‘Then, surely it’s better to have faith than deny it without proof?’ Was I reminding Saskia or myself?
Saskia stared at the spot where Westel had just been standing. ‘Of course … you’re right, mistress. It’s just …’
A thread of anticipation tugged the base of my neck. ‘What is it, Saskia?’ I stopped stirring. ‘Tell me.’
Saskia dashed a hand across her forehead. ‘Nothing, really. I don’t know … I shouldn’t be saying this, but there’s something about him that unsettles me —’
‘What?’ I released the ladle and drew closer.
‘You’ll think me foolish, but have you noticed the way the hounds never go near him, except to growl?’
I cast my mind back to the times I’d seen Westel near the dogs. Saskia was right, they would circle him like wolves before retreating, snarling, their tails between their legs. Both Adam and I had thrown them out of the hall so their grumblings didn’t disturb us.
‘That’s nothing,’ I reasoned. ‘He’s still a stranger. Give them time. How can we trust their judgement? They adored Cousin Hiske.’
Saskia guffawed. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m being silly. But he does smile too much. I don’t trust anyone who’s always smiling. It’s not natural.’
I snorted. ‘That’s hardly fair. I would rather someone who smiles too much than otherwise.’ But when that smile doesn’t reach their eyes … An image of Sir Leander drifted across my mind, the way his deep blue eyes sparkled when he was amused, the warmth that could infuse them when he forgot to guard his expression … The way he stroked my hand …
Together we gazed into the grey-cream sludge in the mash tun. The smell was pungent, smoky. I slipped an arm around Saskia’s waist and rested my head on her shoulder. Still preoccupied, I murmured, ‘Louisa says he can’t take his eyes off me.’
‘For that, I don’t blame Westel.’
I grew very still. I hadn’t meant Westel …
Saskia dropped a kiss on top of my head. ‘Louisa’s right. He stares at you all the time. But that’s another thing. It’s the way he looks at you that makes me uneasy.’
‘How’s that?’ I asked, relieved she wasn’t aware of my slip, enjoying the roundness of her shoulder, the malty smell that emanated from her tunic and apron.
She paused, then whispered. ‘Like a hungry animal. Like he wants to devour you.’
I raised my head and stared at her as a shudder wracked my body — but whether it was of excitement or foreboding, I couldn’t tell. I recalled his grip, the vice-like fingers, the hard frame; the way he exuded … what was it? Power?
I levered myself away from her. ‘You’re exaggerating, Saskia. Anyway, he was raised among monks. He’s not used to women, that’s all.’ That was it.
Saskia looked at me as if I’d grown scales. ‘If you think monks aren’t used to women, then you’re more naive than one your age has a right to be.’
Colouring, I turned and stooped to add kindling to the fire. She was right. The number of bastards Abbot Hubbard sired, let alone those of half the monks at St Jude’s was local legend. Why would the men of St Rebecca’s be any different? Westel admitted he’d no calling to the priesthood. Could women have been his downfall? It wouldn’t be the first time, only most monks chose penance and kept wearing the cassock, enjoying the influence and privileges that came with being part of God’s work on earth. If that was his reason, at least Westel had had the strength to admit it. Could that explain the hungry, lingering looks?
As I threw more wood into the kiln, all I knew was that Sir Leander was banished from my thoughts and in his place was Westel Calkin, smiling, hovering, watching …
TWENTY-TWO
HOLCROFT HOUSE
Adam and Eve’s Day, the day before Christmas
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV
Before we knew it, Advent was over and preparations for Christmastide began in earnest. The remnants of last year’s Yule log was found and placed on the hearth beside the new one Adam had cut in the woods; holly and ivy were hung from the beams and draped across the chests and cabinets. Iris fashioned some extra candles, while Blanche began making humble pies and collecting the ingredients for frumenty. Each day brought new smells, sounds and sights into the house. Blanche outdid herself.
