The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  Swiping the back of his hand across his nose, Harry shivered and nodded. Passing the lamp that had been doused by the rain to Alyson, he lifted the ends of his coat and wiped his eyes.

  “We learned of the pestilence the day after you left. ’Twas a foreign man brought the news, said he used to be a captain with the Hanse.”

  My heart flipped. “Captain Stoyan? He was here?”

  “That’s him. Told us to make preparations. Him and Master Adam, they did what they could but they was too late.” Harry dropped his eyes and swallowed.

  “Go on, lad.” Alyson’s voice was thick, tight.

  “It was already ’ere, Goody Alyson.” Harry raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Must have been a customer who was infected. He passed it to Bertha, for we found her two days later.” He held the bridge of his nose as if to restrict or contain the recollection. “It was awful. She had these big, black boils oozing yellow, and was coughing fit to burst. Juliana tended her first. I went and fetched Master Adam and the captain. When they saw her, they ordered us to close the doors, not to allow anyone to enter. After that, the carters came for the body . . .” He gave a small sob. “Then, others fell ill as well. It was so fast, we couldn’t do nothing, though we tried . . .”

  Betje gave a cry of remembrance; I drew her closer.

  “Where are Captain Stoyan and Adam now, lad?” asked Tobias.

  Harry pointed toward the house, but before he could answer, a voice rang out in the dark.

  “I be here.” Holding a torch above his head, a familiar and welcome form approached, one I’d thought never to see again. Older, more creased but still possessed of those clear gray eyes, Captain Hatto Stoyan strode across the yard, his boots splattering the mud, plunging into the puddles.

  Stopping short, he lifted the torch. “Now here’s a sight to mend a fractured heart,” he said. “Liebchen.” His eyes softened as he regarded me. Turning, he raised the torch higher and examined Alyson, Tobias, and the guards. With a grunt, he lowered it.

  I stepped forward, intending to hold him before sense found me and I lowered my arms. “What are you doing here? I thought the Hanse forbade you from—”

  “I resigned my commission. My God, child, you needed me here.”

  “Captain, how can I—”

  “There will be time for danke schön and stories later,” he said. “Gott be willing.”

  I quickly introduced the captain and Alyson. The captain gave Alyson a courteous bow. She bobbed a curtsy. Tobias gave a brusque nod that the captain returned.

  “Goodwife Alyson,” said the captain gravely. “I’ve some very bad news.”

  Raising her chin, Alyson pressed her lips together, her expression grim. “Tell me, how many of my chicks have I lost?”

  Captain Stoyan hesitated. “Why don’t we go into the house? It’s warmer there and we’ll be out of the rain.”

  Tobias put a hand up to prevent me moving. “Wait.” We all stopped. “How do we know the pestilence won’t take us if we go in there?” He nodded toward the door.

  “We don’t,” said Captain Stoyan, and wrenched it open.

  Leaving Hodge, Ralph, and the guards in the courtyard, we entered through the kitchen. There was a crackling fire in the hearth. The table was laden with bowls of eggs and ladles coated with a fine, milky slurry; a slumping sack of flour and a heel of old bread had been pushed to one side. On the benches, jugs of water and clean cloths were laid out, drying for reuse. A truckle bed and two makeshift mattresses took up the rest of the floor.

  “We’ve been sleeping here,” explained Betje, pointing to the truckle bed. Tansy lay, doll’s limbs akimbo, upon the fur.

  Unclasping our cloaks and laying them over stools near the fire, we sat on the edge of the bench.

  “Very well,” said Alyson. “We’re out of the rain now. You can tell me.”

  With a deep breath, Captain Stoyan did. “So far, seven have died—” Alyson bit back a sob. “And two are not long for this world.”

  Dear Lord. Nearly all the girls.

  I reached for Alyson, but she held a hand up to keep me at bay. “Who?”

  Captain Stoyan looked at Harry. Crossing himself, mouth atremble, Harry tugged his coat and, like a sentinel at a gate, stared into a dark corner and, in an expressionless voice, began. “Bertha, Leda, Juliana—”

  I quickly stifled a cry as Harry continued. If he allowed himself to think of the life contained in the names, of the memories shared, the hopes and dreams snuffed out, he wouldn’t be able to go on. He was being the man Alyson required and, in doing so, was the bravest among us.

