Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (24 page)

Time was passing; she must get back to Sybil and start work, as she’d promised she would. She hurried along, deciding to take a shortcut down a lane to bypass some of the stalls, but became thoroughly confused in the process and had to retrace her steps several times before she finally found Sybil. At once, she launched into a breathless apology, but Sybil shushed her. “I’ve been enjoying myself,” she admitted. “I’d also like to look around the fair before I go back to the tavern.” She cast a critical eye at the crowds milling about, and sniffed. “There probably won’t be any customers down in the town anyway!”

She gestured at the wooden sign so carefully lettered by Janna and hammered into place by Ossie, along with a fresh green bush attached to one side. “The sign’s attracting customers,” she said, “and we can ring the bell too.” She picked up a tiny hand bell and shook it briskly, so that several people turned to inspect more closely the barrels stashed to one side, and the mugs displayed invitingly on the bench top. One fairgoer retraced his steps, and Janna poured him a cup of ale, relishing the first business to come her way.

But her conscience was biting. As Sybil continued to delay her departure, Janna began to wonder if her secret had been uncovered and if the taverner was waiting for an explanation. Under Sybil’s watchful eye, she retrieved the wooden box she’d hidden and put it on the counter, thinking she had better confess. Sybil moved closer at once.

“Ossie thought this belonged to you,” she said. “I wondered if you were going to tell me about it.”

Janna reminded herself that the taverner missed nothing. “These are some creams and lotions I’ve made up,” she said. “I wondered if I might sell them to the customers who come to buy our ale, and so earn some coins for myself?”

“What sorts of creams and lotions?”

“To smooth and perfume skin, to cleanse the body and lighten the hair – that sort of thing.”

Sybil snorted. “You won’t find much of a market here. I’ll warrant that most of our customers will be men.”

“And I also have medicaments to heal wounds and ulcers, soothe rashes, alleviate toothache, calm anxiety and aid sleep. There’s also a noxious potion to sprinkle on clothes or on floor rushes to keep away moths and fleas and other biting insects.”

“Where did you learn to make such things?”

“My mother was a
wortwyf
, a herb-wife and healer. And I also learned much from Sister Anne at Wiltune Abbey.”

Sybil looked impressed. Taking her silence as permission, Janna hastily unpacked her box and began to display small pots and phials of liquid. But Sybil hadn’t finished with her yet.

“You’re not to take trade away from the tavern,” she warned. “I expect you to take care of the customers’ thirst before you start peddling your own wares.”

“Oh, I will. Of course I will,” Janna promised, hiding a smile of triumph that her plan could be put into practice with Sybil’s blessing.

“And you can give me a pot of your cream as a trial, just so that I’ll know you’re not selling rubbish to customers who’ll come here in good faith.”

Now Janna couldn’t prevent the grin from spreading across her face. “You may have this, and most welcome,” she said sweetly, proffering a small pot of her most precious cream. It was scented with roses, and although she didn’t think she should mention it to Sybil, her mother had always told customers that it was guaranteed to drive any man wild with desire!

Sybil opened the pot, took a sniff, then dabbed a small blob onto her hand and rubbed it into her skin. She held her hand up to her nose and sniffed again, then pocketed the cream. “Next time I’ll pay you for a pot,” she promised, and with a smile, she left Janna alone to take care of business.

*

Time went quickly, for Janna was kept busy as the day heated up and people became conscious of their dry and scratchy throats. She was sorry she didn’t have food to serve to them, and made a mental note to suggest to Sybil that Elfric bake some pies to bring up to the booth. A mug of ale and a slice of pie would double the stall’s attraction when fairgoers expressed hunger as well as thirst. To her joy, her medicaments proved popular. The fact that customers stood around while they drank their ale meant that Janna had a captive audience for her creams and potions, and her voice was soon hoarse from describing their benefits.

Once she looked up and thought she recognized Mus. Her heart dived into her boots; she steeled herself for the coming encounter. But when she looked again, the figure had vanished. Janna was left wondering if it was only her own fearful imagination that had conjured up the assassin. Nevertheless, it was a reminder to be careful. She was vulnerable, she knew, for the stall was open on all sides. While she faced customers at the front, ready to serve them, anyone could sneak up on her from behind and take her unawares. Mus had tried it before, and there was no reason to believe he’d not try it again. But surely not in front of crowds at a fair? Janna took some reassurance from the thought.

