The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  Once his steps retreated, the steady drip of a pipe, the whinny of a horse, and the snap of wood was all that could be heard.

  “For certes, mistress, that’s a fine-looking gentleman. Who was he?” said Constance, taking Isabella from Harry and straightening her little bonnet.

  “Our brother’s master,” said Betje, looking toward Adam for confirmation, but he was too busy staring at me. “He’s our friend.”

  “Well, well, well, aren’t you the lucky one.” Emma laughed and fetched Karel from my inert arms. “That’s a mighty fancy friend.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Come on then, back to the nursery for you two. Time for your mother to return to work.”

  I remained where I was as the twins were taken upstairs.

  Chatter carried from the kitchen as Emma and Constance regaled the servants with descriptions of the handsome tall gent with the cane. The one clearly smitten with our Anna.

  If my heart had not been so leaden, I might have smiled. “Our Anna.” Instead, I retraced Leander’s rapid exit, recalling the way his surcoat flapped, how his cane struck the steps, and the echoing click of his boots. For someone who last night had been reluctant to leave, this morning he couldn’t depart quickly enough. My happiness fled after him, my earlier exuberance replaced by hollowness and dismay.

  Oh, why hadn’t I told him about the children?

  Because, if truth be told, I feared exactly what had just happened.

  Not only had Sir Leander vanished from The Swanne, it was more than evident he’d forsaken me, a lecherous, untrustworthy whore, as well. Once again, he was gone from my life.

  I sank onto the steps and, aware of Betje and Harry, tried not to cry.

  Forty-Five

  The Swanne

  St. John at Port Latin Day

  The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth year of the reign of Henry IV

  Can you blame me that I doubted Sir Leander? Yet four days later, before the bells for tierce had even sounded, he was squatting in the courtyard, not caring that the edges of his embroidered surcoat skimmed the dust, talking to my sister as if nothing was amiss and he hadn’t torn my heart from my body and trampled it in the very dirt upon which he knelt. I watched him from the shadows of the mews, holding the sack of hops an Easterling courier had just brought me against my chest.

  Seeing him with Betje, listening earnestly to the answer she gave him to his question about the doll she was holding, I was like a wilting flower given moisture. Thirsting for what only he could provide, I unfurled and in doing so, discovered another aspect to him.

  Unlike others who encountered Betje and turned away, he was able to see beyond the terrible scars to the person behind them. Taking Tansy when she offered the doll up for closer scrutiny, he smoothed the woolen hair and stroked the wooden face before returning the toy. Betje tucked the doll under one arm, and smiled at Sir Leander, her puckered little mouth curving in a bow. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but when Betje pointed toward the door leading to the brewery, my heart dislodged.

  Taking his hand, Betje began to steer him across the courtyard, her limp a minor variation of Sir Leander’s own. Seeing them together, so relaxed and natural, quite undid me. I waited till they’d passed then stepped from my hiding place.

  “God give you good day, my lord.”

  Spinning around slowly, Sir Leander waited for me to reach his side.

  Betje was not so reticent. She crossed the distance and took my free hand, leading me forward as fast as she was able.

  “Anna,” she said eagerly, “you have a visitor.” Did I? Or was there another reason he was at The Swanne?

  For all I tried to pretend to Betje that Sir Leander’s sudden departure hadn’t affected me badly, I’d failed. My little sister knew; so did Adam, Juliana, Harry, Yolande—in fact everyone at The Swanne. Alyson had made that clear to me.

  My plans to remain indifferent came swiftly undone once I saw those eyes. It was as if he plucked my laces and divested me of my garments right there in the courtyard, so bold was his gaze, so full of longing. I stumbled and would have fallen except he released Betje and grabbed my arm, keeping me upright.

  His fingers were like a brand upon my flesh.

  “You must be more careful, mistress,” he said softly. Somehow, he knew what caused my clumsiness. I blushed.

