“In an effort to try and recoup previous losses and to compensate for the steady decline in trade that these endless wars with France and Wales have brought about, your father risked everything on this voyage. Some might say too much.” Master Makejoy’s eyes flickered to Hiske. “It was, he said, to be the making of him.”
I looked around the bleak space of the office, stared into the shop. I saw it through different eyes. The empty shelves, the lonely jars and barrels, a sad reel of ribbon, a bolt of ruby cloth, the spaces where nothing sat but flattened rushes. “Is there nothing left for us?” My voice was too quiet, too small.
“For you and your siblings?” Master Makejoy shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mistress Sheldrake, apart from a meager sum, there’s not.”
No one spoke. The wind whistled and the trees across the road danced. Adam Barfoot came into view, his head bowed against the wind. His hood had fallen back and he held his cloak together at his throat. Achilles and Patroclus bounded past, their great shaggy coats pressed against their lean frames. At the sight of them, my throat tightened and I felt the prick of tears. I blinked them back.
“There is not,” I repeated.
“Not even the house,” added Hiske, so softly I almost didn’t hear.
“I beg your pardon?” I swung toward her.
“Not even the house.” She slowly enunciated every word.
“Is that true?” I asked Master Makejoy, almost rising to my feet. I could hear Achilles and Patroclus barking as they ran down the alley and toward the back gate. Our back gate.
Master Makejoy frowned at Hiske. “It is. I was going to get to that, but since Mistress Jabben has seen fit to raise it . . .” Disapproval tinged his tone as he swept the second piece of parchment into his hand. “His lordship granted your father a life-interest in this house and its commercial premises. It was very generous. It included the servants, wages, food, and drink in return for Master Sheldrake’s services as master of the fleet, his connections with the Hanseatic League, and those he developed throughout the Low Countries and Germany.”
I struggled to get my thoughts together. I tried to understand what it was Master Makejoy was saying. “In other words, Papa doesn’t own this house . . . he never has. Like everything else, it belongs to Lord Rainford.”
“That’s correct.”
An image of my father—his stern face, iron eyes, and unsmiling mouth—came into my head. I heard his stentorian tone as he questioned me over dinner in the hall about my day’s lessons, what the nuns had taught me. I’d always thought him hard, demanding, implacable, and, worse, cold. Later, I thought I knew why. But I couldn’t forgive him for his inflexibility, his lack of affection—not so much toward me or Tobias, but the twins . . . This new knowledge made me see him in a different light, as a man anxious about his prospects, his family; about his obligations. Tears welled as a sense of injustice and contrition rose.
Pushing back my sorrow to examine it later, I looked from Master Makejoy to Hiske. “But, surely, now that Papa’s dead, Lord Rainford wouldn’t force us onto the street, would he? Not after everything my father has done for him? We have some time to make alternative arrangements?”
“What your father has done?” snapped Hiske. “Child! Haven’t you been listening? He’s incurred a massive debt, one that would ruin a lesser man. Lord Rainford is simply staking his rightful claim; recouping his losses.”
“His losses? How can you defend him? You live here too. Papa’s death affects you as well.” Indignation propelled me to my feet. I was gratified to see Hiske step back.
“Ja, it does, Cousin Anneke. And you would do well to remember that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hiske laughed. Her teeth were small, yellow, her gums pale. Her eyes were the color of the pewter jug, flat, depthless. “Just like you, I’m affected by my dear cousin’s loss. Only, I have options. I always knew my time here was limited, so I’ve been considering my choices. Whereas, from now on, you’re on your own. Your father’s death means you’ve lost everything—your house, your lifestyle, and”—her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned—“your position. You’ve lost your position.”
In my swift accounting, I hadn’t considered that—the loss of social status. I didn’t want to—I couldn’t.
Eyes fixed to my face, Hiske continued. “You’ll have to learn to appreciate what others can do for you.”
“Are you referring to yourself, Cousin?”
“I am.”
“And what is it that you might do?”
Hiske drew herself up to her full height. She looked at Master Makejoy, who smiled and nodded.
“You’ll be pleased to know, Cousin Anneke, that though this is a time of great sorrow, on its heels follows great happiness. Master Makejoy and I have an understanding.” I looked from one to the other and was astonished to see Hiske redden and Master Makejoy appear coy. “Soon,” continued Hiske in a softer voice, “I’ll be in a position to be able to offer you, and your brother and sister, a roof over your heads.”
“You would offer me, us, a home?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.
“I didn’t say a home, I said a roof.” She bent until I was forced to meet that gelid gaze. She might be my mother’s blood, but her eyes were like my father’s. “Up until a few hours ago, you had a dowry, prospects. Your father and I would have found someone in town who’d be pleased to call you wife, mayhap even one of those brokenhearted souls you’ve rejected over the years. Now you’re a liability. That’s the word you used, isn’t it, Master Makejoy?”
Master Makejoy mumbled into his chest, shuffling the parchment on the desk.
Hiske laughed. “You’ve no prospects, Cousin. Not anymore. Why, you’re less than a crofter or villein’s daughter, and who in their right mind would want the burden of a penniless wife encumbered with two extra mouths to feed?” She paused as if expecting me to respond. “Exactly,” she replied, snapping the silence. “That’s why, though my responsibilities have, with your father’s demise, formally ended, out of the goodness of my heart, and Master Makejoy’s, I’m prepared to have you come and live with me—”
It was my turn to look startled.
“As my housekeeper.”
I swallowed. “And the twins?”
“I would clothe and feed them until they were of age and then, of course, they would be put to work. Master Makejoy is sure he could find a position for Karel. Betje, well, one can always do with an extra kitchen hand or chambermaid. I’m sure Blanche, or Doreen for that matter, would be happy to teach her. If not, the nuns would take her.”
Doreen’s growing impudence suddenly made sense. Hiske had been planning to leave, to set up her own house, for some time.
Taken aback at her boldness, her certainty that such an opportunity would be grasped, I gathered my thoughts before speaking. Hiske was right. Not only was I on my own, an orphan, so were my brothers and sister. Whereas Tobias, thank the dear Lord, was assured a future, nothing was certain for the twins or me anymore. As an unmarried and penniless nineteen-year-old woman, I was indeed a liability. My situation had been cruelly defined, and it was brutally reduced. As for the twins . . . I recalled the fate of other, less fortunate children whose parents had been taken from them while they were still young. Monasteries were filled with these souls. Now, here I was, along with the twins, to be counted among the unfortunate, an object of pity. My chest burned.