I could hear Will in the corridor outside, Iris too. It wasn’t just me and the twins who stood to lose each other, our house, our world. Our servants, most of whom had been with us since before I was born, relied upon us. They too were family. My family. And my family would not live with Hiske.
No matter what.
That Lord Rainford could set out the family’s obligations at such a time, define the extent of our losses; that Hiske and Master Makejoy resolved between themselves to announce our plight so soon after the news of my father’s death, reflected poorly on all of them. It made me furious and more than a little afraid. Our destiny had never been mine to control—that was for Father to manage—and he’d neglected that responsibility. Though I thought I knew why, I couldn’t forgive him. For just a brief moment, when I’d learned of Father’s death, I was disconsolate, but, in the furthest recesses of my heart, I’d also caught a glimpse of liberty and extraordinary possibility. I wasn’t prepared to relinquish that and hand over my future to someone else—especially not to Hiske. I looked at her now, the narrow mouth, the almost nonexistent eyebrows arched in superiority, her long neck with its horizontal lines. Master Makejoy refused to look at either of us and pretended to reread the contents of the deed.
I could hardly believe that we’d be thrown out of the house, that this dark, sometimes joyless place, where there’d been life, terrible secrets, dreadful pain, some joy and too much death, could be taken away—and why? Because an agreement had come to an end. Because of business.
I needed time to think, to find a solution to this new problem.
Moving quickly, I forced Hiske to jump to one side. “Cousin Hiske, Master Makejoy, I wish to thank you for your unexpected offer. I would like some time to consider it.”
“But, Mistress Sheldrake”—Master Makejoy rose and, with what he thought was a benevolent smile, addressed me—“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in. How precarious it is.”
“Master Makejoy, I understand all too well. And as a consequence, I intend to take as much time as I’m able before I make any decisions.”
“There’s only one to make, Cousin.” Hiske folded her arms beneath her breasts.
I met her gloating gaze without flinching. “Perhaps,” I said and, with a small nod to Master Makejoy and a last glance at Hiske, I kept my despair contained and left the room.
Three
Elmham Lenn
The day after Michaelmas to the Nones (Seventh) of October
The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV
I’d barely time to think about our circumstances as the news spread of Papa’s death and the loss of the Cathaline. After leaving our house, Master Makejoy rode into town and delivered an account to the Merchants’ Guild, and to the Kontor or offices of the Hanseatic League. As it was market day, it didn’t take long for word to circulate. From warehouse worker to landlocked sailor, vendor to customer, innkeeper to delivery boy, the usual moaning about taxes and the king’s wars and the price of wool was momentarily suspended—Elmham Lenn was suddenly the center of its own tragedy. Swept up in an emotional maelstrom, I accepted commiserations and outpourings of sympathy as neighbors and strangers arrived at our door. I also offered consolation—for we were not the only family to be affected by the ship’s sinking. Over forty men had been lost to the sea; other families also felt the loss of a provider, of a husband, son, or brother, of relatives and friends, with a profound yet numbing sorrow, and I ached for these people as well.
Above all, the twins’ welfare was my first consideration, and every spare moment was spent with them. While I expected tears and outbursts, both Karel and Betje displayed the pragmatism of the very young, accepting the news with quiet grace and sadness, before looking to Louisa and me to provide their next distraction. Their faith in the patterns of the everyday would have been amusing if it weren’t so simultaneously heart-wrenching and comforting. Denied first their mother and now their father, I promised myself I would serve as both for as long as the good Lord allowed, no matter what Hiske threatened.
My next priority was the servants. They already knew what had occurred before I told them. Will, of course, had learned the nature of Lord Rainford’s missive—having fetched me to the office, he pressed his ear to the door before racing straight to the kitchen and telling whoever was there. I knew it would only be a matter of time before the servants also knew of Lord Rainford’s intention to reclaim the house, and I wanted to be sure they heard it from me first. My reassurances that I would find work, so they were neither thrown to the mercy of the street nor Cousin Hiske, were grasped as a drowning man does driftwood. But the smiles that broke through the weeping and anxiety failed to conceal their doubt. What could a woman, an eldest daughter with no prospects do? Their ambivalence simply steeled my resolve.
I sent Will to fetch Father Clement from St. Bartholomew’s next door. The man who was both our parish priest and friend should know what had befallen us. He would provide a measure of solace for the servants and, if I was frank, myself as well. I wasn’t disappointed. Moments later, Father Clement strode through the gate. I watched him cross the yard, talking to Will, his cassock swinging as he clutched the cross hanging from the cord about his waist, and my heart lifted. Stepping into the kitchen, he sheltered my hands within his own and his hazel eyes said more than words. As he murmured a quiet prayer, Blanche, Adam, Iris, Doreen, Will, and Saskia lowered their heads, the women with handkerchiefs screwed in their fists, the men pale as they slowly took stock of what this change meant.
I recalled an earlier time and a similar tableau. A balmy summer’s evening just over six years ago. The sky was leaden, poised to rain, the heat moist. Mother had been listless all day, but it wasn’t till her waters broke in the afternoon that we understood the baby had decided to ignore nature’s course and arrive early. That it was two months before its time formed a patina of worry that overlaid the excitement. Father was in Ypres—as usual, worlds away from his wife and his expanding family. The midwife and her assistant were sent for and, in a gesture that announced my entrée into the adult world, I was given the role of attending to my mother’s needs and helping Saskia in whatever way I could.
Terrified of what was happening, I’d nonetheless obeyed every instruction: wiped the sweat from Mother’s brow, held her hand, rubbed her back, propped beside her as she squatted over the freshly laid rushes, teeth clenched, eyes screwed shut, clots of blood dropping from her body, more coating her inner thighs. Hours later, after I’d slept and woken, not once, but twice, first one babe and then another were drawn from her womb. We were jubilant. Two babes! And alive. Cords were cut and they were tenderly swaddled, their squawks softening to whimpers as they were brought to her breast. The afterbirths were examined the moment they were expelled and removed, the stained rushes with them. Once it was over, I felt a rejoicing in my heart. After all the babies Mother had tried and failed to bring into the world—five, at last reckoning—this time she’d managed a pair: a beautiful, red-faced boy and girl. Father would be thrilled; this would make him smile, this would transform him back into the man of my earliest recollections. I couldn’t understand why the midwife wasn’t radiating joy, why her eyes when they slid from mine to my mother were brimming with sadness. At Mother’s insistence, the babes were lifted from her and placed in my old crib. The midwife’s young assistant stepped away from the pallet upon which my mother lay, leaving her pale, sweat-drenched, and alone.