Strangers' Hall

Book 0: Colchester Sagas

by Elizabeth Jeffrey

Genres: Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

After fleeing her divided Dutch homeland, Jannekyn van der Hest comes to Colchester, Essex, looking to make a new life for herself. Though she seeks comfort and community, she finds herself at the mercy of her cruel uncle, who condemns her to a demeaning life as a kitchen maid.

As she struggles to regain her independence and make a life for herself in the cloth trade, Jannekyn will need all the courage and resourcefulness she possesses - especially when she falls in love with an Englishman, whose arrival turns Jannekyn's world upside down.

Will this burgeoning romance reverse Jannekyn's fortunes, or will she never quite be able to escape her past?

Release date: October 4, 2018

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 304

Sample

I

Shivering in the first light of a bitterly cold morning in the second month of the year 1591 Jannekyn clutched her bundle of possessions and shrank back against the bales of raw wool piled on the quayside. At least here was a little shelter from the biting east wind and the rain that was rapidly turning to snow. She glanced round anxiously. Her uncle had promised that she would be met when she reached England but she could see no sign of anyone looking for her in the crowds that jostled among the ropes, the fishing nets, the oyster barrels, the waggonloads of sea coal and the bundles of raw wool that were being loaded and unloaded from the hoys tied up at the wooden jetty.

A pale, thin, bedraggled figure, wet and dirt-spattered from the voyage, she pulled her cloak closer, wishing it had been lined with some of the fleece against which she was sheltering instead of with perpetuana. Long-lasting and serviceable though the heavy, blanket-like cloth was, it did tend to let the wind through. But even as the thought struck her she was overwhelmed with guilt and homesickness, because the cloak had belonged to her mother.

Jannekyn rubbed her cheek against it, remembering how she had protested when her mother gave it to her. ‘But, Moeder, it is your good cloak. What will you wear if I take it?’

Her mother had kissed her. ‘I have my shawl. I shall manage. I want you to have it, liefje. It will warm you as you cross the German Sea.’ She had smiled at Jannekyn. ‘You must look respectable when you meet Oom Jacob. He is a rich man, remember. And don’t forget to give Tante Katherine my love and tell her I am well.’ At the thought of her lifelong friend she had wiped away a tear. ‘Even after all these years I still miss her.’ She had kissed Jannekyn again. ‘I shall miss you, too, liefje, but I’m thankful you have this opportunity to go to England. You will have a better life there.’

Jannekyn choked back the tears that threatened. The snow was beginning to fall faster now, drifting into the tracks made by the waggons as they rumbled about the quay, and powdering the heaps of merchandise stacked by the jetty. Soaked and dirty from a miserable passage on a crowded boat where the passengers took second place to the cargo of herrings, she was chilled to the bone, but nobody spared her a second glance as she waited. They were all intent on getting their business finished so that they could escape into the warmth of the ale-house nearby. A knot of fear in her stomach was beginning to twist itself into panic. Supposing her uncle didn’t come  … supposing he had forgotten …

‘Jannekyn van der Hest? Are you Jannekyn van der Hest?’ a man’s voice asked, speaking in her native tongue.

She spun round, relief flooding through her. ‘Oh, yes. Are you my … ?’ Her voice trailed away. The man standing before her didn’t at all have the appearance of a rich clothier.

‘Me? Bless you, no. I’m not your uncle. But don’t you fret, juffrouw, Jacob van der Hest’ll be waiting for you at New Hythe.
He asked me to see you the rest of the way up river since the Lady Jane draws too much water to go any further than this. You came over on her from Antwerp, didn’t you?’ He nodded towards the large, square-rigged ketch that was disgorging her cargo of herrings on to the quay.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Jannekyn studied this man who seemed to know all about her. He was about forty-five, stocky, with a frizz of grey hair edging a shiny bald head, and a thick bushy beard. His leather breeches and jerkin had both seen better days and as he clamped a battered hat on his head she noticed with a shudder that all that were left of fingers and thumbs on both hands were ten uneven stumps.

‘There’s my boat.’ He waved a maimed hand in the direction of a hoy called Anne tied to the jetty, just taking aboard the last bales of raw wool. ‘Come on, m’dear, move yourself. If we can catch what’s left of the tide I’ll have you at your uncle’s side in less than an hour.’

Jannekyn looked at him suspiciously, making no attempt to move.

