“The nightwatch know me,” said Adam, silencing Captain Stoyan’s protests. “Anyway, it’s the least I can do. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve seen Mistress Anneke relax, let alone smile.”
“I do smile.” I forced one to my face as proof.
“Aye, with your mouth,” said Adam, “but it hasn’t reached here”—he touched a place below his eye—“or here”—he rested a hand over his heart—“for weeks.”
He was right.
Bidding Captain Stoyan farewell, I first checked on the twins and then fell into bed, exhausted in the way someone who uses excessive labor and seeks aching limbs to hasten forgetfulness would, something we’d all done these last weeks since Will died. But it was only as I pondered Adam’s words that I finally understood that while I’d kept my body occupied, my spirit had been neglected. Something Sir Leander had prayed wouldn’t happen . . .
Lying back on the pillow, my arms folded behind my head, I listened to the evening trill of crickets and frogs in full song, watched the play of changing light upon my walls as darkness descended and wondered at my sudden good fortune, daring for the first time to imagine what it would be like to hand over the full amount of rent, knowing we were secure for another six months.
Gratitude toward the captain filled my veins. Though I’d believed his act to be prompted by charity, he’d reassured me it wasn’t.
“I cannot afford to be charitable,” he said. When I reminded him about the barley he regularly supplied and his other gestures of kindness, he demurred. “Have you so swiftly forgotten? This is a business arrangement, Mistress Anneke. I’ll be as demanding as Sir Symond and Lord Rainford if required.” He grinned to soften his threat. “I expect a percentage—held over until such time as you can afford it,” he added quickly. “I’d be failing as a captain if I didn’t provide my men with the best on offer and I’d be useless as a merchant trader if I didn’t take this opportunity to introduce the fine beer you’ve made to the continent. I once told you there were opportunities there for a good English supplier. Well, I’ve finally found her.”
For some reason, Will’s words from months ago echoed in my mind.
“As God is my witness,” he’d said, “Mistress Sheldrake will be the finest brewer in all of England.”
Around me, the house settled, its regular conversation between timber and thatch comforting. Karel coughed once or twice and I heard Louisa rise to him. The door to the barn squeaked. Adam had returned and was ascending to his bed in the loft. The great oak brushed the sides of the house, its leaves rustling in the gentle winds.
Daring to hope, I curled under my furs and shut my eyes. Before I knew it, a dreamless sleep claimed me.
Thirty-One
Holcroft House
The day before Hocktide
The year of Our Lord 1406 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV
As a household, we attended the early mass, stifling yawns. Entering the coolness of St. Bartholomew’s as the cock crowed, Father Clement’s welcoming smile and the rhythmic chanting of the novices warmed us from within.
Returning to the house before tierce, I downed a small ale and headed into the brewhouse when Adam caught up with me, announcing we had guests.
It was Sir Symond Rainford and his squire.
Astounded the man had the gall to come to the house so early, I was more shocked to discover he was here to demand payment of the rent. Why, he was still a day early. Flustered, I scurried across the garden, untying my apron and dumping it unceremoniously on the kitchen table. It wasn’t until I stood outside the office, forcing myself to take deep breaths and collect my thoughts, that it occurred to me this was quite deliberate. Sir Symond had done this with the intention to teach me a lesson. Unable to stomach that I’d managed to outwit him at our first meeting by making him adhere to the original terms of the contract, he sought to turn the tables. He thought to catch me unprepared.
Well, he was about to be disappointed.
Entering the office, Adam on my heels, I found Sir Symond seated behind the desk, his squire and, to my surprise, Master Makejoy hovering on the other side. Sir Symond rose as I came in and, in what was intended to appear an act of gallantry, bowed and kissed my hand. I resisted the urge to wipe it on my tunic.
Pleasantries were stiffly exchanged, poor Master Makejoy having been dragged away from church, clearly wanting to be anywhere but Holcroft House this fine morning. I could hear him uttering prayers under his breath and the cross he carried in his pocket was transferred to his palm.
“Forgive our intrusion so early,” said Sir Symond, towering over me, “but a contract, as you pointed out the last time we met, is a contract.”
“It is, my lord. And you are a day early.”
“It isn’t convenient for me to attend on Hocktide. It has to be today.”
“I see. And is it also inconvenient for Master Makejoy, who’s obliged to collect rents from Lord Rainford’s other tenants on Hocktide?”
The look on Master Makejoy’s face revealed he’d made the same argument.
Sir Symond gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. “I’m making an exception for you.”
Of me, I thought, but did not express this aloud. “Then it’s just as well I’m exceptional, is it not, my lord?”
Without further ado, I opened the cupboard by the hearth and from a small safe within, extracted a hessian bag, placing it before him on the desk. “Consider the terms of my contract met.” I gave a small curtsy.
Sporting an expression of disbelief, Sir Symond nudged the bag toward Master Makejoy. Taking a seat, Master Makejoy sighed and, untying the knot I’d securely fastened only the evening before, tipped the coins onto the wood. A few rolled away, Master Makejoy’s long fingers grasping them before they collided with Sir Symond’s silk-clad elbow or fell on the floor. Taking his time, Master Makejoy counted them, stacking them one atop the other in small piles. Once he’d finished, he gestured the squire over to check his calculations. I couldn’t conceal my smile when, finally, Master de Montefort announced, “It’s all here, my lord.”
“All?” said Sir Symond, looking down his misshapen nose at the crooked towers of coins, coins that represented over five months of our endeavors, months of heartache and grief as well. Barely able to conceal his astonishment, he simply stared.
“Every last noble and groat,” said Master Makejoy, recording the amount in the book he’d brought. Pulling a piece of parchment out of his satchel, with a wink he handed me a quill and pointed to a space on the bottom for me to sign. It was a receipt.
I looked at Adam in triumph, returning the quill to Master Makejoy, who quickly made a copy. Adam folded his arms and flashed me a grin.
Sir Symond gestured toward the money. Master de Montefort scraped the coins back into the pouch. “Well, well, well, Mistress Sheldrake. There’s more to you than meets the eye, as delightful as that might be.”
“There’s enough, my lord.” I deliberately misunderstood him, concentrating on folding the receipt and tucking it in a pocket. I would put it with my other documents later. “What is owed—no more, no less.” I fixed a bright smile. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve work to do. Adam will escort you to the door.” I dropped another curtsy.