  Alyson collapsed to the floor, her tunic billowing, her head sinking to her chest. Her fingers scrabbled against the stones, helpless, hopeless. When I sank down and put my arms around her, she didn’t resist, but pressed her wet cheeks to my bosom and opened her mouth in a silent cry.

  Dear God. Juliana, bless her sweet soul. Bless them all. The weight in my chest became unbearable. Soundless tears coursed down my cheeks. Betje leaned against me, her arms looping my shoulders. Harry ceased talking, and, with the last name, the valor that had sustained him fled and he was as a marooned vessel. Captain Stoyan took over, continuing to count the toll. There was the laundress and her daughters and some men besides—customers, tradespeople who frequented the bathhouse; it wasn’t only the girls who died. Neighboring establishments had fared worse. Tobias asked questions and it became apparent that it was only Captain Stoyan’s warning, his courage in ignoring Hanse orders to cut all ties with me and to never come to The Swanne, along with Adam’s foresight in closing it to further business, that had kept the casualties low. Dear God. Low. Even one life was too many. And it wasn’t over yet.

  With one hand upon Alyson, I held Betje as close as I could. What had my poor sweetling suffered in my absence? How frightened she must have been with all that death and illness around her, the randomness with which people were chosen. And yet, she’d been spared, my babes and Harry too. That was something for which I must be grateful.

  Pushing Betje’s lank hair from her face, I tried to study it by the light of the fire. Her features were inscribed with experiences no child should have to endure, and yet God in His wisdom had sought to test her further. Anger at our Lord diminished the gratitude I’d felt only moments earlier. Punish me, by all means, she who has sinned and sinned again, but Betje? Juliana? Could she not be spared? Was Betje’s suffering and all this death my punishment? Alyson’s too? But the twins, they’d been kept safe from this horror—so far.

  Alyson dried her eyes and raised her face to Captain Stoyan. “And what about now? Is the pestilence still in the house? Still affecting my girls?”

  “Some. They . . . linger. We tend to their needs. Sometimes, the passing is swift. Other times, not so.”

  Alyson nodded. “But you, you’ve survived.”

  “Aye. And more besides. Once we understood most of the girls were infected and some of their clients, we moved down here, away from the . . . from them. We left the upper rooms to the ill,” said the captain. “We opened the windows to rid the place of the miasma, kept other doors shut. Locked the twins”—he looked to me—“along with their nurses and trusted servants, in the brewery. It was the best place for them. There’s plenty of food and water. We communicate through the door. They are all well.” He swung an arm toward the short passage that led to the cellar. “For some reason, the pestilence isn’t here on the lower floors. We exit and enter the top floors from outside.”

  “Why are you not down there?” I asked Betje softly, nodding toward the cellar. “Why is Harry not?”

  Betje chewed her mouth, the new front teeth pressing upon her lower lip making it protrude further. “We’re s’posed to be. We were.” Captain Stoyan made a clicking sound. I could barely hear her words. “But we wanted to help, so one night, Harry and I snuck out the other door, into the courtyard.” I stared at her in horror. She didn’t understand what she’d risked, what was at stake.
/>   “Help?”

  “I tried to talk her out of it, mistress, as God is me Lord, I did,” said Harry. “But she wouldn’t listen, would she? So, I came with her.”

  I looked from one to the other, shaking my head.

  “It’s what you would have done, Anna,” said Betje. “The captain and Adam needed us—God protected us as I knew He would.”

  Searching for a response that wouldn’t express only antagonism and confusion, I sat back on the bench and simply held Betje tighter. Her faith was greater than mine—in God and me. Dear sweet Lord, that she sought to render aid.

  What Adam must have thought . . .

  My thoughts froze. Adam. Where was he? Alyson appeared to arrive at the same question. Using the bench for leverage, she struggled to her feet and glanced around.

  “Where is Adam, Captain Stoyan?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

  Breaking off his conversation with Tobias and the guards, Captain Stoyan turned slowly. “You’d better follow me.”