  “Aye, I should.” Shaking his hand off, I transferred the hops to my other hip. “I cannot tarry. If you wish to see me, you’ll have to follow. I must add this to my wort.” I kept walking and, to my surprise, unease, and no small degree of pleasure, Sir Leander fell in step beside me. Before I could quiz him further, there was a jangle of harness and a welcome shout behind. Adam and Harry rode Shelby through the gates, the cart stacked with barrels of water filled from beyond the millpond. A wave of relief washed over me. We had quality water for our ale. They waved a greeting.

  Betje tugged my tunic.

  “Off you go then.” She’d been loitering in the courtyard waiting for Harry’s return. “But make sure you’re both in the brewery by the time the bells sound,” I called. She lifted her hand to show she’d heard.

  “God’s truth, my lord,” I said as soon as Betje was out of earshot. “I didn’t expect to see you here again.”

  “And why is that?”

  His genuine question took me by surprise. “Not after what you said to me.”

  Stopping in his tracks, he grabbed my arm, forcing me to halt as well. “I’m afraid my memory isn’t serving at present. You’ll have to remind me. What ill-mannered words are being attributed to me now?”

  “You really don’t remember?”

  The early sun was in my eyes. It was one of those mornings that promised a warm day to come; the type of day for lovers to linger in shady groves or loll in long grass and share secrets of the heart. It was a good day to barrel beer and start a fresh brew of ale as well. I’d no time for this. With a sigh, I sheltered my face with a hand so I didn’t squint.

  “I find it hard to believe you can’t recall what you said, so clear was your intention.” He raised his brows. “You said you didn’t know me anymore.” I glanced around to make sure no one could hear, then leaned toward him, lowering my voice. “That while you knew I was no maiden, a mother was beyond your ken.”

  “I said that?”

  I extracted my arm from his grip and gave him a level, serious look. “In not so many words.”

  Genuinely bemused, he scratched his head, his cap sliding back on his dark locks. “Anneke, I’m at a loss. This is the source of your displeasure? Is it not the truth? You’re a mother, are you not? Of two lovely children. Unless my brain has been completely addled by the vast amounts of ale we drank that night, you failed to mention Isabella and Karel to me, did you not?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “I merely pointed out what you omitted. I didn’t know you were a mother; therefore, I do not know you anymore. I thought you’d understand, I look forward to the prospect of getting to know the new Anneke, the one who calls herself Anna.”

  “But you left so abruptly—”

  “Waking to find you gone, I came downstairs to bid you farewell . . . and thank you.” He cocked his head. “I may have trouble recalling my exact words in the brewery but my memory serves me very well when it comes to the night we shared.”

  Heat swept my body and I found it hard to remain still.

  “You had work to do,” he continued. “Aye, I was most surprised to discover you had children, but is it not the common theme of nature when relations are had between a man and a woman, whether those are wanted or not? I was surprised, but no more or less. You are who and what you are, Anneke Sheldrake—Anna de Winter—and I love you for all of that.”

  I blinked back tears.

  His voice softened. “Anneke, your duty called, so did mine. You are a mother and a brewer first. I was required at Westminster—but I’m also a husband. The Lady Cecilia would expect me to break fast with her, so I left. I would only ha
ve been in the way . . .”

  I hugged the sack to my breast. The stone that had lodged itself in my core ever since I last saw him began to crumble and it was all I could do to remain anchored to the ground. I felt so light I thought I would ascend to the heavens.

  “I believed you were seriously offended. That you were shocked to discover I was a mother with no husband.” I began to speak quickly, words tripping over themselves. To my chagrin, tears began to spill. “I thought you were disgusted . . . full of regret for what had passed between us—”

  “And determined to quit your sight?”

  “It’s been four days.” A single tear traveled down my cheek. I lowered my gaze and turned my head aside. “Nary a word.”

  Leander’s fingers gently captured my chin.