He grinned, opening his whiskers to a red cavern lined with two rows of broken teeth. ‘Don’t trust me? Well, I can’t blame you for that, I s’pose. But I’ll tell you here and now you’ll be safer with me than hanging about here all on your own. If you stay here for too long what you’ll lose to cutpurses and pickpockets will be the least of your losses. A comely little rose like you is just right for the plucking? He picked up her bundle and walked across to the jetty. ‘Well, what’re you waiting for?’ Seeing her still hesitate he added, ‘Dammit, girl, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve got a wife back home in Grub Street who takes all I’ve got to offer, I don’t have to look for it. Anyway, you’re Jacob van der Hest’s niece and Jacob van der Hest was good to me when I first came to Colchester. You’ve naught to fear From Henrick de Groot, child, nor from my crew. I’ll vouch for them.’

Even while he was speaking a disreputable creature, reeking of spirits even at this early hour, came up to Jannekyn with a suggestion that was unmistakable in its meaning even though the words he used were not in the English vocabulary Minister Grenrice had taught her. Shrugging herself free of his clawing hands she hurried after Henrick de Groot.

The Anne’s cargo had its own distinctive odour but it was not nearly so bad as the stench of herrings that had accompanied her on the voyage over from the Netherlands. Even now she couldn’t think of that journey, which she had spent for the most part retching over the side of the boat in time to its pitching and rolling, without her poor stomach beginning to heave again.

Henrick de Groot had settled her on a heap of sacks in the bow and once the boat was under way he came and sat beside her.

‘Where are you from, then, juffrouw?’ he asked, keeping a sharp eye on his crew as they piloted the boat skilfully between the mudbanks towards the ancient town of Colchester.

‘A village not far from Ypres,’ Jannekyn answered. ‘I didn’t want to leave but my father was anxious that I should come to England.’

Henrick nodded soberly. ‘Aye, there’ll be more bloodshed before this business with Spain is finished. Your father was wise to want to get you away.’ He looked at what was left of his hands. ‘It was Alva’s men that did this to me, but that was twenty years and more ago, long enough before ever you were born. How old are you? Seventeen?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘Too young to remember what went on.’

‘My father has told me a little about it,’ Jannekyn said in a low voice. ‘He remembers.’

‘He was one who stayed, then. He didn’t join the great escape to England.’

‘No. He tried to but something went wrong and he was caught and flung into prison.’ She shook her head. ‘What he went through there broke his health, but he swears that he was one of the lucky ones. At least he got out with his life.’

Henrick de Groot nodded. ‘He’s right. I feel the same. I may have lost my fingers but that’s nothing to what I’ve seen. I’ve watched men burned alive, turning on a spit like a slow-roasting pig.’ He spat disgustedly into the murky water of the river, narrowly missing the bloated body of a dead cat floating by. ‘Bah, and what was it all for? It’ll all come to the same thing in the end. Papists, Calvinists, they’ll all die and get shoved into a hole in the ground, so what’s the point of fighting over it?’

Jannekyn looked up at him, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. ‘You must have thought it worthwhile once, to have suffered as you did.’ She pointed to his hands.

He shrugged. ‘I was young then, and full of ideals.’ He gazed at her for several minutes. ‘You’re young to have made the crossing alone,’ he remarked, changing the subject.

‘I came over with a family bound for Norwich,’ she said. ‘At least, I was supposed to be with them, but they all stayed below decks and I couldn’t bear it down there.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘It was bad enough on deck, but I think I’d have died down there.’

‘Seasick, were you?’

She nodded.

‘Feel better now?’

She nodded again. ‘It helped a lot getting away from the smell of the herrings. I was just unlucky that a herring boat was the only one my father could arrange a passage on.’

Henrick de Groot drew a leather bottle from inside his jerkin and gave it to her. ‘Here, this’ll help to warm you. I can see you’re wet through.’

She took a draught of the fiery liquid and choked. It tasted vile. But soon its warmth spread through her and she raised the bottle to her lips again.

‘That’s enough.’ He snatched it away. ‘I don’t want to hand you over to your uncle the worse for drink – even if it is the best French brandy.’ He tapped the side of his nose, a conspiratorial gesture that was lost on Jannekyn, ignorant as she was of the ways of the east coast smugglers.

He left her then and made his way nimbly aft, where, using his teeth and feet to assist his maimed hands, he hauled expertly on the sheets to get a better set to the sail.