While I had some misgivings about Westel, mostly brought about by what occurred with the monks long before he arrived, as the days rolled by, they diminished. Though he’d only been with us a short time, it was hard to remember the period before he came, we’d become so reliant upon him. Or rather, I’d become reliant. So reliant, I was able to make excuses for him if Will, Saskia, or the twins complained. There were even times, despite his tendency to stare, when I enjoyed his company. He didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with endless chatter and nor did he need me to direct him in his tasks, not after the first few weeks. While he still asked questions about brewing or sought my permission before doing something, I felt it was done out of respect and genuine desire to demonstrate interest, to prove his worth. Sometimes, when the wort was settling or the mash had been stirred and the grain tossed, we’d sit before the kiln and share a small ale and talk; it was at these moments, I learned a little of the man upon whom I was coming to depend.
Born a bastard, Westel never knew his father and only vaguely remembered his mother, the daughter of a Norwich alderman. She died young, in childbed. Westel was reared and educated by monks, taught to read, write and more besides, the priory the only home he knew, those within it his family. Believing his destiny lay within St Rebecca’s, a friary known for its hospitality, ale and wine, it wasn’t until Westel had become a novice and was confronted with the reality of making his solemn vows, that he confessed to being denied a calling. He was sent away. Cast adrift, but with an excellent reference from Brother Roland le Bold (of whom Westel could not speak highly enough), but little else, he sought his way in the world, following the pilgrim trail from Norwich to Attlebridge, intending to go to London. One day, he decided to let God direct his course and, after spending hours in prayer, deviated to the coast and Elmham Lenn. Arriving far too late for the hiring fair, he instead found work with us. ‘God provided, as He always does.’ Westel crossed himself. With the flickering flames of the kiln making his hair and eyes glimmer, he reminded me of the statue of the Archangel Gabriel in St Stephen’s. It too wore a look that spoke of both elation and vigilance.
Knowing what it was like to have expectations dashed only to have them renewed again, and feeling great sorrow that he had no-one to whom he could turn, his story stirred my pity. Yet he never complained, nor did he judge the monks and find them wanting. ‘It’s God’s will,’ he said, and guilt consumed me that I could so easily question the Almighty when Westel could embrace all His intentions with such grace and goodwill. When I expressed surprise that he felt no calling after being raised within the cloisters, he shrugged.
‘I may not have had a calling in the strict sense of the word, not as a brother, but God looks out for me nonetheless. He intends a higher purpose. Of that I’ve no doubt.’ He smiled. ‘He must, Mistress Sheldrake, He brought me to you.’
Smiling in return, I shook my head. Watching him later as he whistled over the grain, I believed I should take heart from such convictions.
Apart from the twins and Adam, I’d never spent so much time with another person. From the time the sun rose until it set, Westel and I were together in the brewery. Along with the rest of the household, we shared most meals as well.
I fell into a familiar pattern with Westel. He didn’t judge or find me wanting, and after living with Hiske, never mind Father, it was refreshing. When he entered the brewery each morning, only barely disguising his surprise that once more I was at work before him, I would greet him warmly, enjoying the way colour flooded his cheeks, how his lips curled and his eyes flashed. If Iris brought food, or if Will or Adam came to report the carter had delivered water, when they left, Westel would rais
e an eyebrow in my direction and bend back to his task. More and more, I found my eyes drifting towards him and, more and more, I caught him watching me, swiftly turning aside to disguise a look I understood all too well.
A not unpleasant feeling would lodge beneath my breastbone.
There was a lot of to be said for intrepid, dependable men who didn’t call you a whore upon first acquaintance and who respected your decisions.
Nonetheless, my thoughts would often stroll in the direction of Sir Leander and, in unguarded moments, usually as I was drifting off into an exhausted sleep, I would recall conversations we’d shared or relive evenings spent around the hearth in the main hall. Then, I’d remember his apology and my entire body would quicken.
These recollections would force me into wakefulness. Pressing my hands to my burning cheeks, I would sometimes indulge in whimsy, like a younger and more foolish woman — one who believed in knights who rescued damsels from burning castles, or launched a thousand ships to save them from brazen princes dwelling in walled cities; one who believed in love …
I would doze off to sleep, a lump of sadness in my throat that fortunately would dissolve by morning.
