Make it work.
“Wait. Actually, there is.” I rose. “I need you to saddle Shelby and deliver this.” I handed him the letter, my hand closing over his for just a second, imparting significance, urgency. “You’re to wait until there’s an answer and return at once.”
He took the folded parchment, noted the seal, and frowned. “But, Mistress Sheldrake, Mistress Blanche and Mistress Saskia have work for me. They will—”
“Understand when I inform them I’ve sent you on an errand.”
Will stared at the letter. “Where am I to deliver it, mistress?”
I hesitated. If I asked Will to take it to Lord Rainford’s house in town, then chances were Master Makejoy and Hiske would learn of my intentions. That would not do. Not yet. I made up my mind. “To Scales Hall, Will.”
“Lord Rainford’s residence on the Gayfleet?”
“The same. I want you to do whatever you can to ensure this reaches his lordship. Am I clear?”
“But what if he’s in town or at court, mistress?”
The thought had occurred to me. The king had retreated to Hereford after his efforts to subdue the Welsh failed, so chances were Lord Rainford would be by his side. Regardless, I had to try. “I’m praying it’s not so but, if he’s not in residence, return and I will find another way to reach him.”
Will’s eyes widened and his chest puffed at being trusted with such an important task. “You can count on me.” He turned and almost ran from the room.
From the office, I heard his boots echo across the hall. I smiled wistfully. “I am, Will Heymonger. I’m counting on you and a man all my instincts tell me not to.”
Five
Scales Hall
The following day
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV
Early the next morning, I set out for Scales Hall. Lord Rainford’s reply had been swift and precise:
His Right, Worshipful, Lord Rainford, will meet with Mistress Anneke Sheldrake on the morrow, no later than sext. May the blessed Trinity keep you.
Hiske’s response to my request for an audience with Lord Rainford was mocking, her confidence that my plans would fail unshakable, but that only reinforced my determination.
The Rainford estate lay just over two hours away, toward Norwich. Ensuring we had plenty of time, we left just after the bells for tierce sounded. Dressed in my new kirtle and black tunic, with a clean woolen cloak, gloves, and my long hair tied neatly at the nape, a modest scarf wrapped around my head to prevent the wind making my locks too disheveled, I perched beside Adam on the cart and waved farewell to the twins, Saskia, Blanche, Iris, and Louisa, trying not to laugh as Will restrained the hounds, who barked their indignation that they weren’t accompanying us, almost pulling him off his feet. Of Hiske and Doreen there was no sign.
The gray, storm-tossed days that had dominated the past month had finally surrendered. The sea, for weeks a churning mass that would have made Aeneas balk, was a sparkling viridian platter, dotted with fishing vessels and, beyond the heads, the occasional cog and caravel, their sails brighter than angels’ wings. Trade had resumed. Crisp and cool, it was a glorious autumn day. The sky arced above us in a never-ending palette of blues and dusty white clouds. Gulls winged overhead, their cheeky caws echoing as they swooped toward the waters.
Exiting through the city gates, we crossed the bridge where the Gayfleet flowed into the sea, turning our backs on the coast and following the river. Adam began to whistle. As far as memory stretched, there was Adam. A mellow soul, I’d known him since I was a babe. It was Adam who, when I should have been in the nursery, would take me with him to visit the tenants, walking through the woods, pointing out not just the names and properties of various plants, but the real nature of the sea-blown trees in which, he would whisper, dwelt beautiful dryads. He would hoist me onto his shoulders as we trekked along the river so my boots wouldn’t muddy. There he would tell of the wild naiads who swam in the watery depths and had weed and moss for hair, and dulcet voices that could lure men and women to their deaths with silvery singsong promises.
It was Adam who, after Mother died, brought home Achilles and Patroclus, determined a ray of joy would pierce the pall of sadness hanging over our lives.
In many ways, he came to replace Father, who was absent so often, and whose name in the years after Tobias’s birth instilled a fear that had the power to command obedience from my brother and me. There was no doubt that whenever Father returned after being away for months at sea, the mood of the house changed. It was as if the very fabric of the building altered—the wood, stone, and rushes darkened, retreated into themselves, much as the servants did. There was no talking at meals, no walks with Adam, no bedtime stories or reading by the fire during the day. The servants were banished from the hall, my brother to the nursery and me to the nuns for lessons, and Mother would withdraw either to the solar to read or to the brewhouse to make ale.
One week after Tobias’s seventh birthday, Father sent him away. Instead of being assigned as one of Father’s apprentices, destined for a merchant’s life and the sea, he was squired to Lord Rainford’s youngest son, Leander Rainford. We’d barely time to register that Tobias was leaving, let alone to say goodbye, when he was gone. Images of Tobias’s brave little face as he mounted the horse in front of a strange man dressed in the Rainford livery haunted my every waking moment. Mother tried to ease my sorrow by reassuring me that becoming the squire of someone as important as the son of Lord Rainford was an honor, that our family was viewed as favored and fortunate by the townsfolk. I didn’t care. Not when all the Rainford name conjured was the bereft face of my mother as she stood in the yard, touching Tobias as if to imprint him on her memory. The indifferent visage of my father, who offered no final word of advice or farewell, but spun on his heel and returned to business before Tobias had even left the yard, remained with me.
I missed Tobias so much at first. After a while, however, I barely remembered what it was like to have him about. His letters were few and news of his progress scarce. He was alive, well, and, if he served the Rainfords valiantly and became adept at the longbow he now used and attended to his other lessons, on the brink of opportunity. According to Father, that was all that mattered. He rarely spoke Tobias’s name again.
The distant strains of monks chanting ended my reverie. The Gayfleet widened at this point and laden barges appeared upon its swift-flowing surface, both going to and coming from Norwich. Trees lined the banks, and through their spindly branches I was able to see the Friary of St. Jude. Above the high stone walls the twin spires of the church rose, and I could spy the thatched roof of the huge buildings in which the Benedictine monks lived, and the topmost boughs of their orchard.
It took us a good while to ride past the friary, so large were the grounds, like a miniature city itself with merchants, farmers, knights, travelers, and pilgrims arriving by river, road, and foot.
We rode for another hour, until finally the walls of the Rainford manor house came into view, and the small town that had grown up before it. Smoke curled from chimneys, the local bakers’ ovens roared, and a malty smell filled the air, reminding me of not just freshly baked bread but of the hours Mother and I spent in the brewhouse making ale. The smell was almost the same—it had that rich, loamy quality that made me think of Yuletide, sunshine, Blanche’s apron, and Adam’s laughter all at once.