Brewer's Tale, The

by Brooks, Karen

  My heart began to pound. The chest in my room … My stomach lurched and nausea rose in my throat. The irony that, after all, Hiske may yet have ruined my plans was not lost on me. A bitter laugh escaped, earning me surprised glances.

  ‘When we realised what was happening, that it wasn’t just Master Joseph’s and thus Lord Rainford’s unsold merchandise she was claiming, we whipped through the house and brought as much as we could in here —’ Saskia’s arm swept the kitchen.

  Searching the room with new, frantic eyes, I noticed how crowded it was — not just with people, but objects. There was the rug from the solar and some of the tapestries that had adorned its walls were rolled next to the door. There were the instruments from Father’s office, a small table and some Venetian glass by the stove. Near the door to the main part of the house stood the chest containing the twins’ clothes. There were furs, blankets and decorative plates, a brush and mirror and so many other things piled on benches or on the floor. Even the table was groaning under the weight of dishes and implements. I studied the earnest, indignant and furious faces of those around me and imagined them rushing through the house, trying to snatch things before Hiske could and racing with them down here to protect them. I could see Hiske’s face when she understood her intention to strip the house was thwarted. But of my chest, there was no sign. Prying the twins from my side, I stood hastily and began to push things out of the way, lifting bundles, ignoring the mess as they tumbled on top of each other and struck the floor.

  ‘Whatever we could salvage from her clutches, we did.’ Saskia lifted a stack of scrolls into her arms as I tried to shove them off a counter. ‘We figured she wouldn’t dare touch a thing with all of us to guard them, and we were right.’

  ‘I rescued that,’ said Karel, pointing to one of Father’s old sextants on top of a box.

  ‘I took that!’ said Betje, indicating Father’s rather crumpled star chart. Blanche moved it out of my way.

  ‘We did what we could, Mistress Anneke,’ said Saskia softly, watching me sadly as I sorted through the chaos, not understanding my purpose.

  I searched the mounds and muddles of cloth, uncovering what I could, each discovery fuelling my growing sense that all was lost.

  Then, I saw it.

  Over by the milk pail, peeping from under the furs that had been stripped from a bed, was my chest. Wading towards it like one possessed, I knelt and hefted the furs to one side. I was aware of Saskia and Blanche trading glances. Will’s mouth was hanging open; Iris backed away confused and alarmed. Louisa sought Karel. Only Adam was unperturbed by my behaviour and Betje, who clambered over things to join me.

  ‘What’s wrong, Anneke? Why are you messing everything up?’ asked Betje quietly.

  Everyone waited for me answer.

  Slowly, I raised the lid of the chest. Lifting the tunics, kirtles, undergarments, scarves and hoods out of the way, I rummaged around, brushing against some leather shoes, a tightly wound curl of ribbon and a couple of books. Then, my fingers found what I so desperately sought. Lifting it out carefully, I brought the bound pages into the light. With a sigh of relief, I sank onto my heels and sent a swift prayer to the Holy Mother that this had been spared.

  Within the yellowing pages I clutched so tightly were the recipes my mother used to make her special ale. Though I was sure I remembered how, knowing I had these was the closest I would ever come to having Mother beside me. They’d been passed down through generations of de Winter women, all of whom had made ale and other brews to delight their kin and neighbours. All the quantities, additions, timing and measures that my Dutch ancestors had used for centuries. Upon these pages, painstakingly recorded by Mother and hers before her and so on, were the recipes I believed would be my salvation; what would make our ale more desirable and sought after than any other brewed in town. The moment Hiske banned me from brewing, I’d hidden this book, knowing that if she found the recipes, she would have had them destroyed. Never believing I was shoring up our futures, I’d thought I was preserving a beloved keepsake.

  Relief flooded me. I pressed the pages to my chest and bowed my head. The scent of marigolds, lavender, sunshine, laughter and love seemed all around me. ‘Mother,’ I whispered. It was a moment before I was able to face the others, but when I did, it was to hold the pages aloft triumphantly.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong, Betje. Nothing.’ Adam smiled and nodded at my little sister. She grinned at him.

