re very respected in Elmham Lenn.’

‘They’re also married.’

‘Mistress Scot’s a widow. Master Anthony died last summer — ­remember? Anyhow,’ I said, my tone becoming sharp as I felt Adam withdrawing. ‘I know it’s something I can do and, with your help, Adam Barfoot, do well.’

Beneath fine brows Adam watched me retie the scarf. I could see a muscle working in his cheek. He didn’t say a word. In the silence I didn’t realise how much I needed his approval.

‘Prior to Cousin Hiske’s arrival, we always made our own brew. What about all the offers to buy it that we declined? Mother wouldn’t sell. She thought Father wouldn’t endorse such a thing or it would upset the local brewsters or worse, Abbot Hubbard and the friary.’ I looked over my shoulder and lowered my voice. ‘But that’s what I have to do — become a rival. A serious one. I need to attract customers, take them if I must — even from the good monks here.’ I leaned across the table, aware the sleeve of my tunic was sitting in something sticky. ‘Oh, Adam, I’ve thought of very little else since I wrote to Lord Rainford. Everything is in place already. All we have to do is tidy up the old brewhouse and we can start. The mash tun is fine, I’m sure. We already know the water from the Nene is easily accessible and it’s pure. We’ll buy bigger quantities of barley from Master Bondfield and, if he can’t supply enough, we can ask Master Hamerton. If I talk to Perkyn Miller, I’m certain he’ll grind it for us. The quern stones we have are too small for the amount I intend to malt and dry. And, I was thinking, if I speak to Master Proudfellow at the Gull’s Rise, I’m sure he’d purchase some of our ale. He was always urging Mother to sell to him. Once he does, the other innkeepers might also follow …’

Adam did something he’d never done before. As I was speaking, he lifted my hand from the table and took it in both of his. I was so astonished by the gesture, I fell silent. My eyes became glassy, partly from the fire, but also from the emotions I held in check, that I’d stifled for so long. I hadn’t expected to meet resistance. Not from Adam.

I was a fool.

‘Mistress Anneke,’ he said finally, his voice harsh, scratchy. ‘It breaks my heart to hear you talking like this. To know that you’ve put such thought into what no lady of your station, your birth, should ever have to.’ He stared at our conjoined hands. ‘It would break your Mother’s heart as well.’

My shoulders slumped.

‘You might not believe it, but it would rend your father’s in two.’

A tear escaped and trickled down my cheek. I let it fall.

He gripped my hands more tightly. ‘I understand you’ve no choice but to do something, you’ll get no argument from me in that regard. But it’s the choice you make that will define your life from this point. Do you understand that, child?’

I flashed him a smile through my tears. ‘I’m not a child, Adam.’

‘To me you are. Do you understand?’ he repeated more firmly. ‘That if you choose this path, then it will be nigh on impossible to turn back. Once you begin it, you must keep going. Are you prepared to do that, no matter what obstacles you face? Resistance and misunderstandings, even from folk you think good and reasonable?’

I sniffed. Loudly. ‘Of course I am.’

‘People will judge you. They’ll make assumptions — about you, the twins — and they won’t be … nice.’

I gave a wistful smile. ‘I know to what you refer.’

Adam gave a derisive snort and shook his head. ‘Only as rumours about others; gossip in the marketplace and halls. You don’t know them as one day you will. It’s like a sackcloth you can never shuck. Once you step in this direction, you can never go back.’

Taking a deep breath, I released it slowly. ‘This is the right choice, Adam. I know it.’

‘A brewster, Mistress Anneke?’ I almost didn’t hear him, so quiet were his words.

Dropping my forehead onto our linked hands, I whispered, ‘I really don’t have a choice.’ I dropped a light kiss on his fingers as I pulled away and released him, staring as he sat across the table from me, doubt on his features.

He leaned back, his arms outstretched, regarding me with a look I couldn’t fathom. Drumming his fingers on the table, he stopped, picked up his beaker and drained it, slamming it back down. ‘Forget Master ­Hamerton — he carries too many fines for my liking. Bondfield’s the one we want. As for Perkyn Miller, I’ll speak to him. And, regarding the mash tun, if we can convince Mistress Saskia to release Will from his duties for a couple of days, I’ll see to its repair as well. But you’re right; they’re in good condition considering they haven’t been used in nigh on six years.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘We’ll need to look to getting some barrels to transport the water. The skins we once used will never do for the quantities you need. And as for old Proudfellow — let Iris have a word with him. He’s her uncle, did you know? He’s a sweet spot for her —’

Adam talked for ages, organising the staff, assigning duties to each member of the household. I sat there like a coney struck by a stone, unable to move, think or speak. I saw Adam’s mouth moving, but I could no longer hear the words, the wave of happiness that enveloped me prevented it.

‘Are you listening, lass?’ asked Adam after a while.

I blinked. I nodded, my throat tight. My eyes welled and overflowed.

‘Ah, don’t do that,’ said Adam, reaching into his jerkin for a kerchief. He dabbed my cheeks until I took the scrap of fabric from him and tended myself. ‘I thought you’d be happy?’

I choked back a laugh. ‘I am, Adam. I am. It’s just that I thought you weren’t going to help, that you didn’t approve.’

Adam shook his head, a grin splitting his face. ‘I don’t. But that’s all the more reason to help. To stop you getting into trouble — well, more than I think you will anyhow.’

Drying my eyes, I smiled at him. ‘Shall we go, then? Tell the others what our new life’s to be?’

Adam looked into his beaker, pushed it away with a grimace and rose. ‘Aye, let’s be on our way.’

He waited for me to stand and then, depositing a few coins on the counter, led us out of the friary’s taproom and into the busy yard.

As we rode out the gates and back into the glorious sunset, Adam turned to me. ‘You don’t ever have to doubt me, Mistress Anneke. Not ever. For as long as you need me, for as long as you want me there, it’s by your side I’ll be.’

It was some moments before I was able to respond. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. It won’t happen again.’