Brewer's Tale, The (18 page)

Though not, it appeared, today.

‘Aye, mistress. I put it out first thing this morning. You'd have to be blind or drunk not to see it — or both. What with it being the fair, and all the people in town and us on a main road and all.' Will frowned and craned his neck to peer out the window. ‘I would have thought they'd be here by now.'

I followed the direction of his gaze. Long shadows crossed the courtyard; with winter almost upon us, the days grew shorter. A light rain struck the window. The ashen skies of the morning darkened until great bruised clouds sagged overhead. There was a mighty storm waiting to break.

‘Me too,' I said. ‘Perhaps they're busy with their other duties?'

‘Mayhap,' said Adam gruffly. ‘But I think a message is being sent and it might be one to which we're yet forced to listen. Captain Stoyan and Master Perkyn were right to be concerned about the friary. No-one is able to go into competition with them — not any more, the abbot won't allow it. Captain Stoyan may believe he's forced the abbot's hand, but he also told us he's cunning and what's more cunning than the ale-conners failing to show? How can the abbot be held accountable for that?'

I paused over the mash tun, leaning against the stirrer, looking at Adam in horror. ‘Sweet Jesù, Adam. I fear you may be right.' Wiping the back of my hand across my brow, I searched for reassurance. ‘Surely the conners wouldn't break their oath? It's not to be taken lightly. I've read it myself: “So soon as you shall be required to taste any ale of a brewer or brewster, shall be ready to do the same …”' I released a huge sigh. ‘They're failing in their duties if they don't appear when summoned and can be charged.'

All I wanted, all I needed, was a chance, but if the ale-conners didn't come, all our work would be for naught. My spirits began to flag, my shoulders drooped. I looked at the hogshead towering over its smaller wooden brethren. Orders from our neighbours had already arrived, and I was keen to sell what we didn't need; anything to make rent. But nothing could happen until officialdom gave permission.

‘Come on,' I said finally, leaving the paddle in the mash. ‘I can't stand around waiting. I've ale to sell. Let's move those barrels into the shop. If the ale-conners haven't come by the time we've shifted them, then Will, you go and fetch them.'

Throwing some more coal into the kiln and stove, Adam brushed his hands against his jerkin and, with a nod to Will, cleared a space to roll the first of the barrels out.

The noise of the barrel on the gravel sent the chickens squawking and set the dogs barking. Thinking we were bringing out more of the spent mash, the draff, the pigs began to follow us and I had to shoo them out of the way.

Exclamations of glee, followed by the smacking of lips and clapping of hands met our entrance into the kitchen.

Blanche smiled so broadly, the gaps in her lower teeth were visible. ‘This is it then!' she cried. ‘Our first brew. Well done, mistress. You two as well,' she added with a lift of her chin towards Adam and Will who were out of breath and working up a sweat. Wonderful smells emanated from the feast Blanche was preparing. The plucked goose was trussed and basting in a big copper pan. Freshly baked pies sat on the table, steam still rising from the golden brown pastry. Dough sat resting in bowls, its smell almost identical to that which permeated the brewhouse. Platters of late autumn fruits and wedges of soft cheeses sat upon the table waiting our work day to end. Warming on the stove top was some spiced mead and a huge saucepan of pottage.

Hearing my voice, the twins ran from the hall, twining their hands in mine.

‘Is that it, Anneke? Is that our ale?' asked Karel, eyes fixed on the barrel Adam and Will leaned against while they gratefully gulped down a drink and tore at a piece of bread Iris thrust into their hands. I shook my head when she offered a piece to me. Karel pouted and was rewarded with some more. He bit into it hastily.

‘Do we get to taste it too?' asked Betje, reaching out to stroke the metal bands that held the wood in place.

‘Of course,' I said, swinging theirs hands. ‘Not this barrel, but the hogshead of small ale, for certes. And soon.'

