“What’s going on, Anneke?” With a catch in my breath, I spun around.
Tobias stood in the doorway flanked by Sir Leander.
My heart sank. “It’s all right, Tobias.” I shot him a look that he chose to ignore. “It’s the ale-conners.”
“S . . . Sir L . . . Leander,” said Master Constable, his eyes widening and his face coloring as he saw the taller man. He gave a swift bow, shooting a look at the two other ale-conners who mumbled uncomfortably. They shuffled till their backs were against the wall. “We wasn’t told—I mean, we didn’t expect to see you here, my lord.”
“I confess, I didn’t expect to be here, Master Constable.”
“Perhaps we can do this another time,” said Master Constable, waving away the mazers Adam was holding.
“Please—” I began, raising my hands in protest.
“Don’t let us stop you,” said Sir Leander, leaning against the doorframe that led back inside the house. “Please, continue. Not only does my father have a vested interest in this, but I’ve always been curious to know on what basis ale-conners make their decisions, haven’t you, Tobias?” He cocked his head toward my brother.
“I have, indeed. Often, my lord,” lied Tobias.
The ale-conners shared another look, clearly ill at ease.
“Very well,” said Master Constable finally. “Let’s get on with it.”
Adam solemnly passed mazers to the two men.
My heart was beating so violently, I was sure the front of my tunic must be quivering. While I wanted more than anything for the ale to be passed, I also wanted it to be because the ale had earned it, not because of Captain Stoyan’s threats. But neither did I want to fail because an abbot said I must.
Master Gretting and Master Beecham stared at the contents of their mazers before rotating the wooden cups so the ale formed a gentle whirlpool. They held their noses over it and inhaled noisily. Neither revealed anything in their expressions. I glanced at Master Constable, who was busy scratching more notes; why, I was uncertain. I sent a swift prayer to the goddesses and the crones.
Holding the handles, first Master Gretting then Master Beecham tilted the cups and took a mouthful. Swilling the ale around in his cheeks a few times, Master Gretting’s eyes widened, then he swallowed, before quickly taking another sip. Smacking his lips, he licked them slowly then pursed them tightly, nodding, but whether in approval or to confirm a doubt, I didn’t know.
Master Beecham’s cheeks bulged and he shut his eyes. Tipping back his head, he gargled and then gulped, his Adam’s apple moving up and down the way a bird’s did when it warbled. Then he bent his head until his nose disappeared into the vessel and drew in a breath deeply and noisily. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tobias shove a fist against his mouth. Sir Leander coughed. I was too nervous to find anything funny. Too much was dependent on the outcome of this mummery.
“The verdict?” asked Master Constable shortly in a resigned voice, after the men had a few more mouthfuls and spent additional time sniffing and breathing in the fumes.
Both were frowning, their eyes hard. They looked at each other, shrugged, and then turned back to Master Constable.
There was nothing amusing about them now.
“I know what we’ve been told,” began Master Beecham cautiously, his eyes sliding toward me. “And I know it passed the quality test, but I can’t ignore me oath, nor me obligation to the town. I’ve never tasted anything like it before.” He screwed up his face in what could only be read as displeasure.
“Me neither,” said Master Gretting. “On the one hand, it’s very different”—he looked meaningfully at Master Constable—“but on the other, that means it doesn’t meet the standards to which we’ve grown accustomed either.”
“Aye. It’s too different, mayhap,” added Master Beecham.
Master Constable put down his pages and rubbed his face. “That’s your verdict then? It be less good than what’s reasonable to pass?”
The two men looked into the mazers then shrugged again and nodded.
“If that be your honest opinion, then there’s nothing more to be done.” With a long, weary sigh, Master Constable began to pack up his quill and ink, his phlegmatic demeanor transformed into one of haste. “While some might be unhappy with this result, there are others who will find justice in it,” he muttered, swinging around, urging his men to return their cups.
“Excuse me,” I said, tugging gently at Master Constable’s sleeve. “While ‘others’ might know what’s just happened, I’m afraid I do not. ‘Different’ is not the same as ‘less good’? Less good than what? Surely, it’s not undrinkable?” I gestured to the two men draining their mazers.
Master Constable wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I thought it was more than clear. The ale-conners have spoken, Mistress Sheldrake. The brew cannot be sold. It’s so different there’s nothing against which we can judge it.”
Disappointment and fury rose, transforming into bitter tears that threatened to spill. All my plans and hopes unraveled before me. I tried to find the right words to reason with these men, to prevent them leaving and change their minds. This was a fine brew. Different, but with good reason.
I jutted out my chin and straightened my spine. I wouldn’t let them see how much this upset . . . indeed, devastated, me. What could I do? What recourse did I have? I was one woman against not just these three men but, if the rumors were right, an entire friary and those they’d suborned. I took a step toward Master Constable, but before I could speak, Sir Leander’s voice rang out.
“Let’s not be so hasty, gentlemen,” he said, binding them to the spot.
I swung around, my eyes ablaze, my cheeks red. “This has nothing to do with you,” I hissed.
He ignored me. “If I may ask a question, Master Constable?”
Master Constable smirked at me. “For certes, my lord.”
I spun around to glare at Tobias. He’d brought Leander Rainford here; he was responsible for this. What was the man up to? Why couldn’t he just leave things be? Was he deliberately trying to make this harder? I wanted them all gone. Now. Tobias fumbled at my side, finding my hand and giving it a squeeze. I wanted to snatch it away. He didn’t know how hard we’d toiled, what we’d sacrificed for this moment. And now his Godforsaken master was going to make everything worse.
“Watch,” said Tobias so softly, I thought I’d misheard.
“Master Adam, can you pour another round for the ale-conners, please?” asked Sir Leander.
“The decision’s made, my lord, drinking more won’t change that—” Master Constable shook his jowls.
“Fetch a drink for Master Constable too, would you, Adam?” added Sir Leander. Master Constable began to bluster. “This isn’t an official tasting, Constable. This is merely something to wet your lips while we discuss why and how this decision was reached before you retire for the evening.”
One didn’t disobey a lord’s son, especially not a Rainford. “So long as we’re clear it’s not official,” said Master Constable gruffly.
Sir Leander’s blue eyes twinkled. “Not officially. Though, I can’t help but feel, since these two fine ale-conners concluded that they’ve never tasted anything like this brew before, that it’s so different there’s nothing against which to measure it, there’s also the slight possibility that rather than ‘less good,’ as these fine gentlemen suppose, it might actually be ‘more good.’ But,” he added hastily, before Master Constable could interrupt, “this would require someone with greater experience and knowledge to determine, with a more refined taste. In my humble opinion, there’s only one person appropriate for that task—”