My heart filled with hope and my fingers closed around the herbs, the fragile pieces of green that could represent my future, my fortune. Then doubt hit me. “And if I can’t?”
Captain Stoyan gave me a stern look. “Your name may be Sheldrake, but the blood of the de Winters, of your Dutch and German ancestors, flows strong in you. There is no such thing as ‘can’t.’”
I rose to my feet. “You’re right, Captain. If my mother was alive, she would tell me the same thing.”
“But she is not,” said Captain Stoyan, his face downcast. “And it’s left to me to remind you.”
I held out my hand and he came around the desk and took it. “And for that, Captain, I’m beyond grateful.”
Arm in arm, the captain and I left his office a short time later, he carrying the sack and two jugs of beer. The men glanced at us as he escorted me through the warehouse, along the dock, and back to where Will and Shelby waited. Helping me mount the cart, he placed the sack in my lap and the jugs at my feet. If my presence at the pier was the source of gossip, I was oblivious. My mind was filled with what lay ahead, with the potential of Captain Stoyan’s gift—not merely the hops, but what he would say to the abbot.
For now, I would push thoughts of the abbot to the back of my mind. I’d work to do, ale to perfect, and, when I was ready, a small sack of hops with which to experiment.
Eleven
Holcroft House
One week later
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV
A week after I had been to see Captain Stoyan, he came to Holcroft House. I’d finished work in the brewery for the day and was in the office with Adam, tallying up the accounts. Though I was delighted to see him, I knew the reason for his visit. I’d been expecting to hear from him. What I hadn’t anticipated was that he’d come in person, nor so late. It was as though a little pulley was tugging at my heart, causing me simultaneous pain and excitement. I welcomed him and waited in nervous silence as Iris brought a tray. Disheveled and thirsty from being on the road, the captain took the proffered ale and sat opposite me, looking about with interest.
“You’ve made some changes,” he said as Iris, in a flurry of skirts and curtsies, scurried out, closing the door with a last glance toward us. The kitchen would be full of surmise.
I followed the direction of the captain’s gaze. For certes, I’d rearranged Father’s things, but since Hiske had also taken some, I’d found other objects to fill the gaps—a few books, my favorite quill, and a small painting Mother had given me for my fifth birthday. In a flight of fancy, I’d placed a row of silver-banded mazers atop the mantelpiece. Saskia had seen to it the room was polished to shiny perfection now it was being used regularly. I’d also opened the shutters and lit a number of candles to admit more light. The fire in the hearth added its own special glow. It was a different space.
“A few.” I smiled.
Pretending to fuss over the captain’s cloak and hood, but really giving me respectability by acting as a chaperone, Adam first loitered then gave up all pretense and stood by the fire, arms crossed. The way the muscle in his cheek pulsed, I knew he was keen to hear the captain’s news.
“I took a ride out to St. Jude’s today,” said Captain Stoyan finally.
Closing the ledger slowly, I sucked in my breath. “And?”
“Let us say, neither the ale-conners nor the guild will trouble you for now.”
“For now. The abbot said that.”
“In not so many words. It was more what he implied.” He ran fingers through his windswept hair, taming it into submission. “To be frank, Mistress Anneke, Master Barfoot”—he turned slightly to include Adam—“I may have underestimated him. He’s not what I anticipated. Not at all. Where some men issue orders in loud voices, deliver threats of God’s punishment and their own, this man ensures compliance with smiles and silence—smiles that never reach his eyes and silences more deep and deadly than the Baltic in winter.” Reaching for his drink, he swirled it a couple of times. When he’d taken a long swallow, pulling a face, he continued. “He offered me wine, Rhenish no less. It was poured into a goblet with so many jewels decorating the stem it would fund a voyage to Muscovy and back. It was just one of many in the room. So much wealth and all very deliberately on display. There were gold platters, silver chalices, a bejeweled cross gleaming on the wall behind his velvet-and-ermine-clad shoulders.” He shook his head. “His room reeked of money. Ja, I answered the wrong calling when I chose the sea.” With a half-laugh, he drank again. I exchanged a glance with Adam, whose frown had deepened.
The fire crackled. Outside, the sounds of a cart rumbling past and the conversations of passersby formed a faint counterpoint to our conversation.
“Anyway, I told him in no uncertain terms what would happen should he interfere with your business.”
“What did he say?”
“Say? Everything and, thus, nothing. He’s a shrewd man, with more cunning than a hawker, and more canny than a Venetian moneylender.”
“How can one say everything and nothing?”
“It happens all the time, liebchen. Oh, he gave me the assurances I asked for, said the right things, made the right noises. When I first began, he acted as if I’d delivered some terrible blow to his pride, to the friary’s. When I mentioned the ale-conners and the guild, the well-known interference with ale production in Elmham Lenn and farther, he blanched, he couldn’t hide that. But he quickly recovered. Where I expected wrath and denial, he quietly played the role of the injured party.”
I glanced at Adam. “But he didn’t deny it?”
“Deny? Nein. He said it was a terrible misunderstanding. He said the friary was the victim of slander, no more, no less. He spoke of the sins of those who sought to denigrate and defame and how God would be their judge. He told me how the brothers prayed for the souls of these trespassers daily. It was quite a sermon. Practiced, assured.”
“Oh, the abbot is that,” I added, remembering the times I’d heard him deliver mass in town.
“I can’t help but feel he’s had to say these things before, to others.” The captain shrugged. “I might be wrong, but the man was prepared. After a drink or two, whereby he shared with me the history of the friary and the changes that had been wrought under his watch, he told me there was no need to worry, let alone alert the Hanse. He was most insistent on that last point. For just a moment, his guard slipped and I saw that he was genuinely worried, that he’d never anticipated our interest.” Captain Stoyan grinned. “Other than that, he smiled, nodded, performed benevolence with ease. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was innocent. That in good faith, the friary makes its ale and everyone purchases it because that’s what they desire to drink.”
Adam made a noise.
“Do you believe him?” I asked.
The captain looked at me as if I’d suggested he dine on parchment. “I may be thought reckless, but I’m no fool. Would you buy this”—he lifted his mazer—“if you had a choice? Exactly. The man is not to be trusted. Especially not when he said he welcomed competition, a new brewer in town. He even went so far as to say he would like to try your ale when it’s ready.”