Jannekyn surveyed the English countryside. With a powdering of snow over the low fields and woods sloping gently away from the river valley it looked grey and bleak, matching her mood. She looked back at the village they had just left; it was little more than a huddle of houses round the waterfront, the square tower of the church a landmark in their midst. Then, as the
Anne rounded a bend in the river she saw the wide sprawl of roofs that was Colchester. This was the place her father had seen as his Canaan; a land, if not flowing with milk and honey, at least where those who worked might prosper. A land he had finally recognized he would never see.

So he had sent his only daughter instead.

Jannekyn stood up in the bow of the boat, anxious to get a better view of the place that would henceforth be her home. The town was built on a hill, with untidy rows of houses spilling crookedly down the sides, church spires and windmills set at random among them like sentinel giants. She felt no excitement at the sight of it, but rather a feeling of foreboding, a feeling that had persisted despite her father’s repeated assurance of the welcome she would find in his brother’s house. ‘How could it be otherwise?’ he had said. ‘Your uncle is my brother and his wife was your mother’s lifelong friend. Of course they will welcome you.’

As the Anne approached the quayside at New Hythe she smoothed her hair and straightened the creases out of her cloak, remembering her father’s words and telling herself that it was only a combination of tiredness and seasickness that was making her feel so apprehensive. She took a deep breath and stepped on to Colchester soil determined to accept whatever challenges her new life had to offer with faith and courage.

She was soon to need both.

If she had thought the waterfront at Wyvenhoe busy the harbour at Colchester was a frenzy of activity. The quayside was crammed with goods coming in and goods going out; the wooden warehouses lining the quay were piled with bales of cloth waiting to be shipped abroad, each bearing the highly prized Colchester seal of quality. Raw wool was being loaded on to waggons, well-dressed merchants were haggling with shipmasters and each other over prices among the casks of wine, vats of oil, sacks of barley, the hops and malt for brewing, and the woad, madder, alum and fuller’s earth for the cloth industry. It was all there, waiting to be loaded, waiting to be taken away – sacks being carried on strong shoulders on and off ships, vats and barrels being rolled. To Jannekyn it was all a bewildering jumble, with an all-pervading smell of tarred rope mingled with raw wool, fish and the stink of woad.

‘Here we are, child, this is the end of your journey,’ Henrick de Groot said, deftly throwing a mooring rope over a bollard on the quay. ‘Follow me and I’ll take you to your uncle. He’s over there, by that warehouse, look.’

Jannekyn looked. There was a group of about six men, dressed all in black, with high-crowned copotain hats, talking together. Any one of them could have been the uncle she had never seen. With them, yet a little apart, stood a hawklike man, watching the commercial transactions with a shrewd and calculating eye that missed nothing.

As soon as he saw Henrick approaching this man broke away from the group and hurried over.

‘Is this the girl?’ he asked briefly.

‘Aye, this is the little lady.’ Henrick gave Jannekyn a comforting wink as he answered.

Jacob van der Hest looked her up and down, seeing a tall, too-thin, fair-haired girl returning his gaze apprehensively from wide, violet-blue eyes. ‘So you are my brother’s only child,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘You look pale and sickly. I hope you are not going to be an encumbrance.’

‘I’m a little tired, that’s all.’ She spoke falteringly. This was not at all the kind of welcome her father had led her to expect.

‘She had a bad crossing, Jacob. Don’t be too hard on her,’ Henrick said cheerfully. ‘She’ll be a bonny wench when she’s rested.’

‘Hmph. Not too bonny, I hope. Girls that are too comely are a constant source of anxiety.’ His voice was cynical. ‘My carriage is over there. Wait in it for me.’ He turned away and went back to his business, dismissing her from his presence and his thoughts.

Henrick grinned at her. ‘This way, child. And take no notice of your uncle. He means well enough.’

She bit her lip, close to tears, and followed Henrick to the waiting carriage. He opened the door for her and settled her inside with her bundle. ‘You’ll be safe enough waiting here,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Mynheer, you’ve been very kind,’ she said, with a break in her voice. After her first reluctance to go with him she was sorry to say goodbye to the rough and ready sailor. He represented kindness – the only kindness she had received since embarking on the Lady Jane and, did she but know it, the only kindness she was to receive for some time to come.

He waved her remark aside. ‘Think nothing of it.’ He turned to leave her, then came back. ‘Grub Street is where I live, second house from the end. Ask anyone for Betkin, that’s my wife; they’ll know who you want. She’s a good girl, she’ll always make you welcome. If ever you’re in any kind of trouble … ’ He broke off and patted her arm with a grotesquely maimed hand. ‘Anyway, good luck, my child.’