Westel and I brewed continually, just keeping up with the growing demands of our customers. The extra production meant more coin and thus I was able to employ two extra girls. Delyth and Awel Parry were the daughters of the best farrier in town. Keen to earn a wage, they’d heard I was hiring over Christmastide and found Saskia at the market one day. With their dark, twinkling eyes and smiling mouths they were persuasive. Every morning except Sunday they’d arrive as the sun rose and leave before it set each night, Will or Westel escorting them home. Throughout the day, they chatted non-stop and flirted outrageously with Westel, who would lower his head and focus on his work, answering them with few words and wary smiles. Both were a boon and additional female company. Their presence meant Saskia was freed to supervise the running of the house and monitor sales throughout the day. Thus Adam was able to leave the shop to Saskia and focus solely on the upkeep of Holcroft House and care of our tenant farmers. Will was also able to perform his regular tasks — assisting Adam, chopping wood, managing the pigs and chickens, changing the rushes in the shop, running errands for Saskia and Blanche. I still used him to fetch the water carter when Westel couldn’t be spared and to deliver malt to Master Perkyn — Shelby was used to him and Will enjoyed taking the cart out.
Overall, we relaxed into an arrangement that meant each day was much the same as the next. After all the upheavals we’d experienced, I drew comfort from this. Betje and Karel were happily distracted with Louisa and, as Christmas drew closer, she’d take them into town to watch the troupes of players who came from all over, most on their way to either London or Norwich for the season. They’d return before evensong, full of stories about King Herod’s treachery, the three wise men, fire-eaters, jugglers, and humming unfamiliar but catchy refrains.
With Tobias and Sir Leander gone, Master Makejoy maintained a weekly check on business so he could provide a monthly report to Lord Rainford and his son, Sir Symond.
Arriving after tierce on Adam and Eve’s Day, Master Makejoy didn’t even remove his cloak, but promptly checked the figures and scribbled some notes. I sat near the fire as he worked, lost in my own world, enjoying the all-too-brief reprieve from the brewhouse. Adam waited patiently, ready to answer any queries Master Makejoy might have.
‘Everything seems to be in order,’ said the clerk after a few minutes. Keen to leave, he placed his cap back on his head and packed up his few belongings. ‘I won’t be required to do those for a while, Mistress Sheldrake,’ he said, jerking his head towards the ledgers. ‘I received a note from Sir Leander. He’ll be back for Christmastide, so no doubt he’ll wish to check the figures himself next time.’
God help me, but my heart kindled.
Westel appeared and I asked him to escort Master Makejoy to the door, Will being on an errand for Blanche. Exchanging blessings for Christmas, I suppose it was unchristian of me not to ask these be extended to Hiske. Master Makejoy made no sign he was offended, bestowing very warm felicitations upon me, and Adam, indeed. Feeling the tiniest bit guilty as he departed, I went to the desk and turned the ledger towards me to see if Master Makejoy had made many annotations. I was about to ask Adam to explain a note in one column, when Westel reappeared.
‘Did I hear that Sir Leander will be joining us, mistress?’ he asked, peering around the door, his smile very bright. ‘Lord Rainford’s youngest son?’
A hand stole to my cheek and wrapped itself around the back of my neck. My face was warm. The figures on the page momentarily blurred. Without looking up, I answered. ‘I believe Master Makejoy did make mention.’ I glanced at Adam. ‘That means Tobias might be home for Christmas!’
Adam smiled at me. ‘Indeed he might. Your mother would be pleased to have you all together for this time of year.’
My eyes softened. ‘She would, wouldn’t she?’ Memories of past Christmases, of Mother making sure Tobias found the bean in the pie so he was king for the day, of singing carols in Dutch, German and English with Saskia, handing out presents to us all on St Stephen’s and New Year’s Day, the delight on her face when she recorded our happiness. Westel cleared his throat. Immersed in reverie, I’d quite forgotten him. ‘Oh, Westel. Forgive me. Did you want me?’
An odd expression flashed across his face before it was gone again. ‘You asked me to let you know when the wort came to the boil. It would have been for a few minutes now.’
‘Thank you. If you could ensure it remains that way, I’ll come shortly.’