  ‘Not any more,’ I agreed and swept Betje into my arms and carried her to the table and perched her upon it. She wriggled till she cleared a space.

  ‘But Mistress Anneke … the house …’ said Saskia, only now daring to release what was in her arms. Parchment, linen and a goblet tumbled onto the table.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I laughed. ‘I was likely going to have sell most things anyway. We will make do. All that matters is that I have this.’ I clutched the small book. ‘And that we have each other.’ Looking at their faces, I beamed.

  ‘Not Doreen,’ said Will. ‘She went with Mistress Jabben.’

  ‘She even had the gall to offer me and Blanche a position in her house — Mistress Jabben that is.’ Saskia sniffed and raised her chin.

  I studied them, my loyal servants, my family, and my heart filled. I looked at the table, scattered with odds and ends. Karel was twirling an iron object. Will was watching me with his one good eye, his other closed completely now. Louisa’s tears had ceased and she reached for Betje and encouraged her off the table and onto her lap. Saskia appeared resigned, Blanche and Iris perplexed. All of them were looking to me, bewildered by my sudden composure after my frantic search amid what they perceived as another disaster. But this was nothing to me … if anything, it was cause for celebration.

  Hiske was gone — the last obstacle to my plans — or so I thought.

  Crossing to one of the cabinets in the corner, I shoved the books and blankets aside with my foot, opened the door and peered inside. I could sense the glances and frowns behind me, the slight apprehension that had started to fill the room.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Blanche finally. She didn’t like anyone prying in her cupboards — not even me.

  ‘Ah, here it is,’ I said, and removed a jug of wine. Setting it on the table, I looked around. ‘Pass some goblets and mazers, would you, Iris?’

  Checking with Blanche first, who nodded brusquely, Iris made some space and lined them up.

  ‘Adam, if you would be so kind?’ I gestured to the jug. Adam took his knife out of its sheath and knocked the wax and cork off the top.

  ‘Shall I pour?’ he asked. I nodded.

  ‘Mistress Anneke, begging your pardon,’ said Saskia as Adam handed her a brimming goblet, waiting until she took it before passing a mazer to Blanche. ‘But have you heard a word we’ve said?’

  ‘Every single one, Saskia.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she examined my face. ‘On top of losing the house, you’ve been robbed blind and instead of demanding restitution or sending Will for the watch, you stand there with some bits of paper, flashing those dimples of yours and offering drinks around like it’s the last supper!’

  I smiled. ‘Not the last. On the contrary, it’s the first. The first supper in our house. You see, something very important happened today and I want to share it with you.’ I quickly explained what eventuated at Scales Hall and my plans. Adam, as I’d hoped, filled in the gaps and informed everyone what their duties would be over the coming weeks. As he spoke, I watched their faces. There was surprise, confusion, a little nervousness — all of which I shared. But, most of all, there was excitement and determination. Bless them, they wanted my venture to succeed as much as I did.

  Adam finished and I lifted my goblet. ‘So, let’s raise our drinks, shall we? For, as of tomorrow, we’re no longer Holcroft House, traders of fine goods. When day breaks and the cock crows, we begin our transformation.’

  ‘Into what?’ asked Saskia.

  I rested my eyes upon
each of them in turn. ‘Into Holcroft House, the home of Sheldrake brewers — makers of the finest ale in all of Norfolk.’

  There was a beat before everyone raised their vessels and in voices ringing with excitement, chorused: ‘To Sheldrake brewers, makers of the finest ale in all of Norfolk.’

  ‘Nay!’ cried Will, spluttering as he swallowed his wine too quickly. ‘Not Norfolk. Why stop there? As God is my witness, Mistress Sheldrake will be the finest brewer in all of England.’

  As the servants cheered and Karel and Betje clapped, I met Adam’s eyes across the room. ‘In England,’ he mouthed and raised his mazer.

  ‘In England,’ I echoed.

  With the love and support of these people, that night I believed anything was possible.