In the event, when an unwelcome customer did come her way there was nothing Janna could do to avoid him.

“Father!” The word was out before she could bite down to prevent it.

He looked at her and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry to find you here, still plying your trade,” he said, looking thoroughly displeased with her and with the world. “My wife was determined to attend the fair, to see and sample its delights, and so I am here to escort her. But I want your promise that if she – if we – come here to your stall, you will not say a word to alert her as to your true identity.”

“If you don’t want me to say anything to her, don’t bring her to my stall!” Janna cried, feeling outraged and deeply hurt at the same time.

“I won’t if I can help it,” he said, firing up with an anger to match. “But if she insists on stopping here, then you know what you must do.”

Too angry to speak, Janna turned from him to pour a mug of ale for a merchant and his wife.

“And what is this?” the woman said, holding up a small phial for Janna’s inspection.

“’Tis a rinse for your hair, mistress,” said Janna. She shot a quick glance at her father. “My mother taught me how to make it up. There’s lemon and other herbs in it to cleanse your hair, to give it brightness and freshness.”

“I’ll take one.” The merchant’s wife looked mighty pleased with her purchase as she nudged her husband to open his purse. “And what’s this?” She picked up a small pot.

Janna glanced at the rash on the merchant’s cheek, small spots which he’d scratched so that they were red and angry, and full of pus. “’Tis a medicament to cleanse, soothe, and medicate afflictions of the skin,” she said softly, transferring her attention to the merchant’s wife.

“I’ll take it,” said the good wife, and gave her husband another sharp nudge.

“Do you serve ale too, or is it only here for show?” he asked sourly, obviously resenting his wife’s extravagance.

Janna grinned at him. “We serve the best ale in town,” she said proudly. Feeling generous after her successful transaction, she poured a mug for her father as well, but when she reached out to put it in front of him, she realized that he had gone.

Her next customer was more than welcome. “Ulf!” she cried. “Hello, Brutus.” The huge dog wagged his feathery tail in greeting and licked his lips. Taking the hint, Janna poured some ale into a dish and set it in front of the dog, then pushed the unwanted mug of ale in front of the relic seller. “How’s business?” she queried.

He shook his head in mild reproof. “I don’t do business,” he reminded her. “I only accept donations.”

“Are many coming your way?”

Ulf grinned at her. “Quite a few.” His smile faded as he continued. “Was that your father I saw with you?”

Janna nodded unhappily. “He’s warned me to say nothing of my true identity if his wife comes to my booth. I hate him, Ulf. I wish I’d never met him!”

Ulf pursed his lips in a silent whistle as he thought about it. “Well, I can see that he’s hurt your feelings, lass, but I can’t say I blame him,” he said eventually. And then, as Janna opened her mouth to protest, he continued, “Look at it from his point of view. He’s already had to confess his disgrace to his wife, and – ”

“Disgrace? He
married
my mother! He honored her, he did the right thing.”

“That’s probably not how his lady wife sees it. From her point of view, he broke their betrothal to marry a nobody, and now he’s going to claim a nobody as his legal heir. Not only that, but she’s just found out that her marriage was bigamous and her children are bastards. How would you feel about it, in her situation?” Not giving Janna time to respond, he continued, “If you were your father, wouldn’t you want your daughter to make the best possible impression on a hostile wife?”

Janna was silent as she sifted Ulf’s words and reluctantly acknowledged their truth. It was easy to see things from her own perspective, but she had to admit that what Ulf said also made sense. Perhaps she should do as her father asked, should the situation arise. Perhaps she should tread more cautiously around him in future, at least until she could carry out her plan to reintroduce herself to him and his family at a time of her choosing. She closed her eyes, fighting the anger her father’s words had aroused in her. But there was something else at stake here, she reminded herself. Something much more important than her own wounded pride. If she wanted to avenge her mother’s death and bring the culprit to justice, she would need her father’s help. Better, then, to go along with what he had asked, to play the dutiful daughter in the hope and expectation that, when things were better between them, he would agree to what she asked of him.

