The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him quietly, shifting closer and bumping him gently with my shoulder.

  A long, slow sigh escaped his lips. For a while, he didn’t answer. The music continued, slower now. Blanche and Iris resumed their seats, panting.

  “Tobias? What is it?” I whispered.

  Across the room, Saskia laughed. My head flew up and I saw Sir Leander smiling. “Is it your master?”

  “What?” said Tobias, rousing from his abstraction. He followed the direction of my gaze. “Leander? Don’t be silly.”

  “Is it Father’s death . . . ?” my voice petered out.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well, what is it then?”

  Tobias leaned back and rested his head against the wall. I studied him. The way his dark hair fell across his forehead; his hooded eyes; his wide, well-shaped mouth; cheeks that weren’t stubbled but bore the blush of youth upon them. He wasn’t yet a handsome man, Tobias, not like his master, his brother, but one day, he would be.

  “This,” said Tobias, lifting his goblet and waving it before him.

  Frowning, I didn’t understand. “The house? But I explained to you what Hiske did—”

  “Not the house.” Turning his head so his cheek rested against the white walls, he thrust his drink in my direction. “This. You.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m so sorry, Anneke,” said Tobias, staring at me but, I fear, not seeing me too well.

  “What have you to be sorry for, my sweet brother?” I lifted the fist that rested against his thigh and untangled the taut fingers. “You’re blameless in all of this.”

  “Mayhap. But that doesn’t stop me being sorry that you, a Sheldrake, have been reduced to such circumstances.” He lifted his goblet into my line of vision. “That for the time being, you bear the brunt of Father’s foolishness. I can’t help but feel we shouldn’t be celebrating but rather, commiserating that my sister has been forced to take such measures.” He put the vessel down on the bench between us. “I’ve been thinking about your plight ever since I found out about our financial situation. We need to find you a husband, Anneke. If you get married, it will solve everything.”

  Before I could summon a response, Tobias launched into his plan, ignoring my efforts to interrupt. Did he really think I hadn’t considered all that he placed before me, including marriage? Failing to notice that my arms crossed my chest and I’d put distance between us upon the bench, he continued on. I stared at the wood of our seat, noting the grain, the scratches, the place where once Karel had hefted a hot poker, scarring it. I traced the line, my nail burrowing deeper, wanting to leave my own mark. Listening to Tobias, I knew then that despite my earlier thoughts, there were some distances that could never be spanned. My brother didn’t really know me at all.

  Pondering this I only registered the words a moment after he finished. A smug, uneven smile upon his face, Tobias waited for me to respond.

  I stared at him in disbelief. “Did you just say you spoke to Cousin Hiske?”

  “Indeed, I did. She called upon us the moment we arrived at Lord Rainford’s house in town.”

  “How did she know you’d be there? Oh. Master Makejoy.”

  “Indeed. He organized the house to be aired and the servants prepared for our arrival. Cousin Hiske was our first visitor. She wanted to offer me condolences and—” He paused.

  “What?”

  “To warn me what you were doing.”

  I pursed my lips.

  “She also told me about the offer she made.”

  “Did she?” My eyes were cold, my chin thrust forward. “And did she tell you what I said?”

  “She said you refused.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  Why was he being so obtuse? So difficult?

  “Wise?” Heads swung in our direction. The mood had altered. Blanche danced a protesting Iris toward the kitchen. Will and Adam began locking up while Saskia and Sir Leander remained where they were, absorbed in their discussion. I lowered my voice. “She invited me to work for her, Tobias, to be a servant in her house. I don’t know what she told you, but there was nothing to hope for in her offer. She’s twisting her words to persuade you to her way of thinking. You don’t know what it’s been like living with that woman, what she’s done. You can’t really expect me to accept, you who’s so worried about the Sheldrake reputation. What would being Hiske’s servant do to our dear name?” Bitterness coated my tongue. I glanced at my cup, but it was empty. “Tell me. What kind of husband would I find then?”

