The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  “What is it, Tobias?” Birds took wing in my chest. From the look on his face, the distant manner in which he had given me the letter, I knew what he was going to ask and I feared the question. Would I have the courage to answer him truthfully?

  “Sir Leander . . . Leander was most insistent that I deliver that.” He pointed at the scroll curled on Alyson’s desk. He shook his head slowly. “I find it strange that of all those he must tell, of all those he reaches out to at a time of such grief, it is you. It puzzled me, as a great many things have over the last year: his desperate need to find you, his desire for your ale and even your beer over other perfectly fine alternatives. The way he ensured your brew was offered to the king, how he would describe your talent. How he used Lady Cecilia’s dowry to repay his father the debt you owed for the loss of the house when it burned down.”

  I stumbled into a chair.

  “Did you not know that?”

  With my hand upon my breast, a poor attempt to still the moths that fluttered within, I answered, “I did not.”

  “Perhaps I should not be telling you, but he did. It seems he can forgive you anything, even the veneer of respectability you lost when you left Elmham Lenn in the manner you did.”

  “Tobias—” I began to rise.

  “Let me finish.”

  I sank back onto the cushion again.

  “For months, I tried to persuade myself that Sir Leander did it out of the kindness of his heart, took pity on my family when circumstances were so dire. That he didn’t want your foolish preferences—”

  “Please, Tobias—”

  “Let me finish!” he shouted so loud the words propelled him forward, hands clenched by his side. I shrank back.

  Lowering his voice, he continued. “Making my way here today, the reason for this forgiveness, generosity, and, frankly, absurd patronage occurred to me. I hesitate to ask lest I be wrong and grossly offend you and the memories of loved ones.”

  “What do you wish to ask, Tobias?”

  Inhaling deeply, his eyes fixed on mine, he took a step closer. “Am I a bastard?”

  Elevating his chin, there was high color on his cheeks that threw into contrast the mauve shadows beneath his eyes. I’d failed to see them before, being so caught up in the news he delivered.

  “You see, I know Leander has a great fondness for you, one would have to be blind to not. The actions he takes on your behalf are more akin to those of a lover.” His eyes flickered; I looked down. “Or what one would do to protect the interest of familial relations. Lover, I discredited at first but, mayhap, I’m wrong?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I see.” His lips thinned. “Which led me to consider family. At once, so much made sense. Thus, I’m compelled to ask, am I a Rainford bastard?” The air escaped his lungs.

  A falsehood teetered on the tip of my tongue. It would have been so easy; it would have spared so much heartache.

  My response was whisper-quiet. “You are a Rainford, Tobias.”

  His chin fell to his chest. “How long have you known?”

  “Since Mother died. How long have you?”

  His head flew up. His eyes were metal. “Lady Cecilia told me—not directly. She made mention of how fortunate I was that my father saw fit to bestow, if not his name upon me, then to at least ensure I reaped its benefits. She assumed I knew. I didn’t understand at first, not until I took Leander’s behavior into consideration.” His fists were white-knuckled balls at his side. “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought it a cruel jape. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it made no difference which side of the bed you were made upon or whose blood flowed in your veins. It still makes no difference. You are Tobias Sheldrake, my brother.”

  He began to laugh. It was forced, brutal. “But I’m not, Anna, don’t you see? All this time I’ve operated under the delusion that though Father never appeared to care for me, he at least secured me an honorable position in the Rainford household, and as a squire, no less. I told myself that though he never showed affection, he must be invested in my future, otherwise why go to the trouble of procuring such a posting? Giving me to the Rainfords, I believed, was an act of fatherly care of the kind I’d been lacking. I did feel gratitude toward him, while laboring to find the feelings befitting a son toward a father—pride, a desire to emulate him, fondness. They never came. I felt only anger, fear, and loathing, and thus I felt guilty and disappointed in myself that I was such an ungrateful wretch. Discovering I was given to the Rainfords not out of paternal duty but as part of a business deal struck years earlier, both liberated and crushed me. For all that Father or Lord Rainford cared, I was a bale of wool, wine, or livestock to be traded and exchanged over a handshake and signature.”