But it was not time for that, not yet. The troubles at the alehouse were over, she felt sure of it, but she wouldn’t make a move until Hugh’s marriage after the fair. That would be the time to introduce herself to her father, and to his wife and family, and also to Hugh and Eleanor. That would be the time to meet them all on her own terms, and if things went as she hoped, she would get her own way with everything.

“You’re right,” she said, the admission as bitter as wormwood in her mouth. “But what will I do if they expect me to serve them?”

“Serve them as you would any other customer, with civility – unless your father indicates otherwise.”

Janna bent down and gave Brutus’s head a rub. “You have a very wise master,” she told him.

“And a right thirsty one. I’ll have another ale.” Ulf produced a token. “And this time, I’ll pay for it,” he said firmly.

“Johanna!” Hugh’s voice was as unwelcome as a crack of thunder on a sunny day. Reluctantly, Janna turned to face him.

“My lord,” she said softly, and glanced at the woman standing beside Hugh. Her first impression was of a plump little figure wearing a silky soft dress of green. A thin gauzy veil covered her hair, which was dark and worn loose about her shoulders. The veil was secured by a jeweled band, which spoke of her father’s wealth and her own social standing. Janna felt immediately awkward, and when she noticed Eleanor’s white hands and soft skin, she quickly thrust her own chapped red hands behind her back. All the while she was conscious of Eleanor’s close scrutiny, and knew that her action had been seen and understood.

“This is…er…this is Eleanor.”

“Mistress.” Janna lowered her gaze and bobbed a curtsy.

“And who are you?” Eleanor’s voice was low and musical. Janna straightened to face her, noticing that while Eleanor was no beauty, her features were regular and her eyes quite striking, a deep greenish blue framed by lustrous dark lashes. But their glance was sharp and penetrating, and her mouth had thinned to a disapproving line as she waited for an answer.

“My name is Janna. Johanna, mistress,” Janna said.

“And how do you come to be acquainted with my betrothed?” The scorn in her voice was unmistakable.

“I’ve…er…known Johanna for a long time. She was…that is…”

Janna realized that she would have to interrupt Hugh before Eleanor thought the worst of their relationship. “I was a laborer on my lord’s manor farm before I came to Winchestre, mistress,” she said, trying to hide her annoyance. “My mother taught me something of the art of healing, and I learned more from the infirmarian at Wiltune Abbey. After Sire Hugh was wounded at the Wiltune fair I helped to look after him while he recuperated at the abbey. And that’s all,” she added, answering Eleanor’s unspoken accusation.

Eleanor nodded, but took Hugh’s arm in a gesture of ownership that Janna noted with sour disapproval.

“May I serve you some ale?” she asked. Hugh nodded, but Eleanor pointed ahead to the stalls where the glovers displayed their wares. “I’d like to choose a new pair of gloves first,” she said firmly, and dragged him away.

Janna watched them go. She felt a little sorry for Hugh, but thought that perhaps Eleanor might relax, be less possessive, once they were wed and she had him safely in her bed. From Hugh her thoughts moved on to Godric, and she gave herself a mental kick at an opportunity lost to hear news of him. Regret, sharp as a dagger, pierced her heart at the thought that he and Cecily might now be wed.

“Have I seen that man somewhere before, Janna? Who is he?” Ulf’s voice dragged her back to the present.

“He’s just someone I once knew.” It seemed sad to think of Hugh in those terms, and yet Janna realized that her words were true. Whatever happened to her in the future, however her circumstances might change, she knew that Eleanor would make sure to keep Hugh away from her. But, whether Eleanor liked it or not, there’d be one more meeting between them all. Not for anything would she let her appearance today be Hugh’s or his betrothed’s lasting impression of her. Janna gave a wry smile as she recalled her plan, but she hugged the secret of it to herself. She was determined now to see it through, but she wouldn’t tell Ulf, just in case he tried to talk her out of it. She wouldn’t tell anyone.

*

The day wore on without further mishap. To Janna’s relief, her father kept well away, as did Mus – if he was at the fair at all. By evening, she’d sold all of her potions and medicaments except for a phial of the bitter liquid she’d brewed to deter insects. Most fairgoers knew to pick tansy or fleabane out in the wild and were reluctant to spend good money on what they could find for free.