“Before you leave, Mistress Sheldrake.” Sir Symond was on his feet and in two strides blocked the doorway.
“My lord?”
Leaning so his mouth was close to my face, he tipped his head slightly. “I’m not certain how you managed to do this, but I’ve an idea. You won’t always be so lucky. If you find yourself unable to meet the Michaelmas rents, I want you to know there’s always a bargain to be made with another Rainford.” He moved closer. The odor of sour wine enveloped me. “That way, we keep it in the family.” His eyes glinted, his meaning unmistakable.
Adam gasped and Master Makejoy cleared his throat.
“A bargain? With you?” I stepped away, my back against the door. Really, this man was insufferable.
“You’ll find me much more agreeable than my father or my cripple of a brother.”
I drew my breath in sharply and, fumbling for the handle, swung the door open, making it a barrier that came between us. “I would rather deal with the devil.” With that, I swept from the room.
* * *
Making the rent monies as well as what I owed in arrears had a remarkably liberating effect—not just upon me, but the entire house. We went from despair to exhilaration, from anxiety to confidence, the latter helped by Captain Stoyan placing additional orders, meaning I was now to supply any of his fleet leaving from Elmham Lenn with beer. He also sent me a note announcing my beer had been well received in Flanders and that he would require more barrels to take on his next voyage there. I was ecstatic. Though business had slowly picked up in the Cathaline Alehouse, I’d no longer any need to rely on it exclusively for income. Freed from the urgency to bring in custom, it’s a rich irony that patrons then came. As it was wont to do, word spread that not only were the foreign sailors swallowing my beer like drowning men do the sea, but I was exporting the drink as well. Not wanting to miss out on what those on the other side of the sea, “the damn Dutch,” were clearly enjoying meant that not only the curious but also the indignant chose to frequent my establishment.
The weeks flew by and as the tragedy of Will’s death became less immediately painful, my visits to his gravesite became more an act of honor and remembering than a desperate desire to seek atonement. The entire house fell back into old rhythms that suggested normalcy had once more taken roost in Holcroft House. The only discord in an otherwise peaceful time involved the office and the brewery. Just as the feeling of being watched as I performed the ancient rites would not leave me, so too when I entered the office each afternoon, the sense that the ledgers and books had been disturbed grew daily. There was nothing obvious—a sheet of paper askew, the ink bottle moved, a book placed where I was sure it hadn’t been a day earlier. When I asked Adam about it, he shook his head. “Perhaps you should lock the door?” Loathe to do this because of the lack of trust it suggested between me and the servants, I waited for the right moment to ask the others if they’d entered. They all denied it.
Only Saskia, when I mentioned it to her, studied me over the hem she was lowering. “Strange that you should notice such a thing after Will mentioned Westel’s habit of sneaking about the house when we’re abed.”
“Why on earth would Westel slink into the office? For what purpose? He sees the ledgers weekly. He enters the office regularly. I oft request he fetch something for me. Secrecy isn’t necessary.”
Saskia shrugged. “I don’t know. The same reason he’s always sneaked about. I’ve heard him too. I told you, you allow him too much leeway, Mistress Anneke. You have from the moment he came into this house. I just hope you don’t live to regret it.”
“You’ve never liked him. Why, you even said he smiles too much.”
“He does.” She paused. “I don’t like him. Nay, that’s not right. It’s that I don’t trust him. And to make matters worse, he’s replaced all that smiling with prayers. Have you noticed? Always muttering and asking the Lord for this and that God forgive him that. There’s something wrong with Westel. That behavior isn’t normal for a layperson.”
I had noticed. How could I not? “A commoner raised in a priory.” Yet again, I defended him.
Saskia sighed.
“What do you suggest I do about it?”
“Do? If it were up to me, I’d pay him for his services and send him on his way. I know, I know, you can ill afford to do that. He’s a good worker and God knows, with the Parry girls gone and others too scared to work here, we need all the hands we can get. But if I were you, I’d keep a closer eye on him than ever. He’s up to something, mark my words.”
“Perhaps he’s a spy.” I scoffed at the notion.
“I thought they were supposed to fit in, not draw attention to themselves by flashing their teeth all the time and calling upon God. If he’s a spy, I’m the Queen of the Muscovites,” she said, and chuckled at the very thought.
For a couple of days, I found myself watching Westel and indeed he did frown and mutter prayers a great deal, crossing himself, smiling and then muttering some more. It was as if he were conversing with the Holy Spirit or debating with his conscience. But when he caught me looking at him, he’d always give me a huge grin. I took to locking the office door but, as the days grew longer and other thoughts occupied me, I forgot and I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary again.
Though within the brewhouse it was another matter . . .
* * *
The twins thrived as the weather grew warmer, and Louisa would take them for walks along the Nene, down to the bay and to visit Master Perkyn and Olive. Karel underwent a growth spurt and I sent Saskia to the mercers for cloth for trousers and a new shirt, acutely aware the time for both the twins to leave the nursery was fast approaching. Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, it was Master Makejoy who forced me to consider the implications of having two growing children under my roof.
Not long after Whitsunday, one day late in May, he was preparing to leave after checking the books when Karel, with nary a knock or by your leave, burst into the office.
“There you are, Anneke!” he exclaimed. “You should see the harbor; why, it’s full of—” He stopped when he caught sight of Master Makejoy. “Forgive me, sir,” he said quickly and, doffing his cap, bowed. “I didn’t know we had a guest. God give you good welcome.”
Master Makejoy nodded agreeably. Though his wife abjured the family he was forced to reckon with, he was always pleasant, especially since the incident with Sir Symond. “That’s all right, lad. Master Karel, isn’t it? My, you’ve grown, haven’t you?”
Karel puffed out his chest, the laces on his shirt pulled to their ends. “I’m seven now,” said Karel.
“Seven! We’ll have to put you to work then, won’t we?” Master Makejoy leaned over and ruffled his hair.
Taken aback, I stared at Karel as if with fresh eyes. Tobias had been squired at seven; all the tenant farmers’ children were out in the fields by this age. Master Makejoy was right, it was time to consider Karel’s future. But surely, I thought, looking at the way he smoothed down the hair Master Makejoy had disturbed, noting the dimples on the backs of his hands where his knuckles would one day protrude, not yet. There was time for Karel and Betje to just be children, surely? Ushering him out with promises I would come and see what delighted him so—a fleet of caravels, as it turned out—I closed the door upon him, just as I did the disturbing thoughts Master Makejoy’s observations aroused.