“That they did and, if my suspicions be right,” said Master Perkyn, sinking onto a stool, “they wanted to make sure you were too.”
“You think this was the work of the friary?” I asked.
“Aye, and so do you, if I be reading those looks you’ve been exchanging with Adam here and the way you’re worrying your lip. I believe the abbot paid someone to make sure you couldn’t get your malt ground.” He rubbed his hand across the stone and particles fell onto the dirt floor. “He may have promised your captain he wouldn’t interfere with you direct, mistress, but I’m guessing that makes me and anyone else who associates with you fair game. After this, no one will dare touch your malt, no matter how much you offer to pay them. And without your malt, you can’t brew.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to help you, Master Perkyn,” I said. “It’s the least we can do.”
“I knew you would,” said Olive, giving me one of her radiant smiles.
Master Perkyn wagged a finger at me. “I appreciate the offer, mistress, and I’m not too proud to accept. But this ain’t your fault, and I won’t have you taking blame for such vile deeds.” He sighed. “I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to help you, and while this is a setback, I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“You can’t?”
Master Perkyn turned to me, a twinkle in his eye. “Think about it.” His arm described an arc. “This . . . this destruction means your ale is affecting the friary’s sales; you’re getting under their skin worse than a hairshirt and what with all that blustering, praying, and self-righteousness, things must be mighty uncomfortable over there.”
I couldn’t help it; I smiled. “Are you going to convey your suspicions to the sheriff?” I asked. “About the abbot?”
Master Perkyn gave a gruff laugh. “Nay, mistress. It wouldn’t do any good if I did. Remember what I told you? Sir Grantham, well, he’d fuss around for a few days, maybe raise a hue and cry, but in the end, it’d be for naught. The friary is untouchable, isn’t it? Sir Grantham and the abbot go back a-ways, don’t they? Whatever we may wish, the brothers don’t answer to the likes of you or me. They answer only to the highest authority.” He pointed toward the ceiling. He cast one more look around. The cheeky grin he’d worn briefly dissolved, replaced by a look of utter misery. The damage and the smell were more than he could bear. He lowered his head and studied the space between his boots. Olive stood next to him, swaying, one of the spaniels in her arms.
I found Master Perkyn’s hands and clutched them in mine. “God is on our side too, you mustn’t forget that.”
Master Perkyn raised weary eyes to mine. “Is He, mistress? At the moment, it feels as if He’s deserted us all.”
* * *
God didn’t forget us, despite Master Perkyn’s misgivings. Less than a week later, Master Perkyn appeared at the brewhouse door again, this time equipped with a huge smile and a cart.
“God give you good day, Master Perkyn.” I emerged wiping my hands. The last few days, Adam had been working with him trying to source somewhere to mill our malted barley. Master Perkyn’s suspicions had been correct: thus far, no matter how much we offered to pay, we’d been turned away. Down to the last of our milled grain and with sacks of malt ready to be ground, I was sick with worry. If it wasn’t milled soon, I would be forced to sell it to someone else, and the only other brewer in the area who could afford to buy the quantities I possessed was the friary. Stubbornly, I refused to be beholden to them.
“What brings you here?” I asked, wiping my hands and waving to Olive, who ran toward me.
As she threw herself into my arms and planted a wet kiss on my cheek, I was delighted to note her radiance had returned. Not that it ever stayed away long.
“We have a stone, Lady Anneke! We have a new stone.”
“Is this true?” I looked to Master Perkyn, who was tying the horse to the post outside the mews.
“Aye, mistress, it be true.” He strode across the yard, his boots slicing through the newly fallen snow. His twinkling eyes and his gap-toothed grin lifted my heart. “I’ve come to pick up your malt and take it with me. You are the first of my customers. Actually, you are the last as well—you’re the only one.” He jerked a thumb back toward the cart. “The others won’t deal with me. Won’t say why, but I know. Can’t say I blame ’em either.”
“But a stone? How?”
“Perkyn,” said a deep voice beside me, “I see you’re back in business.”
“Adam,” said Master Perkyn, nodding. “I am indeed. Seems our talk with Master Baker wasn’t a waste after all. After we left, Hugh had a think and came to see me after dark. Turns out, he had a spare. It’s smaller than what I’m accustomed to, and has a few chips in it, but it’ll do. We fitted it yesterday, on the quiet, like. And I managed to buy some ropes from your friend, the captain at the Hanse. They’re not as thick as those we had, but again, they’ll do until such times as I can replace everything properly.”
Olive enfolded me in a huge hug that I returned. “Oh, Master Perkyn, this is wonderful.” I turned a shining face to Adam. “See, I told you. If we all just work together, if we show we won’t be defeated, work around the obstacles he throws at us, the abbot cannot quash us.”
Adam and Master Perkyn looked at each other, then at me.
“Well, Mistress Sheldrake, it’s nice to hear your optimism, but I’d still proceed with caution. Let the friary wonder how your ale is still reaching customers. Let’s not be too hasty recounting tales of triumph to further anger the abbot, hey? I promised Hugh no one but you would know where the stone came from.”
I nodded. “Of course. You’re right.” I smiled at them uncertainly. “Come on then, let’s get those sacks on the cart. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few days it’s that no matter how hard I might wish, it doesn’t mill itself.”
* * *
As if to affirm our triumph, sales of ale steadily increased as Christmastide grew near. We could barely keep up, limited as we were by the size of the brewhouse and our equipment, and how many of us were free to make it. Additional hands were now a priority. But just as more coin poured into the little tin, so too household expenses grew as the weather became colder and the days shorter. After he left us, I discovered Sir Leander had ordered and paid for enough wood to last us the entire winter, telling Adam that if he was to continue to enjoy our hospitality, then he too wanted to be warm. He also ensured we had a ready store of meat, fish, and grain, organizing supplies from Scales Hall to be delivered whenever possible.
But despite Sir Leander’s generosity, wood became scarce and we were forced to buy extra quantities and scour the forest for fallen boughs. Then there were the coal, candles, blankets, and furs to replace worn ones and those that were never returned after Hiske’s sweep of the house. Tools used in the brewhouse had to be replaced, new barrels made and old ones repaired, the children needed new clothes and boots, and the general upkeep of Holcroft House all severely dented profits. Pennies left our coffers as fast as we earned them and, not for the first or last time, I was grateful for the kind help Captain Stoyan and Sir Leander provided. Without their contributions to the ale-making and Holcroft House, any notion I had of making the lease payment would have been impossible. I’d less than four months left, and even though the brew was doing well, firkins, kilderkins, and barrels being sold weekly, it was at wholesale prices. The innkeepers and tavern owners were the ones who really profited from my ale. If I was to make this my occupation, draw enough money from it to support the family and keep the house, I needed to reconsider how to make brewing pay.