EIGHTEEN

HOLCROFT HOUSE

After the Ides of November to St Catherine’s Day

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

Three days later, on a blustery autumn morning, Adam, Saskia, Captain Stoyan, the twins and I waved farewell to Tobias and Sir Leander from the docks. Their cog, the Lady Caragh, a large vessel about eighty feet in length with cargo ranging from sheep and horses to wool and tin, cut across the placid waters of the harbour and into the churning seas beyond the heads. I confess my heart was in my throat as we watched their sails disappear over the horizon. They would be reunited with the Sealhope in London and from there, cross to Flanders.

On my return to the house, I was pleased to see Will and Blanche already looking after patrons in the shop. First ensuring the children started their lessons, I went to the brewhouse.

By lunchtime, another batch of ale was cooling in the troughs, malted grain was spread across the trays ready to be dried in the kiln, and there were two brimming sacks to go to Perkyn Miller for grinding. As Adam strained finished ale into kegs, I thought how pleasant it had been having Tobias and, surprisingly, his master helping to make ale.

‘Fancy such a fine gentleman offering his services and working so hard? And in here?’ Adam shook his head in wonder. ‘He’s not too proud, like some. That foot of his doesn’t seem to be much of a liability, either. Master Tobias boasted it’s never been one — in battle, on horseback or at sea. It’s others who underestimate Sir Leander because all they see is an affliction. Yet my lord acquitted himself very well.’ As Adam praised Sir Leander, my mind drifted.

It was easy to underestimate my lord, but not only for the reasons Adam gave. Who’d have thought he’d be so willing to help indeed? Memories of Sir Leander toiling by my side were as fresh as the ale being poured behind me.

When Tobias first dragged his master to the brewery, I was angry and confused. Understanding that my mood would affect the ale, I pushed aside my misgivings and listened as Tobias justified their presence by arguing if I wanted his support, then he had the right to know exactly what I was doing. Interpreting Sir Leander’s silence as complicity in Tobias’s scheme, it also occurred to me that he was likely to report what I was doing back to his father, so I determined to demonstrate the seriousness of my intentions and the level of industry involved. I treated Sir Leander like the others, asking him to perform the same roles and to the same exacting standards. Convinced he wouldn’t last the morning, I was astonished when, after breaking fast, he was the first to rejoin me in the brewhouse.

‘If you could tend to the malthouse floor, my lord, I’d appreciate it,’ I said over my shoulder, loading wood into the kiln and blowing gently on the kindling.

‘Certes,’ said Sir Leander, then hesitated.

Aware he hadn’t moved, I turned around, my brows raised. ‘Just grab the rake over there, remove your footwear and I’ll show you what’s needed in a moment. Adam will take over as soon as he’s returned from Master Thatcher’s.’

I bent back to my task, feeling the first risings of antagonism that he should hesitate to do as I asked, when it occurred to me I’d been insensitive. The sprouting grain formed a mat of roots that became quite tangled and hard to separate, he needed balance in order to heave the grain — how could he do that with his twisted foot let alone a cane? I turned to retract my order only to find him almost upon me.

‘Mistress Sheldrake, I feel I owe you an apology.’

Sir Leander stepped even nearer and, all too aware of his closeness, of how large he was, I tried to resist the urge to create space between us. Was it the long overdue thanks I’d finally and awkwardly proffered him the day our furniture was returned that prompted this? Steadying my breathing, I closed the metal door of the kiln just as the fire roared and rose slowly, dragging my sooty hands down my apron. Moisture dusted his dark cape, glistened in his black locks, a muscle in his jaw twitched. I don’t think I’d noticed before the smooth, golden quality to his skin. There was a scent of warm velvet, musky cologne and something else. My heart skipped. I prayed the heat in my cheeks would be attributed to the kiln.

‘When we first met,’ he began, ‘I’m afraid my temper had the better of me. I allowed idle yet vicious gossip and my own assumptions about … well, I allowed my prejudices and, I admit, that of your cousin, to colour my judgement of you. I called you an unforgivable name and for that, I’m deeply sorry. I do beg your forgiveness.’

Unable to credit what I was hearing, I was caught unawares. Ready to trade barbs, the sincerity of his apology quite undid me. I grabbed the ale-stick. I needed to hold something, to be prepared for the distraction activity offered.

‘I still find it difficult to credit, my lord, that you would think Tobias had such a sister as you assumed me to be.’