  “Tobias—”

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “In the end, Father didn’t even profit from the agreement, nor did you and the twins. I’ve gained and you have lost everything, because of Father, because of me.” His voice became thick. “Here I was, accusing you of damaging the Sheldrake reputation, when all along I’ve been the blight on the name—a name I’ve no right to bear.” He flung his arms out and gave a bark of laughter. “The irony, Anna, the irony.”

  He crossed the room and gripped me by the forearm, his fingers digging into my flesh. “And you knew and never said a word.”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Don’t say anything.” He let go of my arm and, in one swift action, collected his hood and cloak. “Truth is, I don’t know whether to thank or curse you for not disclosing the truth. Knowledge can be a terrible thing—especially when you don’t know what to do with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now I know what I am, I need to work out who I am. Who I want to be. I also have to make amends for the losses I’ve caused.”

  “There is no compensation to be had, Tobias, not by me. You didn’t cause any of this.” I tried to hold him, but he threw off my hand. “It was God’s will.”

  “What? Father’s bargain? The loss of our fortune? You being forced to brew—”

  “That was a choice.”

  “Was it? Do you really believe that, Anna?” He made a grunting sound. “And what of Karel’s death? The evil Calkin wrought? Was that God’s will? Do you believe that?” He waited. I didn’t reply. “I didn’t think so.”

  “You’re my brother, Tobias, regardless of what’s happened.”

  “Am I?”

  His eyes bore into mine until I was forced to look away. Hadn’t I thought to use his birth against him, to fling the truth like mud when he sought to denigrate and control me? Hadn’t I used knowledge of his true father to further my cause and that of the family of which Tobias no longer believed himself a part?

  It was not Tobias who finally destroyed what we’d once been, that blame was mine alone to bear. Shame rose inside me. I was no better than Father, or Lord Rainford. It was not for Tobias to make amends, but me.

  As these thoughts circled in my head, crows picking at memories, Tobias donned his cloak.

  “Exactly,” he said when still no answer was forthcoming. And before I could reassure him, ask that we talk further so I could beg forgiveness for my part, he left the room without another word.

  Fifty-Two

  The Swanne

  The cruelest winter: Christmastide to February

  The years of Our Lord 1407–1408 in the ninth year of the reign of Henry IV

  Neither Leander nor Tobias arrived to accompany the brew to Eltham. In the end, four days before Christmas, Captain Stoyan, Harry, and Master atte Place delivered the cargo. They returned the following day brimming with excitement; our ale and beer had been well received by the official taster, His Grace, and the peers of the realm sharing Christmastide at Eltham. This alone should have made the time of year special, as should the additional orders that came via the royal bottler, the man in charge of all the king’s drink, and which were delivered by courier before the year was even over. Yet
they failed to do so. Consumed by pity and guilt toward Tobias, sympathy and yearning for Leander, wanting to comfort both, I was forced to work.

  In many ways, the demands of the brewery were a blessing as they distracted me from what I couldn’t change.

  Tobias departed before I’d time to write a response to Leander’s tragic news. Quickly putting quill to paper after he left, I pushed our conversation to the back of my mind and wrote what needed to be said at such a time. I made no mention of what had passed between Tobias and myself, but offered my prayers and sympathy for his grave loss, and entrusted my heart into his keeping. I asked Hodge to deliver it.

  As the weeks passed and there was no reply, I tried to ignore my growing concern.

  Having kept the secret of Tobias’s birth for so long, I saw no point in revealing it now. If he chose to tell others, I would support him—likewise if he did not. This didn’t stop me worrying about the way we had parted, the doubts he’d expressed and the blame he was so ready to wear like a hairshirt. I wrote a long missive to him, absolving him of all responsibility for what had happened to us and confirming what I hoped he knew he always had—my love.

