A shout brought me back to my senses. My eyes flew open and, finishing the song as quickly as I dared, I withdrew my arm, studying the pale ale, fancying that it wasn’t the sunlight stealing through the window alone making it glow, but the heat and ridiculous hope roiling in my soul.
If my offering to the corner crones and goddess was not as measured as usual, I knew they’d forgive me. The house was astir and the call I’d heard earlier now echoed about the yard. Frowning, I wiped my arm and hands on a cloth and went to the door. I was about to pull it open when it was wrenched from my hands.
“Morning, Mistress Sheldrake.” Sleep-tousled and rather heavy-eyed, Westel flashed me his customary grin, touched his ever-present cap, and, tucking in his shirt, staggered down the stairs and wended past the tuns and troughs to the malthouse.
“Good morning, Westel.” I peered around the door. Dressed in cloaks, Adam, Saskia, and Iris were shouting for the hounds. “Is everything all right?”
Westel shrugged. “It’s the dogs, mistress. They’re missing. Adam thinks something’s happened to them.” He scratched his head. “They probably became fed up with waiting and took themselves for a walk; it’s well after prime.”
Frowning at Westel, who shrugged, heaved off his boots, picked up the shovel, and descended to the malthouse, I glanced back outside. There was an urgency to Adam’s stride as he marched around the yard, to the way he cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted.
“I’ll be back shortly,” I said to Westel. “Can you stir the mash as well, please?” I ran outside.
There was no sign of Iris, and Adam slipped out the church gate before I could reach him. Spinning around helplessly, I saw Saskia. She was ignoring the pigs grunting at her feet, her eyes screwed up against the sun, her mouth grim.
“Oh, Mistress Anneke.” She wrung her hands. “The hounds have gone. Normally, that wouldn’t be such a worry, but their rope’s been cut and the gate’s open.” She pointed toward the alley.
I half-ran to the stables where the dogs were secured each night and bent down to inspect their bindings. Saskia followed.
“See?” She pointed at the neatly severed ends of rope. “That’s been done by a knife, and a sharp one at that.” I glanced over my shoulder toward the gates. One was ajar—just wide enough for the dogs to slip through. “Someone’s taken them . . .”
“But they wouldn’t go with just anyone,” I protested. “The gate’s been left open plenty of times and the dogs have slipped their rope before. Someone had to have lured them out of the yard.” I studied the ground. Fresh snow had fallen overnight. There were no prints except for the scuffed marks of boots—ours. “Or forced them out . . .”
“That’s what Adam thinks,” said Saskia. “He’s taken Will and they’ve gone into the woods. He said they’ll come back along the bay. Iris is combing the nearby streets.”
In the distance, I could hear their voices. Images of my two great shaggy hounds, their wiry coats, their gentle brown eyes and lolling tongues, rose in my mind. Please, God, don’t let anything have happened to them. But hounds like Patroclus and Achilles were valuable—good hunting dogs, they’d sell in a market. Not here in Elmham Lenn, where everyone knew who owned them, but the markets at Bishop’s Lynn and Norwich were not out of the question.
“If Adam returns, tell him I’ve gone to search as well—only, I’ll go into town. You never know. Someone may have seen them.” Or who took them. “I’ll head straight for the square and then come back past St. Nichols and up Gold Street. If he finds them, please send someone to fetch me; I’ll send word should I be so fortunate.”
Saskia held my arm. “Mistress Anneke, leave it to Adam and Will. What if—” She left the thought unsaid.
“I have to, Saskia. They were Adam’s gift after Mother’s death. They too are family.”
Saskia nodded. Though she’d often complain about the beasts, their noise and smell, I knew she loved them. With a sigh, she released me.
“When the twins wake, don’t tell them what’s happened.” Re-plaiting my hair, I tucked it firmly beneath my kerchief. “Once we find them, they’ll be none the wiser.”
Saskia bit her lip.
I clutched her hands and then turned to leave.
