Brewer's Tale, The (55 page)

Sitting up as quickly as I was able I lifted the furs more as a reflex than for the purposes of modesty, for I was all but fully clothed, when in stormed four men, followed quickly by Alyson and Adam.

‘There she is!' exclaimed a red-faced gentleman, pointing at me with a knobbly finger. He was tall and thin, his cheeks sunken and the hair beneath his cap a thick, chestnut mop. His pale eyes sparkled with triumph and his long, narrow mouth was curved in satisfaction. His clothing denoted him a bailiff; of the three men accompanying him, one was an escheator, the other two constables.

I grew cold. It was difficult to breathe. For certes, I was discovered. Prayers collected in my head and I tried to rise. Alyson pushed past the men and placed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to remain where I was.

‘Master Fynk!' she boomed, causing the other men to stumble over one another. ‘How dare you. You cannot simply enter the private areas of my residence, let alone this lady's bedroom.'

‘Lady?' sniggered Master Fynk, standing over us both, looking down his prominent nose at Alyson. ‘According to the king, if I think you're breaking the law, I may enter wherever I wish. Lady's room or naught.' Raising his hand, he flipped it towards me. ‘Methinks, naught.'

Narrowing his eyes, Master Fynk smiled. There was no humour in his expression, just righteousness. ‘And I do dare, Mistress of Disorder and Ill-Repute,' he didn't deign to look at Alyson as he spoke, ‘Widow of Purity and Godliness, by all that is holy and good, I dare.'

His words and aggression brought to mind a man I thought banished. The voice, the wild accusations, the violent utterances as he thrust inside me all returned with a blast that took my breath away. I recoiled from Master Fynk and in the flicker of his eyes, I saw the pleasure my reaction gave him.

‘And there is my evidence, gentlemen.' Master Fynk encouraged his companions forward. ‘This … this …
woman
.' All Eve's daughters became something filthy in that single utterance. Anger stirred within me. Alyson drew herself up to her full height and placed herself squarely between the bailiff and me.

‘You see. I told you. Goodwife Alyson does keep a pregnant woman beneath her roof.' He gave a hollow laugh. ‘You'll not merely receive a fine for this — the court'll see you cucked and imprisoned I shouldn't wonder.'

For the time it took God's name to form on my tongue, I understood that the presence of the law had nothing to do with the events at Elmham Lenn and everything with my presence in the bathhouse. My initial fear returned one thousandfold: if this man could so threaten a mother, what would he do to innocent children?

The shade in Alyson's cheeks matched her scarlet tunic as she faced him, folding her arms over her bosom.

‘Once again, Master Fynk, you have the cock by the comb and the neck does warble and warble without using the sense contained therein.' She tapped her temple twice.

Master Fynk turned the colour of beet. The other men shifted from foot to foot.

Undaunted, Alyson continued. ‘You've been listening to tales whispered by a twisted tongue and, if I'm not mistaken, exchanged over a pillow instead of a table, hey? Where was it? The Cardinal's Hatte is your preferred haunt, is it not? Did some wench whisper in your ear? Tempt or taunt you to action? Or could you not perform one duty so sought to try another?'

Drawing back his hand fast, Master Fynk struck her hard across the face. With a small cry, she fell upon me, then rolled onto the floor, her hand covering her cheek. I leapt out of bed and knelt beside her, and gingerly helped her sit up.

‘It's all right, Anna. I've been hit by better.' She flexed her jaw, staring brazenly at Master Fynk. ‘And harder.' She spat a bloody gobbet into the rushes.

‘You will show me the respect I'm due as an officer of the bishop and king,' said Master Fynk slowly. ‘I don't have to answer to the likes of you, good
wife
, but you have to answer to
me
. So, tell me, how do you explain the presence of this one, hey? You know the laws. Pregnant whores are forbidden.' Grabbing my shoulder, he hauled me away from Alyson and threw me on the bed.

‘Nay, Adam. Don't!' I cried.

Adam stopped mid-stride.

Master Fynk laughed. ‘
Nay, Adam
.' His imitation was perfect. ‘You'd do well to listen to her. She's wiser than her years allow. Is she yours?' Before Adam could respond, he continued, his cold eyes sweeping the room, taking in the crackling fire, the drying sheet folded on the chest, the chairs and stools arranged near the window and hearth. The basket of darning, the flickering candles. The shutters rattled in the wind and I felt the frigid fingers of the day.