  I prayed for him and his heart, hoping that in Leander’s company, returned to his duties at court, he would find some solace and, most of all, what he wanted. His words rang: I need to work out who I am. Who I want to be.

  Understanding that desire only too well, my subsequent letters contained no advice or warnings. I recounted simple events, like caroling around the fire, feasting upon goose and venison, baking eel pies. I told of Isabella’s and Karel’s growth and changes, teeth acquired, curls cascading, bruises obtained through curious explorations. I spoke of Betje, and of my efforts both inside the brewery and without. By concentrating on the activities of family members from whom he was ready to divorce himself, I hoped he would recognize the love and inclusion extended to him.

  Christmastide came in a blend of holly, mistletoe, and fragrant smoke from the enormous yule log salvaged by Captain Stoyan, who on the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle moved into The Swanne, renting a room from Alyson and thus becoming part of our ever-growing concern. Snow fell thick and fast for days on end and the howling winds found every crack and crevice and set us shivering even as we sat before blazing hearths, wrapped in blankets and sipping mulled wine. Still, no letters delighted my day; no words from Leander or Tobias to provide Christmas cheer or much-desired reassurances. I began to wear glumness like a tunic, as anxiety slowly eroded my joy in the season.

  January made way for February and the winter grew colder and more savage until, one day, when the clouds slumbered over Southwark and a chill wind blew along the river, a longed-for courier finally arrived.

  Unable to wait until I was on my own to read the letter pressed into my hand by an excited Hodge, I opened it in the brewery, eager to learn of Leander’s well-being, of Tobias’s as well.

  I’d only to read the first line to have my heart put at ease before, in the next few, it was set bouncing around my chest again.

  My well-beloved Anneke.

  I apologize with all my heart for my lengthy silence and want you to know that my lack of communication in no way reflects my deep and abiding concern for your well-being and that of your family.

  I paused. Alyson manifested before me.

  “If you think you’re keeping that to yourself, chick, you’re wrong. Not after the agonies of wondering we’ve all endured and all your moping. Come, read it to us.”

  I stared at her.

  “Speak up,” she said.

  Much to the chagrin of Alyson, Betje, and the girls who gathered at my feet, I skipped a few lines.

  Clearing my throat and raising my voice slightly, I continued.

  There has been a bloody uprising in the north. Seeking to take advantage of the king’s ongoing illness that has become a daily struggle he bravely endures, and this wretched weather, Lords Bardolph and Northumberland have seen fit to put into motion their planned treachery—a rebellion. Though King Richard passed many years ago, they refuse to recognize His Grace’s sovereignty and call him the usurper.

  Wanting to end this sedition once and for all, Henry has ordered his armies into the north as fast as possible. By the time you read this, I will be leading the good men of Elmham Lenn and Suffolk to the border where we will conclude these treasonous plots once and for all.

  Rest assured, I will care for your brother as I would my own.

  Quietly, I sent blessings to him on wings of love that he saw fit to write and tell me, that encoded within his letter were reassurances and so much more.

  “Well?” said Alyson.

  I’d paused too long.

  “Is there more?”

  I glanced back at the worn paper.

  Excuse the brevity, my well-beloved, but know as we go into this final battle, it is with the strength of your love and my every hope for your good health and eternal prosperity.

  Ending my reading on a whisper, I did not share the way he closed this correspondence, nor was it demanded of me. But it made ribbons flutter in my chest and warmth invade my throat. Oh, my beloved, stay safe. Dear, sweet Lord, keep him safe. Keep them both safe.

  “There’s to be another battle then,” said Master atte Place grimly.

  “If it hasn’t already been fought,” said Alyson. “It explains why you’ve heard nothing these last weeks. King’s had him all over the country, rallying troops in secret.”