Sir Leander made a soft noise that might have been a laugh. Resting his cane against the wall, he undid his cape, leaned against the trough and folded his arms. ‘I didn’t think. Tobias would only ever speak about you in the warmest and most respectable of terms over the years. When we arrived in Elmham Lenn and he learned what you were doing, never mind what your cousin told him, he was shocked; I was as well. On top of discovering what your father did; what mine ….’ He paused and studied the floor a moment. ‘I only sought to protect him, to lash out at those who I perceived had hurt him.’

‘You thought me capable of hurting my brother?’ I regarded him incredulously.

‘Your father did … It was not a huge stretch to assume another Sheldrake might as well.’

He was right. It wasn’t.

‘I would never …’ I began, then shut my mouth. Despite my best efforts, acrimony bloomed. I released the ale-stick and with one hand on my hip, directed a finger towards his chest. ‘That doesn’t excuse what you said. That you thought to call me such a name.’

Before I could prevent him, he swept my hand into one of his. I tried to withdraw it, but he tightened his grip and stared, daring me to pull away. His touch was warm, strong. With his thumb, he gently stroked the back of my hand.

‘I told you, I didn’t think. That’s my problem. When I discovered the terms of the contract you made with my father, that you agreed to work for him should this fail,’ his gaze took in the brewhouse, ‘well, let’s just say, when I then set eyes on you …’ His thumb rested warmly against my flesh. I forgot to breathe. ‘I jumped to less than savoury conclusions about the kind of work to which my father might put you, assuming your … complicity if not initiation of such an arrangement. It wouldn’t be the first time Father has … taken advantage of a Sheldrake.’

‘You thought I — That he … Oh …’ My hand went limp in his and I released my breath, unable to continue. I was shocked, ashamed. Sir Leander assumed I was like my mother, that I’d succumbed to his father’s charms — worse, that I’d bargained my own away. My body was afire with indignation, humiliation and emotions I couldn’t understand. Part of me wanted to run from his sight, but another part wanted to defend both my character and my mother’s. Only, I didn’t know how. And, truth be told, while he caressed me in that absent-minded way, I could barely think. My knees were weak, my resolve to confront him more so. What a sorry and unfair impression we must have made as a family. As far as he was concerned, my mother was a whore and my father, instead of punishing her as most husbands would, or seeking justice, had struck a devil’s bargain with the man who’d cuckolded him, turning his shame into some kind of business arrangement that ensured the entire family was ruined. How could I expect Sir Leander to understand it when I did not?

The fire crackled, the kiln was hot against my back.

‘Can you forgive me?’ he asked softly, stooping slightly so our faces were level.

For a fleeting moment, I glimpsed a different man. The man who fearlessly strutted the timbers of a heaving ship despite his affliction, who, according to Tobias, was brave and foolhardy in battle, and accustomed to making quick decisions and being obeyed. This was the man who watched over my brother.

Sensing my hesitation, he raised my hand to his lips. Wide-eyed, I stared as they pressed against my skin, tender yet ever so firm. His lashes were long and dark, his hair shiny. I sucked in my breath; it was as if a spark ignited deep inside me. He kissed my hand again, this time, answering it with an insistent grip and turning his face ever so slightly so his cheek, for just a fleeting second, rested against the back of my hand. Shocked at such an intimate gesture, once more I tried to extract my hand. This time, he released it slowly, drawing out the moment, and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. I brushed my other hand against where his lips had touched, where his cheek had momentarily lain. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. Ah, I understood. Sir Leander had used this ploy before.

Others may have accepted an admission of error, his heartfelt apology.

I was not others.

‘I cannot,’ I said finally.

Sir Leander took a step back and blinked. If I hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed at the owlish expression on his face. Few denied this gentleman.

‘I can’t forgive you,’ I continued. ‘Not yet. It was a harsh, cruel word, my lord, callously and thoughtlessly delivered. It hurt me deeply. I cannot dismiss it from my memory simply because you bid me do so. I am not my mother, Sir Leander, neither am I my father to strike a poor bargain and I perceive your apology to be one. You haven’t yet paid the price of your rudeness, not according to my accounting.’ I raised my finger to prevent him speaking. ‘But, to prove I’m not completely without reason, there’s something I can do — I can give you another chance.’

He began to smile.

‘Only one,’ I said, holding a finger steady to make my point.