Jannekyn gave him a wintry smile and watched him go. As he passed her uncle, Jacob van der Hest stepped forward and spoke to him urgently, nodding now and then in her direction. Henrick listened, frowning, and once he glanced back at the carriage where she waked. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went on his way.

Jannekyn couldn’t help wondering what they had spoken about, it had obviously been something concerning her. No doubt her uncle would tell her when he arrived. She settled down to wait for him.

II

It was a full hour before he came, shaking the snow from his black fur-lined cloak as he flung himself into the carriage, muttering about harbour dues and taxes, rogues and charlatans. He offered no word of explanation or apology at having kept her waiting for so long. In fact the carriage had rumbled nearly half a mile up the hill over bone-shaking cobbles before he put down the ledger he had been pretending to study and spoke to her.

‘Your father is dying.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

Jannekyn looked at him in surprise. His face showed no emotion at all. ‘I fear you are right,’ she answered.

‘Of course I am right. Why else would he have written to me about you?’ He picked at his teeth for a few moments. ‘And your mother?’

‘Reasonably well, thank you.’

‘They had no wish to come with you to England?’ Now he was watching her closely. ‘Later, perhaps? When you are settled?’

‘Oh, no. That’s not possible. My father could never stand the journey. His lungs, you understand. His years of imprisonment broke his health. It’s a miracle he still lives. Anyway, they have no money and little prospect of earning enough for the journey.’ She bit her lip. ‘I should not have been able to come if it had not been for your generosity, Oom Jacob.’

Her uncle eyed her coldly. ‘Generosity? What do you mean, generosity?’

She flushed with embarrassment. ‘You paid my passage. It was generous of you. And my father told me … that is, I’ve very little money of my own  … ’ She stopped, not knowing how to go on under the cold stare of this strange man who was her uncle, yet was so unlike her gentle, sickly father. She tried to remember what had been in the reply to her father’s letter to his brother. ‘ … I will pay her passage over to England and will give her food and lodging. Her skills will be much appreciated by my dear wife … ’ Her father had been so happy when he read that out to her.

‘There, child, I told you my brother would not refuse me,’ he had said, relieved at being proved right, for neither Jannekyn nor her mother had wanted him to write and ask for any kind of charity from his wealthy younger brother. But he had been adamant. For why else would a Predikant, a Minister just returned from England, who chanced to pass through their village, let fall the news – again by chance –that Jacob van der Hest, who had years ago been given up for dead, was alive and well and living in the town of Colchester, a rich man? And why else would Nicholaes Bloemaert from along the road know a man who knew another man who’d heard of another Predikant who would soon be going to England and perhaps even passing through the town of Colchester and so could deliver a letter to Jacob, if it was not meant that Jannekyn should go to her uncle?

‘Jacob will care for you. He’ll see that you have the opportunity to marry well, liefje,’ her father had said, determination giving him strength. ‘You are nearly eighteen, Jannekyn. Your moeder and I worry about you each time you leave the house … the soldiers … the danger all the time … ’ He had broken off with a fit of dreadful coughing. ‘You are a clever girl … I shall tell your uncle … He will be glad to have you … ’

And so he had written, and three months later, when even he had given up hope of a reply, Jacob had answered, briefly, but sending enough money for her passage over. Now she was in England, but more to gratify the dying wish of her father than out of any real desire on her own part.

Her uncle regarded her without speaking for some time and she hugged her meagre bundle of possessions to her, trying to draw some comfort from its familiarity. She realized with misgiving that even in her mother’s best cloak she looked filthy and shabby in the eyes of the man beside her.

At last he said, ‘I see that I did not make myself clear when I wrote to your father.’

‘What do you mean?’ The knot of fear that had accompanied her across the sea began to ravel itself anew at his words. ‘You paid my passage over, and you said you would give me food and lodging, didn’t you?’

He inclined his head. ‘I did. And it is true. My wife has given birth to a son within the last month. He is our third child and was somewhat unexpected; we had thought my wife past the age of childbearing. She ailed throughout and ails still. She will be glad of your help in return for your keep.’

Jannekyn relaxed and the knot of fear untied itself again. ‘Of course, Oom Jacob, I shall be happy to help in anyway I can.’ It would be a small price to pay for a comfortable home with a family.