  “Servant? You misunderstood. Hiske said you did. She asked you to be her companion.”

  A bark of laughter escaped.

  Tobias leveled a finger at me. “Don’t mock. It’s a perfectly acceptable position for someone your age and in your circumstances. It’s better than being a brewster.” When I didn’t bother replying, he lowered his hand. “Think of the twins, Anneke. What about them?”

  “I am thinking of them, Tobias. Them and the servants. I seem to be the only one.”

  “The servants will find other positions,” said Tobias, waving his hand as if he were the king distributing Maundy coins. He brought his hand back to the bench, placing it over mine. It was warm and slightly damp. I tried to pull away but he increased pressure. “But you, Anneke, may not. Not if you keep up with this, this madness. Brewing’s fine for a bit of sport, to keep the family in ale, but if you insist on being a brewer, of selling ale to all and sundry, it will be to your ruin.”

  I withdrew my hand out from under his slowly, my eyes boring into his. With great deliberation, I wiped the back of it across my skirt.

  “You have the audacity to return home after all this time and tell me what to do? I cannot credit that you sit here and recommend to me I should accept Hiske’s offer.”

  “Anneke, as your brother and the head of this family, I insist you take it.”

  So great was the anger that swelled my ribs and lifted me to my feet, I swear, it was on the tip of my tongue to reveal the truth. “Insist? Who do you think you are? Good King Henry?”

  All other conversations in the room ceased. The noises coming from the kitchen slowly stopped as well. I didn’t care. Let them hear me. I fought to contain my thoughts, my sense of betrayal.

  “Sit down,” said Tobias through gritted teeth. “Standing on your dignity when you’re only a brewster, for Godsakes, doesn’t work with me.”

  My hands clenched and unclenched by my side. A log dropped in the fireplace, sending sparks into the room. Out of the corner of my eye, one of the dogs yawned and stretched, rearranging himself casually across his mate. The fever of my anger broke. “Stop,” I said softly. “Stop this before we say something we’ll both regret.”

  Behind me, talk resumed. Quiet. Careful.

  Tobias rose on unsteady legs and I was forced to tilt my head to meet his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Anneke.” He brushed his hair aside. “I’m not asking you to do it forever. All I’m saying is living with Hiske—”

  “Working, you mean. Being her servant. The woman who stole from us.”

  “However you choose to see it. All I’m saying”—he placed a heavy hand upon my forearm—“is that it has to be better than brewing. If you continue to do this, then chances are a husband won’t be hard to find, he’ll be impossible, and your life and that of our brother and sister will be ruined.”

  Tears filled my eyes, swam through my words. “You’re wrong, Tobias. You’re wrong about everything. You’ve conveniently overlooked that Mother’s family, the de Winters, were respected brewers in their homeland. The women and men made ale and their fortunes at the same time. Mother is the daughter of a brewer, or have you so readily forgotten? A brewer who went on to lead the Hanse.”

  “The brewer’s daughter, not the brewer herself.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he swept on. “Anyhow, it’s different over there. This is your home, Anneke, here”—his arm described an
arc—“not the Low Countries, not Germany, but here. Elmham Lenn is not that big a place. And while you’re here, it’s not Mother’s name you have to think about, but your own. You’re not a de Winter but a Sheldrake, Anneke, like me.”

  I curled my hands into tight fists, my knuckles turning white, fingernails impressing my palm.

  “We have to protect our name.” He swallowed and had difficulty forming the next words. “I have to.” What I mistook for solely the effects of ale, I now saw were tears toiling not to surface. “After what Father has done to us, it’s all we have.”

  The last vestiges of anger fled. “Oh, Tobias, that’s not true. Not all. We have each other too.” I sank back onto the bench, pulling Tobias into my arms. He resisted at first, then held me tightly, his chin resting on top of my head. His chest heaved a few times; for all his height, his body felt vulnerable in my arms and I found myself remembering when he sheltered there the last time, after Father told him he was going to Scales Hall to become a squire. This time, it wasn’t he who trembled, but me.