  With one arm around Alyson, I took Betje’s hand and once more we followed the captain.

  “Tell the men they can come and sit in here,” said Tobias to Harry, who, with a glance at Alyson—who gave her consent—raced back outside. Captain Stoyan led us down the main corridor, toward the hall. “We locked the front door and, during the day, when Adam and I weren’t tending to the sick, we kept guard. The lads you met, they manned the gates.”

  “Stop people getting in?” asked Alyson.

  “Nein. Stop the infected getting out.” Captain Stoyan’s brow furrowed. “There were some of your clients who were most unhappy they were being forced to remain. In my experience, nobles and monks are very good at giving orders but not so at following them.” He touched the top of his scabbard. “We found ways of making them obey. Five died within days. Their bodies, along with the girls, were given to the cart, may God assoil them. We’d no choice, you understand.” Captain Stoyan put a comforting hand on Alyson’s shoulder. She didn’t shrug it off but dabbed her eyes. “Of those who may yet survive, there’ll be trouble for our pains.”

  Alyson’s brows shot up and she snapped her kerchief like a whip. “Ungrateful bastards. Don’t they know you likely saved their lives?”

  “And that of their families.”

  Stopping before the door that led to the front chamber, Captain Stoyan appeared about to say something, and then changed his mind. With a long, tired sigh, he pushed against it.

  The door swung open and, in the light of the fireplace and burning candles, another truckle bed could be seen; erected down one end of the room, chairs and stools had been pushed against walls, the rushes forming hillocks around the legs. Facing the fire were three chairs and a small table upon which sat two thick candles, a book, a mazer, and a jug. Cloths hung near the hearth, as did a clean shirt. Extra blankets were folded at the end of the bed. Adam lay beneath the covers, his eyes shut, his breathing hoarse. Approaching cautiously, there were no black buboes, no open sores or yellow fluid upon his flesh. Aye, he was pale and shrunken, but he didn’t have the pestilence. Stuffy, the room didn’t carry the pungent odor of sickness, just the stale smell of unwashed flesh and sweat.

  I looked over my shoulder at first Alyson, then Captain Stoyan. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Indicating I should sit, Captain Stoyan squatted beside my chair and in a low voice explained. “I don’t know; only that, one morning, I awoke in the kitchen and found him thus. He has all but lost the power of speech. The right-hand side of his body is limp, useless. He cannot walk, feed himself, or anything else.” He stared at me meaningfully. “When I understood it was not the pox, I carried him here, mainly so he wouldn’t disturb the children.” He flashed Betje the warmest of smiles. “Your sister has taken it upon herself to care for him. She feeds him, reads to him, washes his face and hands, rubs them. Harry and I, between us, attend to his other needs.”

  Turning to examine Adam, I wondered when had he grown so old. Somehow, I’d thought of him as ageless, almost immortal, and yet here he was, a withered man of many years. His eyelids were so fine, I could see the network of veins upon them and the movement of his eyes behind them. What was he seeing as he slumbered? Lines crisscrossed his cheeks, from the corner of his eyes, fanning toward his temples. They ran in lines from his nose to edges of his mouth. Even his neck, once so firm and upright, had collapsed into a concertina of flesh, as if his spine had melted. His right arm lay upon the bed, the hand curled into a claw.

  “I’ve been rubbing the ointment Mother Joanna taught us to make into it,” said Betje, her small fingers twining through Adam’s, demonstrating.

  My voice caught in my throat. Sitting opposite, Alyson’s face crumpled.

  Captain Stoyan stood, his knees creaking, his hand upon the back of my chair. “I’ve seen this before, men who, after surviving a storm at sea, pitting themselves against great odds, find their body betrays them when they need it most. Some recover. Most are never the same again.”

  “Has the doctor been? The apothecary?”

  “Ja, the apothecary, but there was naught he could do and there were others to tend. He gave us valerian, said to keep him warm, allow him to sleep. When he wakes, to encourage movement. Read to him. All is being done.”