  “Aye, the letter was written nigh on two weeks ago. He could not risk the information falling into the wrong hands.” I folded it slowly, emotions tumbling over each other as I tried to reconcile my relief that Leander and Tobias were well with my fear that their circumstances may have altered.

  “Please, God,” I said softly, “let them be alive.”

  “Try not to dwell on any other possibility, chick.” Aware that work in the brewery had stopped, Alyson glanced over her shoulder, put her hands on her hips, and glared. “Come on, I don’t pay you to sit on your arses and rest your feet.” She stamped her foot. “Back to work.”

  Mumbling, everyone slowly returned to the tasks at hand. Putting down the scoop she’d been holding, Betje came to my side.

  “What will you do?” asked Alyson.

  “What all women must do in this situation”—absentmindedly, I stroked Betje’s hair—“wait. Though waiting does not sit well with me, Alyson.” She nodded. “But I will see to it that a letter is sent in return and that whosoever delivers it waits for a response. I would know how my lord and my brother fare—for good or ill.”

  “What about the courier who brought this one? Can you not use him?”

  “He’s a king’s messenger. Hodge said he downed a small ale and left. Even if I could, I wouldn’t ask him to tarry while I put quill to paper.”

  “You’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone to go north,” said Alyson. She enfolded me in a brief hug before releasing me. “Not if there’s to be fighting.”

  We looked at each other.

  “It’s likely over by now. But I will find someone.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” she said and went back up the stairs.

  Before the light failed, I’d read the letter twice again. Deciding Adam should share in the news, I went to the solar.

  He nodded as I read it. His movements were improving daily, his face did not appear so lopsided, and his speech was becoming clearer; it no longer sounded as if he swallowed words before they were formed. Captain Stoyan called it a miracle. I preferred to call it Betje. Persistent and constant, my sister tended to Adam’s needs, which were not simply physical, but of the heart and soul as well, talking to him, waiting patiently while he exerted himself to find the words, reading to him, massaging his limbs back to life.

  Alyson declared her a saint, Harry boring, for he lost his companion during this time. I knew why Betje did it and marveled at her compassion, her understanding that yet again demonstrated a wisdom beyond her years.

  Ad
am listened, and when I told him I wished to send word to glean some news of Leander and Tobias, but was uncertain who could be relied upon to deliver it, he smiled.

  “Captain Stoyan. Give him something to do instead of f . . . f . . . freezing . . . on his barge. That way, you get a r . . . report from someone you trust.”

  I stared at Adam in consternation. “Can I ask such a thing? Do you think he would?”

  Adam tried to smile. “Well, you won’t know unless you t . . . try.”

  Leaning over, I planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re right. Thank you, Adam. I will ask him and pray he agrees.”

  “He will,” said Adam, with the confidence only a close acquaintance can muster.

  Seated at Alyson’s desk, I wrote Leander a brief but loving note, informing him that all was well in Southwark and we prayed for his and Tobias’s safe return. And that I, particularly, longed for this to happen. Lest it be read by other eyes, I couched my love in terms that only he would understand.

  Sealing the note with both wax and a kiss that conveyed all that my words could not, I bade Adam farewell and went downstairs.

  “Where is Goody Alyson?” I asked Cook and Eve.

  “Are you all right, mistress?” asked Eve, earning a scalding look from Cook.

  “Never better.”

  “She’s in the courtyard, mistress,” answered Cook.

  I flung my cloak over my shoulders and tied my hood into place. Pulling on gloves, I looked around. “Betty?”

  “Waiting in the stables for Harry to return.”

  “God give you good day!” With a wave, I all but skipped out the door.

  Alyson was in the courtyard supervising a coal delivery, her scarlet tunic bold against the newly fallen snow.

  “Where are you off to, chick?” she asked as I waded through the snow, a big smile on my face.

  “To hire a courier.”

  I enveloped her in a huge hug, trying but failing to lift her off her feet. “Put me down, you goose.” She began to chuckle. “Who might that be?”