Catching Adam's eye, I led the twins through the house, the barrel following. As they skipped beside me, I marvelled that Karel and Betje had been so patient about what was happening. Not only had they suffered the loss of their father and the upheaval Hiske caused, but the last weeks had been even harder on them. Used to having me, if not at their beck and call, at least available, I was gone from dawn till dusk. When I came inside, I'd collapse in the hall each night. Waiting till I'd eaten, only then would they press me for a story. I always found one in my repertoire and, though my voice lacked its usual vigour and my imagination didn't quite spark, they never complained. Their resilience and good humour seemed boundless. I loved them all the more for it. How proud Mother and even Father would be of their children. The thought gave me pause. Would my parents be proud of me? Of what I was doing?

I pushed aside the idea they might not be and fixed a smile to my face. Tonight was for merrymaking; not just because of Martinmas, but because of what, together, we'd achieved — the ale. There were five barrels full of the heady liquid awaiting purchase and more lying in troughs in the brewhouse.

Adam and Will deposited the first barrel in a corner of the shop and returned for the second. The premises might have been bare, having been stripped by Hiske, but they were clean and stools had been found as well as a few wooden mazers for potential customers — most of whom I hoped would bring their own. Extra candles waited to be lit, and plates of flowers and late season apples and some nuts had been discreetly tucked in corners, to give the place a festive feel. One of the women had even thought to leave parchment, a quill and bottle of ink to record sales and a small tin in which to place coin. The shutters between the office and the shop had been opened and the fire blazing in the office had taken the chill off the room. I smiled at their thoughtfulness. We'd decided not to light the hearth in the shop, not to waste wood, not until we knew we would be allowed to trade.

‘Market's finished,' said Karel, his hands and face pressed against the window. Betje and I glanced up to see the train of carts and people ambling past. The wind whipped capes and the rain provided miserable company. Heads were bowed, cloaks swam heavily on shoulders, caps and headpieces were lowered and few words exchanged. Rain appeared to have put paid to the festivities in town. Pursing my lips, I looked at the long ale-stake jutting into the street, announcing to all and sundry that a brew awaited the tasters. Once permission to sell was given, we'd attach a bushel to the end of the sign, letting people know they could buy it as well. If only the ale-­conners had come earlier and given permission, these disappointed passers-by might have been my first customers. With wistful eyes, I watched potential business drift out of sight and wondered at these men that they were so busy they couldn't be prompt. A flash of anger towards the abbot and his machinations caught me off balance.

‘Come,' I said to Betje and Karel, ushering them into the corridor. Hunger and a heavy gloom gripped me at the same time. I thought to satisfy one and ignore the other by returning to the company in the kitchen. I also needed to wash and change, to look respectable in order to conduct business. If the ale-conners arrived soon, I still had a few precious hours before curfew.

The twins scampered ahead and I shut the hall door, only realising as I did that it needed to be open for Adam and Will. Pushing it back, I was startled to see two cloaked shapes by the front door, huddled under the awning outside. The ale-conners. At last!

‘Betje, Karel,' I called to the two little shapes darting into the hall. ‘Tell Adam to make haste, the ale-conners have arrived.'

Straightening my tunic and clicking at the stains on my apron which I removed swiftly and pushed under a stool, I went to admit them when the door was flung open and upon a flurry of wind, rain and leaves, the men stepped inside. The first was so tall he obscured the second, who struggled to close the door.

Shocked at their presumption, I froze, my hand rising to my throat. I was about to scold them when the first man pushed back his hat, revealing his face. Words caught in my throat. I knew the ale-conners as they were longstanding citizens of Elmham Lenn, one was even an alderman. But I'd never seen this person before. I would remember him if I had. The grey light formed an aura behind him, giving his features an almost saintly glow. Long dark hair fell over his forehead, coming to rest against straight brows. Beneath these were eyes the colour of midnight, of the deepest, darkest blue, like the Virgin's robe in the church window. Sparkling, as though fevered, they travelled over me leisurely and colour rose in my cheeks. I did not, would not look away. Who was this ale-conner to appraise me so? My heart began to thud painfully. Just as I had with Lord Rainford, I returned the regard, with a deliberateness that was not in character but which something about this man spurred to life. Sweeping the rest of his face, I noted the long, dark lashes, high cheekbones, a full bottom lip and strong chin. It was a face that exuded strength and mastery and drew my gaze.