Master Fynk strode to the window and flung the shutters wide. I took the chance to straighten my tunic and assist Alyson to her feet.

‘Watch this one,' she whispered. ‘He be dangerous. Vengeful and treacherous.'

I knew the kind too well. I shot Adam a look to remain where he was. The other men stayed mute and, while two appeared uneasy with proceedings, one giving Alyson continual apologetic glances, the shortest of the men, the escheator from the insignia on his surcoat, was clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Gazing down upon the river, Master Fynk stood with his back to us. ‘A whore with child isn't allowed beneath this roof.' He flung the words over his shoulder. ‘Yet, like so many other rules, Goodwife Alyson,' his voice had a singsong quality, ‘you choose to flout this one and believe you're exempt. For that you'll pay.'

Indignation flooded me. ‘I'm no whore, sir,' I exclaimed. Alyson released a sigh. I ignored her. ‘My name is Anna de Winter from Dover. I'm a respectable woman. A brewster.'

He spun around. ‘A brewster, are we?
Respectable?
' He laughed. ‘You have an odd understanding of what constitutes respectability.' He rubbed his hands together. ‘I don't care what you are, Mistress de Winter, or what you claim to be. You could be the wife of Satan's brother.' He looked me up and down slowly and doubt flickered across his mien. ‘You're pregnant?'

Lifting my chin and smoothing the tunic over my belly, I waited for his eyes to finish their journey and meet mine. ‘Nay sir, I'm not.'

Adam cleared his throat, intending, I knew, to support my claim. I dreaded what he would do or say to protect my name, drawing attention upon himself from this man who wanted nothing more than a confrontation. I continued hastily. ‘I recently gave birth, aye. But I do not live here. I'm not a slattern, I'm —'

‘A dear cousin who has recently lost her husband, you buffoons.' Alyson sat wearily on the edge of the bed. ‘Can you not see?' She waved an arm towards me. ‘Quality shouts from the roots of her shining hair and those fine green eyes. Look at her hands. Have they seen a day's work?' Brewing hadn't ruined my hands yet, but they no longer possessed the creamy uniformity they once had.

Alyson went on, her voice dull, resigned, and all the more convincing because of that. ‘I brought her back here with me after I visited St Thomas à Becket's shrine,' she crossed herself and bowed her head. ‘The grief of losing dear —' She stared at her lap.

‘Joseph,' I inserted swiftly, silently begging my father's forgiveness.

‘Joseph, may God assoil him,' she crossed herself again and the men did as well, ‘and our terrible journey through driven snow, amid thieves and cutthroats, hastened the arrival of her babes.' There were exclamations. ‘Aye … not one, but two.' She lifted her head. ‘Did your information extend to that, Master Fynk? Ask Father Kenton if you doubt. That's right, twins were born beneath this roof you're so ready to curse and fine. If that's not God blessing us, I don't know what is.'

‘God does not bless the likes of you, Goodwife Alyson.' Master Fynk leaned on the sill, unaffected by the cold that stole the warmth from the room. ‘But He would bless a grieving widow.' Turning and standing erect, Master Fynk seemed to reconsider me. A dark look crossed his features.

‘When were they born?'

‘Over a month ago,' I answered.

‘Are they baptised?'

‘Aye, they're baptised,' said Alyson wearily. ‘And she's been churched as well. Good God, Lewis, can't you accept that your assumptions are wrong this time and leave it be?' She raised her chin, willing him to concede. I held my breath. Flames crackled and a log split. There was a shout from the road and the squeal of pigs. Master Fynk said nothing, only returned Alyson's look with a baleful one of his own.

Slapping her thighs, Alyson finally stood. ‘I understand you've to keep a check on what happens round here, but I'm telling you God's truth when I say, I've done nothing wrong.'

‘This time,' said Master Fynk.

‘Aye.' She tidied her laces, her lips twitching. ‘This time.'

I coughed. Adam grabbed the poker and stabbed the fire a few times. My, but Alyson was bold. And she seemed to have Master Fynk's measure. Instead of being inflamed by her words, he appeared about to accept them.