  Shutting my eyes, I tried to think of how I could persuade Tobias that I knew what I was doing, that while I understood his concerns, he wasn’t to worry. I pulled away slightly and attempted to meet his gaze.

  “Tobias, listen to me. Everything you’ve said, all the fears you’ve given voice to, I share them—every single one. But, more than anything, I need to prove I can do this.” I lifted my chin. “Please, give me the chance to do that. Don’t stand in my way. For, if you do, you’ll leave me no choice but to step away.” I cupped his cheek briefly. “I would rather you’re beside me.”

  Reaching up to sweep aside a wisp of hair that escaped my plait, he smiled and pushed it behind my ear. “Sometimes I forget you’re older, that while I’ve been having adventures, traveling the seas, training with weapons, fighting battles, buying and selling the wealth of ten Elmham Lenns, you’ve been here, living a life too—a life I know so little about.” His tone was wistful, faraway.

  Alas, he was right. The luxury of danger and excitement was denied me. Yet I still bore the burden of responsibility—if not for Tobias, then for Karel and Betje.

  “What I do know”—he stifled a hiccup—“is that you make a fine ale.”

  Had I heard him correctly?

  Tobias chuckled. “I never really believed you’d be pliable, that you’d surrender to my wishes easily. God knows, I’ve deep unease about these plans of yours. I want more than anything to dissuade you, to demand you go to Hiske. But I have already lost so much—Mother, Father”—he hesitated as his thoughts tripped to darker corners—“and now you tell me if I seek to prevent you from brewing, then I will lose you too. You would walk away rather than comply. I couldn’t bear that.”

  He waited for me to correct him, to say I would never allow such a thing to sever our relationship. God forgive me, I couldn’t reassure him, for it would have been an untruth.

  With a deep sigh that shuddered through his entire frame, he reached again for my hand. This time, I didn’t resist.

  “Anneke, you have to promise me: if this doesn’t work, if you can’t pay Lord Rainford, if anything should go wrong, you’ll give away the brewing here in Elmham Lenn and go to Hiske—aye, aye, I know she’s a damn thief, I know she’s a gossip and a shrew, but she’s family and she wouldn’t dare to abuse that, no matter what you think. If needs be, you must put aside what she’s said and done, your history with her, and swallow your pride—at least until such time as I can fetch you. If not for your own sake, then for me and the twins.”

  So, Tobias didn’t know the full extent of my agreement with Lord Rainford. Relief washed over me, making me temporarily limp in his arms. And as I’d already concluded, what Hiske had done was inconsequential in the greater scheme of things.

  I craned my neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Tobias. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You won’t regret this. You have my word. If this venture does not provide, I won’t brew in Elmham Lenn ever again.”

  And thus, my fate was sealed.

  Seventeen

  Holcroft House

  The day after Martinmas

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

  It was a dreary gray light that crept through my shutters and prodded me awake the following morning. With a groan I tumbled out of bed, washed, dressed, and, with the brittle air nipping at me, raced across the garden and into the brewery. My breath streamed in a nacreous mist as I honored the corner crones and, quickly prodding and blowing the glowing embers in the kiln into flames, sang the ale into life long before the rest of the house was astir.

  Ignoring my pounding head and the lassitude that made it difficult to raise my arms, to drag one foot before the other, I found little pleasure in my tasks. Tobias’s words of the night before came back to me. If I failed, then I would never brew again, but, if the brewing proved to be successful, well, perhaps I’d be doing it for a very long time . . .

