“Thank the good Lord for your prudence, Leander,” Tobias said, sitting very still, staring into the distance.
“And providence,” added Sir Leander modestly.
We fell quiet, acknowledging those who’d not been so fortunate, those who God willed would not find land again. The twins bowed their heads.
“Not that it was such a hardship to remain,” said Tobias suddenly, breaking the somber mood. Betje and Karel raised their eyes cautiously.
“Why?” asked Karel.
Tobias grinned. “There’re worse places than Bruges in which to be stranded. I’ll take you both there one day, you wait.” Karel and Betje’s mouths dropped open and they stared at each other with wide shining eyes. Betje burrowed against Tobias, wrapping her arms as far around his waist as she could. Tobias turned toward me. “You should see the place, Anneke, you’d find much to please you. It’s so pretty. Full of colorful houses with white shutters, huge stone churches inside the city walls, and perfectly arched bridges under which swans drift. Everyone seems to own a dog, cats meander along the cobbles, horses and carts jingle, and the women are so pretty. Why—”
Sir Leander coughed.
Tobias flashed him a look. “Um. They are. Very. And the entire place is laced with canals as well,” he recovered. I buried a grin.
“They call it the Venice of the North,” added Sir Leander, earning sighs of wonder from Louisa, who, sitting nearby with her chin resting on her hands, hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from our guest.
“What’s a Venice?” asked Betje.
“Tell us!” demanded Karel, and Tobias complied.
My heart lurched, astonished at the desire his words aroused. Venice, Bruges, the Netherlands. The number of times I’d stood on the bay and imagined those worlds and places beyond Elmham Lenn . . . And here was Tobias describing them, revisiting his experiences for us to savor. I envied Tobias, but I didn’t begrudge him. I knew life at sea was not a romantic adventure, but a dangerous and ofttimes unpleasant enterprise involving cramped quarters, sour ale and brackish water, spoiled food, illness, and even death—and that was before the elements or pirates were taken into account. Wanting to ask more, I was prevented as Blanche brought in a tray of cheeses and warm bread. Iris followed her, topping up mazers and goblets with the spiced wine made for Martinmas. I’d so wanted us to be imbibing the ale . . . At least Sir Leander appeared to find the wine agreeable; by my reckoning he was onto his third cup. I enjoyed the warmth it left in my throat, though it did nothing to settle the flutter in my stomach.
I still couldn’t credit Sir Leander’s words. What had I done to provoke such an insult?
Unable to relax with him in the room, I wasn’t able to stop my eyes drifting in his direction either—neither were Saskia, Blanche, or Iris, who, like Louisa, were clearly struck by his appearance in our midst. My fixation came from a different source. Fury that the explanation I intended to insist upon must needs be delayed stoked my apprehension; my nerves were already frayed waiting for the officials to appear. Where on earth were they? The afternoon was dying. Evening would be upon us shortly. All around Elmham Lenn, Martinmas was being commemorated; people were buying and drinking ale—the friary’s. Mine was sitting in barrels, unable to be consumed. Worse, unable to be sold.
Lost in a fugue of frustration, I tried to pretend that I wasn’t preoccupied with anything other than Tobias’s arrival. (Whore! That . . . that . . . man called me a whore!) I sipped my drink and tried to absorb the first real bit of happiness we’d had at Holcroft House in a long, long time. Contentment in which I too could have shared if not for Lord Rainford’s arrogant son and his vicious words.
I glanced at him now and gave an internal hurrumph as the dogs sat at his feet, their tongues lolling. Putting his weight on his stick, he leaned over, scratched their necks and fondled their ears. How was it that even my animals betrayed me? Unable to watch any longer, I excused myself and went to my room to change my tunic and tidy myself in the forlorn expectation that the tardy ale-conners would indeed come. Truth be told, I also thought that a change of garment might alter Sir Leander’s wretched opinion of me and thus took extra care with my toilet. Ale-conners be damned!
When I reappeared some time later and sat close to my brother, I saw the dogs had been dismissed to the yard and witnessed Sir Leander produce a box from his leather satchel, out of which he extracted a sweet each for the twins. Uncertain whether they should accept, they looked to me, their fingers twitching with excitement.
Tobias grinned at their antics. “It’s called marchpane,” he said over Betje’s bobbing head. “It’s from the kingdom of Denmark. It’s delicious. Try some, Anneke,” he said. Plucking a piece out of the box, he held out what looked like rose-colored dough. By now the twins were munching on theirs and exclaiming in raptures.
I shook my head. “Not now, Tobias, thank you. I will, later,” I added when he appeared disheartened. With a shrug, he popped the piece in his mouth.
Sir Leander had enough for everyone to try. Looking at the servants’ faces, his generosity was well received—even Adam was touched. This gesture didn’t accord with my first impression. With an antipathy that depressed me further, I wondered what he’d expect in return and determined, despite what I’d said to Tobias, not to eat any.
Everyone was busy discussing the merits or otherwise of marchpane when Will, who’d left to see what was disturbing the dogs, scurried back into the hall, pale-faced. He raced to my side.
“It’s the ale-conners, mistress, they’re here!”
Fifteen
Holcroft House
Martinmas
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV
My heart pounding, I rose slowly, placed my napkin on the stool, and brushed the front of my tunic. Adam and I exchanged looks. Excusing himself to Tobias and Sir Leander, he stood and ordered Will to remain in the hall. Tobias tried to remove the twins from his lap so he could accompany me, but I pushed him back, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance.
I whispered in his ear. “Please, I can handle this on my own. ’Tis but a formality. Take care of our guest,” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel.
As I strode into the shop, trying not to look too hasty, I was pleased to note the candles had been lit. I held my hands before me to steady their shaking and went to greet the man standing just inside the door. Adam stood to one side, waiting to receive his cloak.
As wide as he was short, Master Constable, the chief ale-conner and an alderman, came forward. Possessed of ruddy cheeks and, as he swept off his cap, strands of ginger hair that clung to the front of his freckled scalp, he wore the black and red livery of an ale-conner and a heavy scowl.
“We’ve been out there a goodly while, Mistress Sheldrake, being lashed with rain and wind, no less,” he admonished me.
His hostility forced me back a step. “My sincere apologies, Master Constable, but we fail—”
“We almost walked away,” he continued, talking over the top of me and shaking a stumpy finger in my direction. “It doesn’t do any good to keep us waiting, you know.” Refusing Adam’s help, he lifted the strap of a satchel off his neck before dragging his wet cloak from his shoulders and throwing it at a stool, which promptly tipped over.