Brewer's Tale, The (26 page)

‘You too, Mistress Sheldrake,' said the Father. ‘May the Lord shine blessings upon you.' With a look I interpreted as apologetic, he introduced me to his companions. ‘This is Brother Osbert, the sub-prior of St Jude's. Brother Marcus here is the cellarer.' There was a slight quiver in his voice. For certes, the friary had sent some powerful men to me.

‘Sirs, by God you are welcome,' I said, granting them a curtsey, hoping I didn't sound as concerned as I felt.

‘Mistress Sheldrake,' said Brother Osbert, a portly man with a ruddy complexion and intelligent eyes. ‘Forgive this unexpected visit. His grace, Abbot Hubbard, has asked us to present a business proposition to you and, as we were in Elmham Lenn to oversee the St Catherine's Day mass, we thought we'd take the opportunity. We pray this is a convenient time. Is there somewhere we can talk?'

Surely, my ears were deceived? ‘The abbot wants to do business with me?' The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.

‘That he does.' Brother Marcus nodded affably, a too-wide grin splitting his face, spoiled only by the fact he was missing many teeth and the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Before I could respond, Adam stepped out of the brewery, wiping his hands on a balled cloth. The dogs were still barking fit to bring down the heavens, and with a frown he shut them in the stables before joining me, his boots crunching in patches of remnant frost.

Introductions were made and with some reluctance, I led the brothers back to the house. As we passed the brewhouse, the door blew open and the rich aroma of mash and wort wafted over us.

‘This is where you make your delicious ale?' asked Brother Osbert, stepping forward and peering inside.

Reaching past him, Adam wrenched the door closed and gave a curt nod. ‘It is.'

‘You've tasted it then?' I asked the brother.

‘Ever since you first brewed, we've tasted every batch,' said Brother Marcus with that fixed smile. ‘Marvellous how you manage to keep such consistency.'

‘Indeed,' said Brother Osbert. ‘It's almost unnatural.' His easy manner didn't deflect the sense of peril his words aroused. But all I could think about was that they'd tasted it and wanted to place a business proposal before me. Could Captain Stoyan be wrong? Was the friary not my enemy but, like Lord Rainford, a potential business partner?

‘Please, come this way, brothers,' I said quickly, trying not to let my growing excitement show. ‘Let me assure you, there's nothing unnatural about what I do. After all, this is ale we're talking about.'

‘Ah, but ale can lead to many interesting conversations, don't you find, Mistress Sheldrake?' Brother Osbert increased his pace so he walked beside me. ‘Just when you think you're discussing one thing, it becomes another matter altogether.' He gave a laugh, an odd, high-pitched trill. ‘Who knows what we could end up considering?'

Brother Marcus chuckled. Adam, Father Clement and I didn't join in.

I knew then I didn't want these men anywhere near the twins or my home, not until I could ascertain whether they were a threat or offering a flag of truce. Instead of leading them into the kitchen, I diverted by the vegetable garden and to the front of the house and the shop. As we passed the stables, the hounds' barking increased.

Will was in the shop finalising a purchase with Master William Larkspur, owner of the Crown and Anchor.

‘God's day to you, Mistress Shel—' began Master Larkspur, touching his hood. When he saw the brothers, his eyes widened. Turning back to Will, he quietly gave final instructions, and I steered the brothers towards a table near the hearth. The brothers made much of warming their hands and backs, pushing back their deep cowls, untying their mantles. Mixing his greetings and farewells, Master Larkspur practically ran out of the shop, his head low, his hood up. He didn't look back.

Asking Will to bring drinks, I invited the men to sit around the table. Adam sat next to me on one side, the brothers from St Jude's with their backs to the fire on the other, while Father Clement sat at the head.

‘See to it we're not disturbed, would you, Will?' I asked as he set down the pitcher with a terse nod. He went outside and took down the bushel, latching the door when he came back in.

Pouring the brothers some ale, I waited till they had the first drink before speaking. ‘I confess, I'm most honoured to receive a visit from St Jude's.'

Brother Osbert put down his mazer and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘As well you should be, Mistress Sheldrake. It's not every day we take it upon ourselves to undertake such transactions in person. We have other ways of doing business …' His eyes remained fastened to mine for a second longer than was polite.

‘So I have heard.'

He was the first to look away.

Taking another drink, he studied the mazer. ‘Uncommonly good,' he murmured.

Brother Marcus drained his and then gave a hearty belch. ‘May I?' he held up his empty mazer. I refilled it.

‘I will get straight to the point,' said Brother Osbert. ‘I detest those who prevaricate, play games and whatnot and I hope you will extend the same courtesy to me.'

I bowed my head.

‘The reason we're here, Mistress Sheldrake —' he said, waiting until I'd topped his drink as well. A creamy foam wobbled prettily. Brother Osbert watched the motion, his tongue wetting his lips. ‘— is that we're very impressed with the quality of your ale. So, it seems, are many others. So much so, despite contracts whereby various businesses promise only to buy from the friary's brewery, some inns and taverns as well as hucksters are buying yours. Risking fines and much more, they're prepared to forgo the goodwill of those they've been dealing with for years and, for what? For this,' and he lifted his drink.

All eyes were upon it.

‘We've chosen not to pursue their bad faith through the sheriff or the courts. Instead, we wish to improve what
we
make. For that reason, we wish to buy your recipes. The ones you use to make this ale and any others besides.'

I sat up. Whatever offer I'd been expecting them to make, it certainly wasn't this.

‘My recipes?'

‘Come now, Mistress Sheldrake, don't be coy. We know you follow a recipe or a number of them.' Brother Osbert gave me the sort of smile you might give a contrary child. ‘There are quite a few people who can attest to this.'