Westel gave a small bow and left. Waiting till I could no longer hear him, I swung to Adam. ‘And?’ I asked, looking pointedly towards the books. ‘What’s the verdict?’
Adam glanced at the figures. The frown that drew his brows together disappeared and his eyes sparkled. ‘Let’s just say Mistress Anneke, the Lord’s blessed us with a fine Christmas.’
I threw my arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘We’re in profit?’
‘That we are,’ he laughed. ‘Just. Sales are slowly rising, but we’re still a way off meeting costs once wages are paid and we subtract any lease monies. The good news is, we’ve almost doubled what we were making from last month. That’s what Makejoy noted.’ Closing the book, a finger rested on the cover. He sighed. ‘It’s a good result. Mayhap you might rethink the alehouse?’
Folding my arms under my breasts, I frowned. ‘Adam, we’ve discussed this. I’m going ahead. After all, it’s not like I have a reputation to protect — just ask Cousin Hiske.’
Adam took my chin in his hand and peered at me earnestly. ‘Anytime Makejoy appears, his wife’s words trail after him, don’t they?’
I lowered my gaze. ‘I’m most cross with myself that I allow them to bother me still …’
‘Don’t let that harridan disturb you so, Mistress Anneke,’ said Adam, aware of my thoughts. ‘Your mother and, may God assoil him, your father, would be proud of you, alehouse or naught. You’ve made something from nothing and achieved what many of us, including me, thought you could not.’
‘What’s that, Adam?’
‘Kept us together, and for that, Mistress Anneke, I’ll be forever grateful.’ His hand fell away. ‘Only …’ he looked aside, releasing me at the same time.
‘What?’ I asked softly.
‘Be careful, Mistress Anneke,’ he bit his lower lip. ‘We’re so worried about the friary, we forget those much closer can cause a different sort of harm. There are people in town prepared to believe the worst, ready to accept lies even when the truth is standing before them.’
I knew what was being said about me throughout Elmham Lenn. My intention to open an alehouse had reached the farthest parts of town, attracting the kind of talk I’d been warned to expect. Anticipating it was not the same as experiencing it, and I found the cruel assumptions of those who’d once regarded me very differently hurt deeply. Whisper
s followed me at the market like an unwelcome shadow. The servants heard a great deal as well, friendly warnings, jibes and unkind observations from hawkers and other servants as well, and while they were at pains never to repeat anything lest it cause me injury, I would hear them discussing it.
That Hiske was behind a great deal of the rumour-mongering was certain. The woman took pride in drawing attention to my shortcomings and let all who came into her sphere know about them.
‘Aye, well …’ I stroked the ledger’s cover, my fingertip resting on the calfskin. ‘I don’t know what to do about it, Adam. Worse, I don’t think there’s anything I can do. There are always going to be detractors, especially when we’re talking about ale and alehouses. On top of everything, I’m an unmarried woman who has chosen not to seek a union, or take up the position of companion,’ I grunted, ‘with my cousin, but to tie herself to a business that’s perceived as less than worthy — more so, because I’m female.’ Adam opened his mouth to argue, but I lay a hand on top of his. ‘It’s all right. You warned me of this and you were right. My choices mean I’ll always attract this sort of gossip. I have to learn to live with it.’ I applied pressure to his hand. ‘You know what makes it easier to bear? You. You, the twins, Saskia, Blanche and everyone else.’ The sweep of my arm encompassed the entire house. ‘You know the truth. You know me. And that’s all that matters.’
It has to be.
Adam’s eyes looked glassy in the firelight. ‘That we do. And I thank the Lord for it. Every day.’
Ignoring the tear that trickled down Adam’s cheek, I blinked back my own. I was blessed. Despite what Hiske said, what the townsfolk wanted to think, I knew differently. In my heart, in my soul — and God did, too. Surely, that’s all that counted? Westel believed that, I must as well, despite Brother Osbert’s threats. Let Him be my judge, not some wretched idle women or greedy monks.
‘Come then,’ I gave Adam’s hand a final squeeze, ‘let’s go and tell Saskia and Blanche the good news.’
Brewer's Tale, The Page 22