Aware of how I must look, my hair escaping from its binds, tumbling over my shoulders, my tunic streaked with charcoal, if not my face, and reeking of the brewery, I self-consciously pulled at my dress. That this man needed to shave drew my disapproval. He might be striking but he had no regard for his duties or those whose homes he visited — at least I had an excuse. Contempt began to control my study of his broad shoulders, wide chest and long, shapely legs. I was staring at his boots, wondering that a man of his station should possess such quality when I noticed that one foot was turned slightly and he leaned against a stick — a polished piece of wood with a metal band at the top, upon which he had a white-knuckled grip. Sympathy rose within me. I was about to speak when the front door banged shut and a slightly shorter man joined him.

‘Anneke!'

I blinked as I was pulled into the tightest of embraces and quickly released.

‘Tobias?' I said weakly, not wanting to believe. I stared at the beloved face, matured and changed but still recognisably my brother. My heart soared and with a cry of joy I returned his hug, fiercely, protectively, showering his face with kisses, hearing laughter bubble inside him. ‘Tobias!'

Over Tobias's shoulder, my eyes flew to the other man. Amusement and something else, something that was neither polite nor warm but quizzical, shaped his expression.

Drawing me away slightly so he might consider me, my brother beamed. ‘Look at you! You'd be mistaken for a slattern in that dress. Is that an apron over there? What have you been up to?'

‘You'll never guess,' I smiled.

Tobias's eyes slid to the barrel. ‘Think I might.' He held me again and I became aware that he was broader, harder, taller. This time, I pushed him away and studied him, gripping his forearms to hold him in place. Over two years had passed since I last saw him and the boy had become a man. Taller than me, he had dark curls, grey-blue eyes and a windburnt face. His teeth looked so white against his skin. His body had filled out, grown where it needed and diminished in other parts as well. Gone were the chubby cheeks, the childlike stomach. I smiled at him, tears blurring my vision, and drew him back to my breast.

‘Oh, Tobias, I've missed you so …'

Then I remembered.

‘Tobias …' I wrenched out of his arms, but kept one hand upon him. ‘You know about … Father?' I could have kicked myself for hesitating over the word.

A dark look flashed across Tobias's face, and in that second I saw and felt pain, anger and quickly stifled resentment. Tobias may appear a man, but like a child, he'd not yet learned to guard his emotions.

‘Of course. I'm sorry, Anneke, sorry I wasn't here for you, the twins. I came as soon as I could.'

‘Don't apologise. I'm just so glad you're here.' I took a deep breath and noticed for the first time the state of his clothes. ‘What am I thinking? You're soaked. You've travelled to get here. From London? The docks? Don't answer. Come through to the hall, please. There's a fire and food. We have to get this sodden cloak off you, dry your hat, get you some wine and —'

The other man cleared his throat and I swung back to him in horror. Here I was daring to be critical of his manners when my own were so lax. I'd completely forgotten about him.

‘My humblest apologies, Master …?' I released Tobias and turned to face the handsome stranger.

Tobias came to my rescue. ‘It's me who should be apologising. In the excitement of seeing you again, I quite forgot. Anneke, allow me to introduce Sir Leander Rainford, son of Lord Hardred Rainford, and my master.'

My eyes widened as I absorbed who it was that stood on my threshold. Not only the son of a man I'd learned to despise despite my sense of obligation, but Tobias's master. Of course. Who else would it have been? I just hadn't expected him to be so … so … my eyes slid from his rugged face to his foot. Disadvantaged. A memory arose unbidden of a young boy in breeches and a coat, moving along the corridors of Scales Hall … Even then, he'd possessed the same dark hair and those remarkable eyes. I'd chased after him in the hope of distraction, a friend with whom to explore the grounds, the house, on a long, lonely day while my mother kept his pregnant stepmother company. I vaguely remembered catching up with him. His affliction made it difficult for him to move swiftly, though walking was not a problem. He'd frowned at my chatter, pulled a face and then shut the door on me … It was his other brother … Symond, who, older and less embarrassed at entertaining a child, found me in a crying heap outside the door. Picking me up, he'd looked to my amusement that day. For the youngest son of Lord Rainford, I'd been beneath contempt.