‘You misunderstand, brother, I do not seek to hide the fact I follow recipes, from the Low Countries no less, I'm just surprised you would wish to buy them.'

‘You call yourself a businesswoman —' he could have been discussing chamber-pots, ‘and yet you express surprise that the major competitor in your trade wishes to reduce the effect your product is having on their profits by creating something similar? Why, this happens all the time! A dyer notes another's shade and how popular it's become and immediately emulates it. Tailors and cobblers spy the latest fashions and do likewise. Does trade stop for one or the other? On the contrary, they share in the profits. That's what we wish to do, share the profits that are coming your way.'

I stared at Brother Osbert, unable to credit what I was hearing. Not only did I find it hard to believe that in just a few weeks of trade I was impacting on the friary's profits to such an extent they sought to copy what I did, but that they were so open about it. The idea they'd been following my progress made Master Perkyn and Captain Stoyan's warnings seem like clarions. These brothers took their brewing — and the consequent coin — very seriously.

Well, so did I.

‘So, will you sell us your recipes? We're prepared to pay a fair price.'

Aware of Adam and Father's Clement's eyes upon me, I took my time answering.

‘First of all, can I just say I'm honoured to be so approached and by the greatest brewers in Norfolk.' Brother Osbert's look said even he knew flattery when he heard it. ‘I feel humbled and blessed by the good Lord that you would make such a proposal.' I drew my shoulders back and placed my hands flat on the table, my arms straight. ‘But, I'm afraid my recipes are not for sale.'

Brother Osbert gave a bark of laughter. ‘I don't think I heard aright.'

‘Forgive me, brother, but you did. With all due respect, the recipes are not for sale.'

‘You have not even heard our offer.'

‘I do not need to. It won't change my response.'

Standing in one swift movement, the brother rocked the table, spilling ale across the surface. Brother Marcus rose to his feet and so did I. Father Clement remained seated, his hands clenching his tankard like a lifeline.

‘You would deny the friary? Abbot Hubbard?'

‘You made the observation yourself, Brother Osbert; you wondered that I call myself a businesswoman. Well, I do. That and more besides. I'm responsible for my family, for their welfare and for that, I need good coin. If I sell you my recipes, then not only will you be able to produce my ale, but you would also be able to make it in greater quantities and thus sell it at a cheaper price. Your comparison to dyers, tailors and cobblers is a just one, good brother, but only if they are the same size business. We are not. You're a large producer, I'm simply a humble alewife seeking to gather loyal custom.'

Brother Osbert's eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, you're attracting more custom than an alewife, Mistress Sheldrake, and it's disingenuous of you to pretend otherwise.'

‘Perhaps,' I said with a small smile. ‘But it's disingenuous of you, good brother, to pretend that selling my recipes won't affect my trade. It will end it and I cannot afford that. However,' I continued as his face reddened and a vein on his forehead pulsed, ‘the friary can afford to be magnanimous. There's room in Elmham Lenn for both of us and, if I may be so bold, more besides.'

He drew back, a cat about to pounce, then stilled. Turning to Brother Marcus, he snapped, ‘Fetch our mantles, brother.'

Snatching his from the smaller brother, Brother Osbert swung it across his shoulders, knocking his mazer over, nodding in satisfaction as what remained of his ale gurgled into the rushes. Gazing pointedly at the waste, he gave a crooked smile.

‘Is that your final word, Mistress Sheldrake? Do I tell the abbot you refused his generosity? His effort to reconcile our competing businesses?'

Adam stood up, hands balled by his sides.

‘It's my final word, Brother Osbert, but while I will not hand over my recipes, I do extend my goodwill and wishes for God's many blessings to the abbot and the brothers of St Jude's.'

Brother Osbert held my eyes for a long moment before striding out of the shop, striking the latch off the door as he did. Brother Marcus flashed a look of disgust mingled with regret.

‘Don't bother following,' he said to Father Clement. ‘It's evident where your loyalties lie,' he spat.

‘My loyalties are, first and foremost, with God,' said Father Clement, stumbling to his feet. Brother Marcus sneered before he followed the sub-prior. The wind caught the door as they exited, slamming it against the frame.

We watched them storm off as snow began to fall. They looked like crows with their black capes and mantles flying out behind them.

I sank back onto the bench. Only now did I fill my mazer and drink.

Adam and Father Clement returned to their seats and tossed back what remained in their cups. Adam poured a generous amount for us all.

‘You did well, Mistress Anneke, standing your ground against them.'

‘You're right, Adam,' said Father Clement. ‘If you'd sold them the recipes, Mistress Anneke, it would have spelled the end of your brewing. They'd have undercut you.'

I stared out the window, the image of the brothers' righteous indignation in my mind. It was clear they thought their proposal would be readily embraced, that they would not be denied. Yet like Peter the apostle, three times I'd denied them. My head sank into my hands. From where did such courage or foolhardiness come?

‘Even if they had the recipes, they couldn't make the ale the way I do … they don't understand. But I couldn't give over Mother's recipes. I just couldn't. Not to them, not to anyone. They're for the family, no-one else.'

Adam touched the back of my hand gently. ‘It's all right, mistress, it will be all right.'

‘Will it?' I asked, raising my head. Again, my eyes followed their angry tracks in the muddy snow. ‘I'm not so sure. If I didn't have an enemy before, I do now.'

HOLCROFT HOUSE

Late November to early December

The year of Our Lord 1405 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV

J
ust over a week later, we had another unexpected visit, this time from Master Perkyn and Olive. A soft snow was spiralling from the heavens, the pale morning light still trying to force its way through thick clouds. I was in the brewhouse, and had only completed the ceremony to the goddess and crones moments before there was a knock on the door. When I saw the Millers and took in the expression on their faces and Olive's poor swollen eyes, I let out an exclamation and ushered them into the warm, bringing them close to the kiln.