“Wait! You can’t go on your own,” she called as I raced toward the house to grab extra layers.
“I’ll take Westel,” I shouted back. “He’ll need a cloak and gloves. Tell him he’ll find me out front on Market Street.”
With a brisk nod, Saskia raced to the brewery.
* * *
We never found a trace of the hounds that day or in the ones that followed. It was as if they’d melted away like spring snow. Westel and I searched until nightfall, our voices hoarse, our steps ragged, the brewhouse forgotten as I grew more distraught with each passing hour. If it hadn’t been for Westel, I would have given up long before, but he encouraged me to keep searching, to hope. Fetching a drink when I thirsted, buying a pie from a street vendor that he insisted I share with him, he was a good and loyal companion that day and I would not easily forget that.
Finding me in town, Tobias and Sir Leander joined the hunt as well, entering darker alleys, questioning the women and men who lolled in corners and on stoops, but to no avail.
We were a subdued household that night. Not even the twins’ delighted squeals as they received and gave gifts could penetrate the mantle of gloom that settled over my heart. My eyes continued to stray to where the dogs used to lie, close to Adam, and the way his hand dropped to his side, his caress meeting only empty air, was a cruel reminder our hounds were gone.
Deep in my heart, I knew who was to blame. Brother Osbert’s warning echoed through me.
After the twins went to bed, I found it hard to settle. The false jollity of Louisa, Iris, and Westel, even the efforts of Tobias and Sir Leander, both of whom had tirelessly searched and were now simply attempting to divert the rest of us with their songs and stories, irritated me. Rather than spoil their kindness, I excused myself and went to the office. I was in no mood for music or even food. My appetite had fled along with my goodwill toward men. I needed a diversion, something upon which to focus, something I could control. Prodding the fire back to life and illuming a couple of rushlights, I pulled out the piece of paper upon which I had calculated how much ale and beer needed to be sold to ensure a profit when I opened the alehouse.
But I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for figures and facts either. Pushing the document away, I opened the shutters between the office and the shop, leaning on the lintel. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I began to picture the space as an alehouse. To imagine how it would look and feel when it was filled with people buying and drinking not only my ale, but beer as well. I knew I was playing with the laws, that like London brewers, I should be choosing to sell one or the other but, until my patrons decided whether they’d like beer, until I knew whether it was worth my while, there was no point trying to sell it alone in Elmham Lenn. A tankard or mazer, even a jug in an alehouse, however, was viable. When it came to new products, caution was a sound business partner.
Already there were two low tables and a few stools in the middle of the room, and a long bench tucked under the large table I used to conduct transactions. I would only need a few more seats and tables to create the right kind of atmosphere. The logs we’d used as stools after Hiske left would suffice until I had the funds to purchase proper ones. Likewise, we could move a couple of the small tables from the hall into the tavern. Sconces were screwed into the walls and, once torches burned in these, a good light would be cast. The hearth on the north wall was usable again since the chimney sweep had cleared it of the gulls’ nests and rodents. Altogether, it wasn’t a big room, but it was adequate for my purposes. I began to plan how I would notify folk that an alehouse was in operation. A poster in the square on market days, a word in a few traders’ ears, and, of course, a sign. Master Proudfellow would let his patrons know, especially as I intended to give him additional ale for the service, while a couple of the nearby inns might also point some customers in our direction, for the right price. Dipping the quill in the ink, I began to design how I would arrange the tables, exactly how many more I would need. I drew benches, stools, and a service area behind which the drinks would be poured and mazers, tankards, and wooden trenchers for basic food could be stored. I began to tally up how many trenchers I would need, how much, if any, wine I would purchase, the number of goblets, napkins, and spoons I’d require. Delyth and Awel had already expressed an interest in serving; Will and Iris as well. Westel would do anything I asked. The thought made me smile. Able to push aside my misery, I wasn’t aware the office door had opened until Tobias leaned over my shoulder.