‘That’s all I need,’ he said, and with a toss of his head and a smile that creased his eyes and dimpled his cheeks, threw his cloak over the table, spun around and headed to the malthouse. Shucking off his boots, he scooped up the rake with his cane, wielding it like a sword as he descended the steps.

It was some minutes before I resumed my work.

After that, things changed between us. As each hour passed, the tightness I felt between my shoulders, the hum of slow-burning anger that Sir Leander’s presence generally presaged, transformed into something else.

Two days later, the ship from Exeter arrived and they were gone.

And so it was, in the days after we bade Tobias and Sir Leander farewell, Saskia, Adam and I were doing the work that had for a short time at least been shared among five.

For all the warnings about the friary, that townsfolk would be too afraid to purchase from me lest they offend the abbot, these past weeks had seen the ale walk out the shop door almost as soon as the bushel was hung. I’d begun to take orders as well. Good as his word, Master Proudfellow not only sold my ale, but spoke to the other innkeepers in town, persuading them that if they all offered some of my brew as well as the friary’s, then not only would they be unlikely to be punished, but they were helping everyone’s business. I now brewed ale for the Gull’s Rise, the Crown and Anchor, the Pickled Herring, and the Bull’s Head, inns close to the docks. Master Proudfellow said there were more wanting to order, but they were being cautious, waiting to see if there were consequences for the others. I was relieved, for it was all I could do to keep up with demand.

It was St Catherine’s Day when Father Clement came to visit. I was on my way from the kitchen to the brewhouse when the hounds alerted me to a visitor. Waving with joy, I went to greet him, calling out reassurances to the dogs, only slowing my pace when I noted the two black-robed men accompanying him. What were they doing here? My heart began to hammer. I wiped my hands on the apron.

‘God give you good day, Father Clement,’ I smiled, my expression quizzical.

‘You too, Mistress Sheldrake,’ said the Father. ‘May the Lord shine blessings upon you.’ With a look I interpreted as apologetic, he introduced me to his companions. ‘This is Brother Osbert, the sub-prior of St Jude’s. Brother Marcus here is the cellarer.’ There was a slight quiver in his voice. For certes, the friary had sent some powerful men to me.

‘Sirs, by God you are welcome,’ I said, granting them a curtsey, hoping I didn’t sound as concerned as I felt.

‘Mistress Sheldrake,’ said Brother Osbert, a portly man with a ruddy complexion and intelligent eyes. ‘Forgive this unexpected visit. His grace, Abbot Hubbard, has asked us to present a business proposition to you and, as we were in Elmham Lenn to oversee the St Catherine’s Day mass, we thought we’d take the opportunity. We pray this is a convenient time. Is there somewhere we can talk?’

Surely, my ears were deceived? ‘The abbot wants to do business with me?’ The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.

‘That he does.’ Brother Marcus nodded affably, a too-wide grin splitting his face, spoiled only by the fact he was missing many teeth and the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Before I could respond, Adam stepped out of the brewery, wiping his hands on a balled cloth. The dogs were still barking fit to bring down the heavens, and with a frown he shut them in the stables before joining me, his boots crunching in patches of remnant frost.

Introductions were made and with some reluctance, I led the brothers back to the house. As we passed the brewhouse, the door blew open and the rich aroma of mash and wort wafted over us.

‘This is where you make your delicious ale?’ asked Brother Osbert, stepping forward and peering inside.

Reaching past him, Adam wrenched the door closed and gave a curt nod. ‘It is.’

‘You’ve tasted it then?’ I asked the brother.

‘Ever since you first brewed, we’ve tasted every batch,’ said Brother Marcus with that fixed smile. ‘Marvellous how you manage to keep such consistency.’

‘Indeed,’ said Brother Osbert. ‘It’s almost unnatural.’ His easy manner didn’t deflect the sense of peril his words aroused. But all I could think about was that they’d tasted it and wanted to place a business proposal before me. Could Captain Stoyan be wrong? Was the friary not my enemy but, like Lord Rainford, a potential business partner?

‘Please, come this way, brothers,’ I said quickly, trying not to let my growing excitement show. ‘Let me assure you, there’s nothing unnatural about what I do. After all, this is ale we’re talking about.’