‘This is accurate?' Master Fynk turned to Adam.

How Adam managed to compose himself to answer is a mystery. ‘As God is my witness, Master Bailiff.'

Adam offered neither respect nor insult.

‘If she be no whore, then who might you be?' Master Fynk looked from Adam to me and back again.

‘This is my steward, Master Barfoot.' I knew what occupied the thoughts of Master Fynk and the other men. If I had a steward in my employ then I was a woman of substance and couldn't possibly be the whore they first believed me to be.

‘You not be on the poll tax,' said the escheator sharply, lifting his many chins.

‘That's because he's not from here. He arrived when his mistress did, Tom Shankle.' Alyson shook her head. ‘He's not been counted yet. Once he is, and if he is still beneath my roof, he'll pay your outrageous sums. In the meantime, he's a guest, like his mistress.'

The distant sound of laughter and voices carried. Harry and Betje. She must have run to the front to welcome Harry back from an errand. Master Fynk leaned down and watched a while. No-one spoke. I felt the tension that had gripped me since the men first entered start to subside. Alyson winked at me.

‘If you be no whore, mistress,' said Master Fynk, spinning on one heel, no mean feat among the thick rushes, ‘and if God blessed you with two children, then how come your other get,' his head jerked towards the window, ‘looks like the sins of Gomorrah are rendered in her flesh?'

It was a full moment before I understood that he referred to Betje.

‘Master Fynk!' Alyson's words bristled with anger. The other men flinched.

‘You must take that back, sir,' said Adam, and in two paces was standing before the bailiff. The other men grabbed Adam's arms, jerking them behind his back. Struggling, he let fly a string of curses and Master Fynk's long fingers dropped to the sword that dangled from a belt.

‘Stop,' I shouted. ‘All of you. Now.' The room danced in my vision for a moment. Ignoring the strange feeling, I stepped past the three men and paused only before Master Fynk. Alyson tugged the men's arms, forcing them to release Adam, which they did begrudgingly after a nod from their master.

Meeting Master Fynk's cold gaze I knew whom I regarded. Here was a man filled to the brim with his own sense of righteousness. It was his moral compass that provided direction to the world. Offence and insult didn't exist when wielded in the name of justice. Cruelty was a means to a lawful end, nothing more.

‘The girl you see down there,' I pointed to the street below, ‘is my sister, sir.' I didn't raise my voice, though it was my greatest wish to raise it and have it echo through his every waking moment. I wanted to lift my hand and strike his face until the flesh there was bloodied and jagged. Yet, I did neither, for such emotions were wasted on this man.

We both gripped the sill and stared down at Betje who, unaware of our scrutiny, was walking beside Harry who was leading a chestnut mare. She was without a cap, which scratched her healing scalp, and the wind lifted the remnants of her hair. From our viewpoint above her, the pink flesh and scars were apparent. Beside me, Master Fynk remained silent, his breathing deep and steady. The dark linen of his surcoat and the fur that lined his cape smelled of woodsmoke and damp days.

Harry threw the animal's halter to Betje and she caught it, giggling with delight that her good hand managed to hold fast. My heart contracted into a knot.

‘A man of God, a monk, cast her into flames,' I said quietly. ‘Not because she was sinful, but to hide his own crimes. Thus God allowed her to live so all who set eyes on her could be reminded of the evil men can do, and that God's justice will prevail.'

Considering my words and the weight with which they were delivered, Master Fynk slowly tilted his head. ‘That is how you judge the story, is it, mistress? I wonder how this bedevilled monk would?'

I gave a hollow laugh. ‘We'll never know, Master Fynk, because he burned to death in the same fire that seared my sister. One might say that God judged him and decided that hell was to be his abode.'

Oh, God. Alyson was right; this man was not to be trifled with. There was something about him, a deadly patience, a distorted view of the world, of women, perhaps. It would not matter what we said, or what we did. We were already guilty. Our crime was to exist and he would see us punished for it.

Master Fynk flashed his stained teeth. ‘Or judged your sister and delivered the same verdict, only this,' his arm described an arc, ‘is to be her hell.'

Only as long as the evil you embody dwells here …

Alyson stamped her foot. ‘That's outrageous.'

Master Fynk spun around. ‘The only thing that's outrageous here is your capacity to escape justice.'