  Pushing aside my physical discomfort, I picked up the ale-stick and imagined the corner crones winking at me. If this was to be my destiny, then I’d best get on, regardless of how I was feeling. Christmastide was approaching and the demand for ale would grow tenfold over the period. I intended to take advantage of this by increasing production. Standing over the mash vat, pushing the ladle through the grain-tea, knowing there was still wort to boil and malt to dry, I finally conceded, as Adam and Will joined me, that I would need to employ extra people as soon as possible. It was too late to take advantage of the hiring fair, so I would have to spread the word through town. It would be hard to find someone now, as those who’d been unsuccessful finding employment would head to Norwich, London, Gloucester, and other centers to seek work before the winter set in.

  Looking a little worse for wear, Tobias appeared mid-morning. Waiting for a ship from Exeter to arrive and take them to Rotterdam, he and Sir Leander were in town for at least a couple of days, and his master had allowed Tobias some free time till then. Quashing my surprise, I happily accepted Tobias’s offer of help, and asked him to carry the sacks Master Perkyn had delivered earlier into the brewery. I also had him stoking the fire and even allowed him to stir the mash while Adam poured the heated water into the tun and, after he’d done that, to rake the grain. After a while, I wandered over to the malthouse door and, wiping my hands on the apron, leaned against the doorframe. Watching my brother in his bare feet with his sleeves rolled and his hose hitched, I noted his broad shoulders and flushed cheeks.

  “Where’s Sir Leander?”

  Focused on hefting the sprouting grain, Tobias didn’t answer immediately. “Not sure. We had some unexpected visitors early this morning and he left the house in a hurry. Didn’t say where he was going, but I suspect it was to the docks.”

  Grateful the man hadn’t thought to accompany his squire again, I threw myself into my tasks.

  Before lunch, another three barrels of ale were filled and shifted to where the temperature was more constant. I was enjoying a drink of small ale, thinking how much having one set of additional hands helped, when Iris burst through the brewhouse door.

  “Mistress, mistress, I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop—” Before she had the rest out, she was pushed to one side. In her stead stood Hiske. Discarding the mourning attire we still wore, she was clothed in a dress of the highest fashion. A deep blue with long, cutaway sleeves and a matching hood, it shed years from her. A furred cape was tied under her chin and a small purse dangled from a gloved wrist. Married life evidently agreed with her; she looked better than I ever recalled.

  “Ja,” she said, her eyes sweeping the room, her face screwed up in displeasure as she took in my patched kirtle, stained apron, and unruly hair. “I always suspected you’d find your level.”

  Adam drew himself upright, looking to me for instructions. Anger radiated from him. Squatting in front of the kiln, Tobias was but a silhouette; Hiske hadn’t spied him.

  Stifling my dismay, I
placed my cup down on the table and wiped my hands on the apron around my waist.

  “Cousin Hiske,” I said. I made no move to welcome her. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Well, I didn’t expect to find myself here.” With a loud sniff, she came down the steps and into the brewhouse, tut-tutting the entire way. “What would your father say, Anneke Sheldrake, if he could see the depths to which you’ve stooped? You, who dared turn up your nose at my offer and chose instead to become a common brewster. I can inform you now, your brother is most unhappy.”

  “There’s nothing common about brewing, Cousin Hiske, as well you know. Not only did Mistress Margery Kempe from Bishop’s Lynn run a brewery, but Mother’s family have a long and respectable history—”

  “Respectable?” She gave a mocking laugh. “You always had a way of coloring things in such favorable hues. I was only saying to your brother yesterday that I think you’ll find your father was determined to erase that particular brand of respectability from your past. He was always so ashamed that your mother’s roots were so . . . so . . .”

  “Attached to yours?” finished Tobias, sauntering from the shadows.

  Hiske recoiled. “M . . . Master Tobias . . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .”

  “I can guarantee, Cousin,” continued Tobias, ignoring her stammers, “that when Father sought your services, he neither believed he was sheltering a thief nor someone who would exploit my sister’s grief for her own ends.” He shook his head and stood, legs apart, studying our cousin. Pride filled my heart.