  “The longest days of my life thus far.” He sighed. “Ah, my love. You think so poorly of me that my love must be conditional? That your experiences cannot alter and shape you, but must leave you untouched, like a statue or religious relic? That is not love. That is possession, or obsession. You have my heart in your keeping, my little brewster—mother or no.”

  I couldn’t respond.

  He tilted my face so I was forced to look at him, and continued. “I love you, Anneke Sheldrake—all right, all right, Anna de Winter. That cold glare could dim the sun.” He laughed and went to press his lips to my mouth, before remembering himself. For what it was worth, he would protect my reputation, the distinction between me and the other women who inhabited The Swanne—not that many saw a difference. I lived in a bathhouse; that defined me. Not for Sir Leander. Instead, he passed a fleeting finger over my lips and released me, but his gaze kissed not just my mouth but also every part of my flesh.

  Adam caught my eye then looked away, shaking his head, a big smile upon his face. Always vigilant, always worrying. Though I knew he wanted so much more for me—marriage to a gentleman, a home to call my own, children with a father—he understood it was not to be my lot and was content if I could at least have love.

  And I did. I gazed at Leander. The love of a good man.

  The coal merchant, the farrier, and a couple of the maids passing through the courtyard paused to look at the strange tableau we presented, the tall nobleman with his cane, the untidy brewster. Uncomfortable now, I tried to think of what to say, what to do next.

  “Back to work, all of you,” called a familiar voice, and Alyson arrived, her scarlet tunic flapping around her ankles as she pointed at the offenders. Immediately, everyone scurried back to their tasks, casting last glances over their shoulders to see what she would say to me. When she caught sight of Sir Leander, her step slowed and her hips began to sway. A broad grin split her face.

  “God give you good day, Sir Leander.” She bobbed her head. “I’m glad to see you here, milord.” She gave me a knowing look. “Glad my summation of you hasn’t proved false.” Alyson had defended Leander’s intentions from the outset. My cheeks grew warm.

  Alyson smiled smugly before a frown knitted her brows. “Haven’t you got ale to make?” She nodded toward the sack I still carried.

  “And beer.” I raised the hops. “All the way from Holland.”

  Alyson screwed up her nose as she leaned in and caught the heady aroma. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste.

  “Well, you’d best get on with it then, hadn’t you? Even if customers are harder to come by than that stuff.”

  It was the first time I’d heard Alyson publicly acknowledge that our ale and beer weren’t selling in the quantities we’d hoped. I wished I could reassure her. But everything had already been said, over and over, and nothing altered.

  Aware that Leander was listening, I shot her a warning glance. Though I’d told him about some of the problems we were experiencing, I didn’t want him to know the extent of them, nor that there wasn’t a ready solution in sight. This was something I had to sort for myself.

  “Alyson is right, I must get going. The wort will be boiling and this must be added—” I gestured to the hops with my chin. I gazed at Leander, who was deep in thought. I didn’t want to leave, yet my brew called. “Was there anything else, my lord?” I asked, keeping my voice level, the hope at bay.

  Leander glanced at me, the hops, then Alyson. The bells for tierce pealed, and a flock of doves rose, little gray arrows winging their way east. As the last note faded, it was replaced by the distant cries of vendors making their way to the bridge and London, our everyday choir.

  “There was something,” said Leander slowly. “I wanted to speak to both of you, as it happens.”

  “Both of us?” Alyson couldn’t disguise her surprise.

  “I’ve come to place an order for ale and beer.”

  “For whom?” I asked, taken aback.

  “For Ashlar Place.”

  I stared at him aghast. That was his house in London, by all accounts a beautiful stone affair, three stories high with moldings, gargoyles, wooden and tiled floors, and glass in every window. It even had a garderobe for each bedroom. It was said to rival The Savoy.

  Alyson clapped her hands together in glee. “Ashlar Place! By God, you know how to make a woman happy, milord.” She shot Leander a hard look. “How much do you want?”

  “Enough to cover the summer months, for now. Beyond that, we’ll see, but I hope to supply my ships as well. They’ll be leaving for Venice in the next week and I want them well provided.”