  EIGHT

  HOLCROFT HOUSE

  October

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

  The next few days passed in a blur. After returning what had been salvaged from Hiske back where it belonged, I was faced with the bleak reality of how empty, how hollow, the house seemed. The night I’d returned from Lord Rainford’s, drunk on excitement that my bid to secure us time had succeeded, it had been easy to be indifferent to what my cousin had done, but in the gaps and spaces in every room, I was forced to confront Hiske’s avarice and spite. Almost all of Tobias’s possessions — from a knife and sheath to a Lancastrian pennant his lord had given him to commemorate his first battle at Shrewsbury which he’d sent home for safekeeping, to clothes he’d worn as a child which were being kept for Karel, as well as a book that belonged to Mother — all had been seized. The old sea-chest and carved stool in his room were gone. The furs from his bed, the curtains that surrounded his mattress as well. In the solar, apart from a couple of stools, the rug and two tapestries, Hiske had claimed everything — the cabinets, the two chairs and the cushions that adorned them. The tables filled with curios Father had collected on his travels, the mementos Mother had brought with her when she came to England as Father’s bride were no longer there. Even the main hall and Father’s office hadn’t been spared. The shop and storeroom at the rear of the house, which had held what were now Lord Rainford’s goods, were completely empty. As far as I could tell, only the contents of my room, the nursery and the kitchen had been saved in their entirety and for that I was grateful. Trying not to be despondent, the starkness of the rooms simply gave me another reason to make my enterprise work.

  Though part of me wished to seek justice, it was easier to surrender a few possessions and believe I’d never see Hiske again than have her charged and deal with the very public consequences of that. A court would cause a scandal none of us could afford. And, I told myself, as much as I may not like it, she was family. I couldn’t bring the law down upon one of my own. Mother wouldn’t want that.

  A few days later, we heard through Master Jacobsen that Hiske and Master Makejoy had married and were staying in rooms above an inn near the law courts until they could lease their own premises.

  With the house returned to some sort of order, Saskia and Blanche tended to the gardens. Though it was late in the year to plant, there would be some vegetables that would yield in early spring and they set about ensuring we’d reap that small harvest. In the meantime, Adam, Will and I set to restoring the brewhouse.

  Entering it for the first time in six years was not the joyous moment I’d imagined. As we pushed open the old door, snatching it swiftly as it almost came away from the hinges, the smell of dust, bird droppings and the odour of stale wort assailed us. A stream of light filtered through the filthy windows, striking the aged mash tun, exposing the garlands of cobwebs suspended from the wood. Colonies of dust spiralled into the sunlight like tiny moths chasing a flame. In the far corner, a huge kiln loomed. Under the windows, two shallow troughs sat, dark and empty. A row of barrels squatted between them and the kiln. The good news was their wood appeared sound and the metal hoops that girthed them weren’t rusted. I might yet be spared the cost of a cooper.

  Leaning against one of the barrels was the mash stirrer. Hefting it off the floor, I upended it so I could examine the laddered paddle for any splintering or rot. Mother had brought this with her when she came from Holland and, though it was a deceptively simple piece of equipment I’d seen deployed in other brewhouses, she insisted on using this stick to stir the mash and wort. She claimed it carried within it her family’s talent for brewing. I didn’t doubt it and proposed to use it as well. Satisfied it was intact, I set it down and continued my survey.

  Gathering dust on the table in the middle of the room were bungs for the barrels, a copper hand cup, spigots and a mallet that, when I picked it up, was lighter than I recalled. Putting it down carefully beside a dull funnel, I flexed my fingers.

  As I crossed the room rats scurried before me, and from the shadows and dark corners came the sound of small feet and high-pitched squeals. I opened the door at the far end that led to the small shed Mother had used as a malthouse. The hinges were stiff, and I used my shoulder to thrust the door open, almost tumbling down the steps. It was too dark to see clearly, not even the small window admitted much light. Propping the door open, I descended the few steps and bent down to touch the floor. It was, thankfully, dry, but filthy with grit and dirt. I shuddered and, not for the first time, doubt engulfed me. I went back up the steps and stood in the doorway, hands on my hips, facing Will and Adam.

  Will shook his head, arms folded. He didn’t believe we could do it. I took a deep breath and the disturbed dust made me cough. I resolved then and there that I would prove Will wrong. I swung to Adam and, to my great relief, saw only calculation on his face.