  A small amount of spittle had collected in the corner of Adam’s mouth. I leaned over to dab it away. As my kerchief touched his lips, his eyelids flew open. Blinking back the tears, I gave a watery smile. “God give you good day, Adam Barfoot.”

  The spark behind the eyes was still the same, but the noise that came from his mouth was not. Lips and tongue refused to cooperate, the sounds issuing being more animal than human. Nodding and taking his other hand into mine, I kissed the back of it. When I drew away, a salty wetness coated the skin; I brushed it away gently.

  “Dear Adam. I’m back, Alyson too—”

  Alyson rose slightly so her face was in his line of vision. His eyes took a little while longer to slide to her face but, when they did, the sounds increased.

  “And Tobias. He’s here.” I beckoned him forward, moving aside so Adam could see him.

  Tobias’s mouth twisted awkwardly and, backing away from the bed, he shook his head, his eyes glassy.

  I took pity on him and, turning to Adam, spoke softly. “We’ve come to relieve you of the burden of care. You have looked after Betty and Harry so well. You saved the twins—you and the captain. I do not know how to thank you. We want you to rest, Adam.” I choked and had to pause and contain myself before continuing. “We will take over now. It’s our turn.” I wanted to say everything would be all right, that he would be fine, nothing further would happen. But who was I to offer such platitudes? Predict what God would see fit to throw at us next? I could not give Adam false hope; I knew he would expect nothing but the truth from me.

  Understanding more than he was able to convey, Adam ceased trying to speak and relaxed into the bed. Betje continued to massage his hands and, after a while, Captain Stoyan disappeared, returning with mazers of ale and some bread for us to eat. I’d had nothing since before Ludgate and, much to my surprise, was famished. I watched as Betje patiently broke the bread and fed it to Adam, dipping it in the ale to soften it before squeezing it between his teeth. Harry, who’d rejoined us at some point, stoked the fire. Captain Stoyan and Harry absented themselves, the captain telling Betje to remain with us. I only discovered later that they went to tend the sick upstairs.

  Alyson, Tobias, and I spoke for a long time, discussing what had happened here in Southwark and at Gloucester, and what we were to do, pausing occasionally as our emotions and the enormity of what we faced almost overwhelmed us. When the candles finally burned out and Adam, with the help of some valerian, slept once more, we left him in peace, Harry by his side.

  We retreated to the kitchen where the guards sat down one side of the table, Hodge and Ralph with them, ale in their hands, the remnants of bread before them.

  “What are you going to do?”
I asked Tobias.

  With his back to the hearth, Tobias’s face was cast in shadows and only the outline of his body was distinct. It could have been Leander standing there, only it wasn’t. “I was to see you safe and then return to Ashlar Place and look to the Lady Cecilia. It’s too late to leave now. I’ll have to go first thing in the morning—only . . . Anna . . .”

  “Only what?”

  “Are you safe? I mean, there are people dying above us.” His eyes flicked to the ceiling. “Around—” His arm swung out to take in all of Bankside.

  I gave a dry laugh. “As safe as anywhere else here. Or there,” I said, jerking my head toward London. “I could ask you the same question. Has the pestilence reached Ashlar Place?”

  “Not that I’m aware. What I do know, however, is it’s here and so are you.”

  I went to his side. “Your duty is to your master and his wife, Tobias. I will be all right. Betty has survived thus far. The twins too. Sir Leander entrusted you with a task—you have completed a portion, now you must see it through. Whether you remain here or not will make no difference to God’s plans.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .”

  His dark eyes met mine.

  “Aye.” I whispered and rested my forehead against his. We stood like that for some time.

  One of the guards belched, and another slapped him on the back. Alyson said something caustic and ordered them outside to the mews, shoving some bedding in their arms. Grumbling, they rose. It was getting late or, rather, early. A new day was due to dawn.

  Fumbling for my hand, Tobias held it tight then released it. “It’s time for you to go now, too. Knowing you will be in the cellar goes some way to easing our parting.”

  While sitting around Adam’s bed, we’d reached some hard decisions. Desperate to see my babes, certain I was not infected, my only choice was to remain in the cellar until such time as it was safe to reemerge. Alyson would stay in The Swanne too.