  Alyson’s eyes widened as she quickly did the calculations. “My, oh my.” She searched for my wrist and gave it a brief squeeze. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!” She laughed. “A decent order and from a nobleman. You wait, once word of this gets out, there’ll be no stopping us.” She raised her hands to the sky in an attitude of prayer. “Knew You wouldn’t let me down, though You had me worried for a while.”

  Leander grinned. I found it hard to return his smile or share Alyson’s joy. It was wonderful we had an order, and from a Rainford, it really was, and Alyson was right, this was the opportunity, the breakthrough we needed. So why then did I feel uneasy? Was it because I could never be sure if it was because my brew deserved such recognition or because it was driven by a sense of obligation? Did it matter?

  Silly as it was, to me it did.

  Once, I wanted nothing more than to be a maiden from the old tales, rescued from peril at the last moment by a handsome prince. No longer. Oh, I still wanted my prince, who would not? Leander Rainford was the prince of dreams, but was he mine? His heart belonged to me, but in the eyes of the world he belonged to another woman. Was I so very contrary that I wanted to face my perils on my own? Reluctant customers, the Mystery of Brewers, and vindictive officials like Master Fynk—these were my hardships to overcome.

  Even as ambivalence roiled within me, I loved this man for making such an offer. I had to thank him for his generosity, let him know how much it meant. I also had to tell him that my pride would not allow me to accept. But what about Alyson? We were business partners. I’d no right to let my conceit halt a sale . . . If I spoke to Alyson, she would understand. Had she not made her own way despite five husbands?

  Before I could say anything, Alyson had her arm through Leander’s and was walking him toward the kitchen door.

  “How about you come to my office and we make this official, hey? Master Adam!” she shouted and gestured for him to follow.

  Caught in Alyson’s enthusiasm, Leander looked back at me and flashed an apologetic smile. When he saw the look on my face he halted. Alyson was brought up short with a great discharge of air.

  “Anneke,” said Leander, pulling his arm free, “what is this expression? This frown?” When I did not answer, but lowered my gaze, he sighed. “Ah. I see. Listen, I’m not doing this because I love you—nay, well, that’s not true, I am. But I’m also doing it because your ale and beer is the finest I’ve ever tasted.”

  I raised my head.

  “With all the dinners planned, over summer, the royals we’ll be entertaining, I only want the finest ser
ved. So does the Lady Cecilia. We also intend to take some to the king’s Lancastrian estates for him to enjoy next month.”

  “The king,” whispered Alyson in reverent tones, possibilities mounting in her mind.

  I met Leander’s steady midnight gaze and saw the truth in his words. “The Lady Brewer makes the finest—and soon everyone will know it.”

  The Lady Brewer, was that what I was called? Or was that how Leander described me? No matter, I liked what it signified.

  Not caring that it was broad daylight, or that the laundress and her daughter had come through the gate carrying baskets of linen, or that Betje and Harry were heading in our direction, I reached over and grabbed Leander’s shirt and pulled his face down to mine. I kissed him sweetly and for a very long time.

  God forgive me, yet again I’d underestimated him. I swore then and there that I would not do so again.

  When I drew away, his eyes flickered and darkened. In their sapphire depths, I saw my own desire reflected. I tried to quench the heat rising in my body, to no avail. A spell in the cool cellar would do me good.

  Drawing in his breath sharply, Leander grinned. “You don’t make it easy for me to offer a persuasive argument when you tender such inducements to give you custom.”

  Watching us carefully, Alyson began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “That face of yours can’t conceal a thing. You may as well just be out with it from the start and save us all the pain.”

  Tossing my head, I turned on my heel and walked as quickly as I might on trembling legs to the brewery, knowing, despite Alyson’s quip, that Leander’s dancing, lustful eyes were boring into my back, telling all who saw him that I was indeed his lady brewer.

  Forty-Six

  The Swanne

  Summer

  The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth year of the reign of Henry IV