‘Ah, but ale can lead to many interesting conversations, don’t you find, Mistress Sheldrake?’ Brother Osbert increased his pace so he walked beside me. ‘Just when you think you’re discussing one thing, it becomes another matter altogether.’ He gave a laugh, an odd, high-pitched trill. ‘Who knows what we could end up considering?’

Brother Marcus chuckled. Adam, Father Clement and I didn’t join in.

I knew then I didn’t want these men anywhere near the twins or my home, not until I could ascertain whether they were a threat or offering a flag of truce. Instead of leading them into the kitchen, I diverted by the vegetable garden and to the front of the house and the shop. As we passed the stables, the hounds’ barking increased.

Will was in the shop finalising a purchase with Master William Larkspur, owner of the Crown and Anchor.

‘God’s day to you, Mistress Shel—’ began Master Larkspur, touching his hood. When he saw the brothers, his eyes widened. Turning back to Will, he quietly gave final instructions, and I steered the brothers towards a table near the hearth. The brothers made much of warming their hands and backs, pushing back their deep cowls, untying their mantles. Mixing his greetings and farewells, Master Larkspur practically ran out of the shop, his head low, his hood up. He didn’t look back.

Asking Will to bring drinks, I invited the men to sit around the table. Adam sat next to me on one side, the brothers from St Jude’s with their backs to the fire on the other, while Father Clement sat at the head.

‘See to it we’re not disturbed, would you, Will?’ I asked as he set down the pitcher with a terse nod. He went outside and took down the bushel, latching the door when he came back in.

Pouring the brothers some ale, I waited till they had the first drink before speaking. ‘I confess, I’m most honoured to receive a visit from St Jude’s.’

Brother Osbert put down his mazer and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘As well you should be, Mistress Sheldrake. It’s not every day we take it upon ourselves to undertake such transactions in person. We have other ways of doing business …’ His eyes remained fastened to mine for a second longer than was polite.

‘So I have heard.’

He was the first to look away.

Taking another drink, he studied the mazer. ‘Uncommonly good,’ he murmured.

Brother Marcus drained his and then gave a hearty belch. ‘May I?’ he held up his empty mazer. I refilled it.

‘I will get straight to the point,’ said Brother Osbert. ‘I detest those who prevaricate, play games and whatnot and I hope you will extend the same courtesy to me.’

I bowed my head.

‘The reason we’re here, Mistress Sheldrake —’ he said, waiting until I’d topped his drink as well. A creamy foam wobbled prettily. Brother Osbert watched the motion, his tongue wetting his lips. ‘— is that we’re very impressed with the quality of your ale. So, it seems, are many others. So much so, despite contracts whereby various businesses promise only to buy from the friary’s brewery, some inns and taverns as well as hucksters are buying yours. Risking fines and much more, they’re prepared to forgo the goodwill of those they’ve been dealing with for years and, for what? For this,’ and he lifted his drink.

All eyes were upon it.

‘We’ve chosen not to pursue their bad faith through the sheriff or the courts. Instead, we wish to improve what we make. For that reason, we wish to buy your recipes. The ones you use to make this ale and any others besides.’

I sat up. Whatever offer I’d been expecting them to make, it certainly wasn’t this.

‘My recipes?’

‘Come now, Mistress Sheldrake, don’t be coy. We know you follow a recipe or a number of them.’ Brother Osbert gave me the sort of smile you might give a contrary child. ‘There are quite a few people who can attest to this.’

‘You misunderstand, brother, I do not seek to hide the fact I follow recipes, from the Low Countries no less, I’m just surprised you would wish to buy them.’

‘You call yourself a businesswoman —’ he could have been discussing chamber-pots, ‘and yet you express surprise that the major competitor in your trade wishes to reduce the effect your product is having on their profits by creating something similar? Why, this happens all the time! A dyer notes another’s shade and how popular it’s become and immediately emulates it. Tailors and cobblers spy the latest fashions and do likewise. Does trade stop for one or the other? On the contrary, they share in the profits. That’s what we wish to do, share the profits that are coming your way.’

I stared at Brother Osbert, unable to credit what I was hearing. Not only did I find it hard to believe that in just a few weeks of trade I was impacting on the friary’s profits to such an extent they sought to copy what I did, but that they were so open about it. The idea they’d been following my progress made Master Perkyn and Captain Stoyan’s warnings seem like clarions. These brothers took their brewing — and the consequent coin — very seriously.

Well, so did I.

‘So, will you sell us your recipes? We’re prepared to pay a fair price.’