  ‘How’s the malthouse?’ he asked, putting down the old tundish.

  ‘Dry.’ I clapped my hands together to rid them of debris. ‘For now.’

  Adam nodded. ‘That’s a start.’ He turned slowly. ‘Well, at least all the equipment appears to be here.’

  ‘Aye. But the truth is, it will take more work than first thought …’

  ‘More work, Mistress Anneke?’ griped Will. ‘It’ll take the king’s army.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Adam and, propping the outside door wide open so more light flooded the space, he knocked his fist against the mash tun. The sound reverberated. ‘This merely needs a good clean.’ He bent down and examined it from below. ‘There’s a piece of wood wants replacing, but nothing Jasper Cooper won’t be able to tend quickly. I’ll go and see him shortly, ask him to have a look.’

  I wasn’t to be spared a cooper after all.

  Adam strolled to the troughs and inspected them as well. ‘You weren’t a part of this household when the brewhouse was used almost every day, Will. It was a sight to behold and one we’ll see again.’ He smiled. ‘Just as the equipment is coated in dirt, disguising its value, you’re allowing first impressions to blind you to what’s before your eyes.’ Wiping away a cobweb, he used his jerkin to clean part of the metal. Mimicking Adam, I went to the kiln, passing a hand across its surface and rubbing it on the apron I’d thankfully thought to don. My hand left a dark grey streak on the fabric.

  ‘This is the same, I think.’ I opened the door and was enveloped by a cloud of ashes and soot. Caught unawares, I fell backwards, coughing and spluttering. I began to laugh. Adam hauled me to my feet, chuckling, his eyes studying my face.

  ‘Nothing a good scrub won’t fix.’

  Self-consciously, I raised my hands to my face.

  I chortled and coughed again. ‘I’m sure.’ I applied my apron to my cheeks. ‘I’ll ask Iris to help me clean this and the oven,’ I added, noting the grime and rodent droppings across its surface as well. ‘We’ll fetch a couple of buckets and brushes and tend to them immediately. Perhaps I can persuade Blanche, if she’s not too busy, to help scrub out the troughs.’ I ran my hands along their solid edges and then, leaning over, tried to clear the thick glass above with the end of my sleeve, leaving a greasy smudge. ‘These windows too.’ I sighed as the a
mount of work began to add up. I pressed my back against the trough and re-examined the room. It was hard to imagine it free of all the filth let alone functioning. With a deep breath that ended in a volley of coughs, I began to recite all that was needed, counting chores off on my fingers. ‘Oh,’ I added, looking towards the stove and kiln and the crooked chimney breast in which they sat. ‘We’ll need a sweep as well, Adam. And, someone needs to scrub the malthouse. I’m not laying grain until the floor is spotless.’

  With good humour that owed nothing to false bravado, Adam slapped his hands together. ‘Let’s be about it then,’ he said.

  Setting Will to clean the mash tun and the barrels, Adam left to organise their repair with Master Cooper, commission a chimney sweep and the other trades we’d need, as well as purchase supplies of coal and collect enough wood to get the brewery in working order again. Hauling pails of hot water from the kitchen, Iris and I set to cleaning out the kiln and stove. Outfitting the twins in leggings and shirts that had seen better days, Louisa led Betje and Karel to attack the cobwebs before sweeping and scrubbing both the brewery floor and the malthouse. It wasn’t long before Betje and Karel looked more like coal merchants than trader’s children.

  Breaking before sext sounded, we sat on the garden walls outside and savoured fresh-baked bread, wedges of cheese and crisp apples, as well as some cold rabbit. We were joined by Jasper Cooper who, after replacing the rotten wood on two barrels, much to my delight gave a good report on the state of the mash tun. Adam passed around a jug of small ale and mazers and, from the grimaces on everyone’s faces as they drank, I knew the beverage had come from the friary.

  ‘How the ale-conners let Abbot Hubbard sell this pig swill is beyond me,’ said Master Jasper before he remembered the company he was in. ‘Forgive me, Mistress Sheldrake,’ he said. ‘But it riles me that they pay the same tax as the folks in town and churn out what I wouldn’t give my dogs to drink.’