Aware of Adam and Father’s Clement’s eyes upon me, I took my time answering.

‘First of all, can I just say I’m honoured to be so approached and by the greatest brewers in Norfolk.’ Brother Osbert’s look said even he knew flattery when he heard it. ‘I feel humbled and blessed by the good Lord that you would make such a proposal.’ I drew my shoulders back and placed my hands flat on the table, my arms straight. ‘But, I’m afraid my recipes are not for sale.’

Brother Osbert gave a bark of laughter. ‘I don’t think I heard aright.’

‘Forgive me, brother, but you did. With all due respect, the recipes are not for sale.’

‘You have not even heard our offer.’

‘I do not need to. It won’t change my response.’

Standing in one swift movement, the brother rocked the table, spilling ale across the surface. Brother Marcus rose to his feet and so did I. Father Clement remained seated, his hands clenching his tankard like a lifeline.

‘You would deny the friary? Abbot Hubbard?’

‘You made the observation yourself, Brother Osbert; you wondered that I call myself a businesswoman. Well, I do. That and more besides. I’m responsible for my family, for their welfare and for that, I need good coin. If I sell you my recipes, then not only will you be able to produce my ale, but you would also be able to make it in greater quantities and thus sell it at a cheaper price. Your comparison to dyers, tailors and cobblers is a just one, good brother, but only if they are the same size business. We are not. You’re a large producer, I’m simply a humble alewife seeking to gather loyal custom.’

Brother Osbert’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, you’re attracting more custom than an alewife, Mistress Sheldrake, and it’s disingenuous of you to pretend otherwise.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said with a small smile. ‘But it’s disingenuous of you, good brother, to pretend that selling my recipes won’t affect my trade. It will end it and I cannot afford that. However,’ I continued as his face reddened and a vein on his forehead pulsed, ‘the friary can afford to be magnanimous. There’s room in Elmham Lenn for both of us and, if I may be so bold, more besides.’

He drew back, a cat about to pounce, then stilled. Turning to Brother Marcus, he snapped, ‘Fetch our mantles, brother.’

Snatching his from the smaller brother, Brother Osbert swung it across his shoulders, knocking his mazer over, nodding in satisfaction as what remained of his ale gurgled into the rushes. Gazing pointedly at the waste, he gave a crooked smile.

‘Is that your final word, Mistress Sheldrake? Do I tell the abbot you refused his generosity? His effort to reconcile our competing businesses?’

Adam stood up, hands balled by his sides.

‘It’s my final word, Brother Osbert, but while I will not hand over my recipes, I do extend my goodwill and wishes for God’s many blessings to the abbot and the brothers of St Jude’s.’

Brother Osbert held my eyes for a long moment before striding out of the shop, striking the latch off the door as he did. Brother Marcus flashed a look of disgust mingled with regret.

‘Don’t bother following,’ he said to Father Clement. ‘It’s evident where your loyalties lie,’ he spat.

‘My loyalties are, first and foremost, with God,’ said Father Clement, stumbling to his feet. Brother Marcus sneered before he followed the sub-prior. The wind caught the door as they exited, slamming it against the frame.

We watched them storm off as snow began to fall. They looked like crows with their black capes and mantles flying out behind them.

I sank back onto the bench. Only now did I fill my mazer and drink.

Adam and Father Clement returned to their seats and tossed back what remained in their cups. Adam poured a generous amount for us all.

‘You did well, Mistress Anneke, standing your ground against them.’

‘You’re right, Adam,’ said Father Clement. ‘If you’d sold them the recipes, Mistress Anneke, it would have spelled the end of your brewing. They’d have undercut you.’

I stared out the window, the image of the brothers’ righteous indignation in my mind. It was clear they thought their proposal would be readily embraced, that they would not be denied. Yet like Peter the apostle, three times I’d denied them. My head sank into my hands. From where did such courage or foolhardiness come?

‘Even if they had the recipes, they couldn’t make the ale the way I do … they don’t understand. But I couldn’t give over Mother’s recipes. I just couldn’t. Not to them, not to anyone. They’re for the family, no-one else.’

Adam touched the back of my hand gently. ‘It’s all right, mistress, it will be all right.’

‘Will it?’ I asked, raising my head. Again, my eyes followed their angry tracks in the muddy snow. ‘I’m not so sure. If I didn’t have an enemy before, I do now.’