He inclined his head again. ‘Good. I’m glad you understand the position. I would not like you to be under any misapprehension as to my motive for bringing you here to England. Even your rather stupid, idealistic father would not have expected me to lay out money on an expensive sea passage without any prospect of gain. But as long as you understand that you are here as my servant … ’

‘Servant?’ She sat up straight. That was not at all how she had seen herself.

‘Of course. What else?’ He turned a haughty gaze on her which reduced her to the level of an object that even scavenging dogs would disdain. ‘Now, let me see your papers.’ He held out his hand.

‘Papers?’ she said blankly,

‘Yes. Papers. No Alien is allowed into Colchester without the written consent of the bailiffs.’

She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Ha! I thought not.’ He glared at her. ‘It is well that you have come to me because I can speak for you and say that I am sheltering you under my roof. Only that way, if I make myself responsible for you, will you be safe. The English have lately decided that there are too many Strangers – that’s what they call us – in the town, and have prohibited any more from coming in.’

‘So what would happen if you didn’t speak for me?’

‘You would be turned out of the town to starve, or thrown into the castle dungeons until you could be sent back from whence you came.’

Jannekyn digested this. The thought of a journey back across the German Sea, even if her parents were at the other end, terrified her. But they wouldn’t be there to meet her, she would have to find her way back to them as best she might. And with no money – and soldiers everywhere … She swallowed hard. How fortunate she was that Oom Jacob knew about these things. He would see that she was safe. And it would be better to be treated as a servant in his house than to be thrown out of the town.

‘I shall be happy to do whatever you say, Oom Jacob,’ she said, eagerly anxious to please.

‘Good. Because I warn you, if you don’t do my bidding I shall have no hesitation in reporting you to the authorities.’ Jacob leaned forward threateningly. ‘I brook no disobedience in my house. You are in my charge now and you will do exactly as I say or you know what will happen. Do I make myself quite plain?’

‘Yes, Oom Jacob.’

She looked at her hands. They were soft and white. Her mother had kept her from the menial tasks, saying that no man would look twice at a girl with rough, work-worn hands. But no doubt a man as rich as her uncle would have several servants and she would only be required to help with the baby. She would enjoy that. Once more her spirits lifted.

The carriage rumbled on over the cobbles. Jannekyn felt a stab of pity for the beggars in their rags, waiting for alms outside the great gateway of the Abbey of St John, although she noticed that her uncle didn’t so much as spare them a glance. On they went, through streets lined with huddles of houses, white-roofed with snow. A few people, their pattens clicking on the paving stones, hurried about their business, anxious to get out of the bitter weather. In the distance, the huge bulk of the castle that had been built by the Normans raised its four towers to the leaden skies and it was towards this that they went, the carriage finally coming to a halt outside a large house, clearly not long built, standing just inside the east gate of the town.

Jacob van der Hest alighted and left his niece to follow as best she might.

They entered the house through a massive oak door and Jannekyn found herself in a large flagged area from which an impressive staircase rose. There was a passage off to the right with three doors in it but her uncle pushed open the only door to the left. This opened into a great hall where the family ate and entertained. Jannekyn followed him, eyes wide with wonder. Until this moment she hadn’t realized just how rich her uncle was.

‘We have but lately moved into this house.’ Her uncle tried to sound matter of fact but was unable to keep the note of pride from his voice. He waved his hand towards the great hearth, where a huge fire of sea coal burned. ‘My wife finds her new chimneys a great boon in the burning of sea coal.’

‘It’s a beautiful house, Oom Jacob,’ Jannekyn said warmly. ‘I’m sure I shall be very happy here.’

Jacob spun round to face her. ‘Happy? You’ve not been brought here at my expense to be happy, girl!’ he said. ‘You’ve been brought here to work!’

The vehemence in his tone was like a blow and she stepped back as if he’d struck her. ‘I’m sorry, Oom Jacob.’

He stared her up and down for a moment. ‘And I would prefer you to address me as Meester whilst you are here. And my wife as Mevrouw.’

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

‘It is the custom here,’ he told her briefly.

‘Oh, I see  – Meester.’ It seemed rather strange to her but, she reminded herself, this was England, not Flanders. She must expect things to be different.

‘And take your shoes off.’

‘My shoes?’ She looked down at her feet. She was wearing the only pair of shoes she possessed, of rather shabby leather, holed in several places, but over them a pair of stout wooden clogs, or pattens as they were known, which raised the feet to keep them dry. Obediently she slipped her feet out of the clogs.

‘And the shoes,’ Jacob said impatiently.

‘But … ’

‘Do as you’re told, girl.’ He held his hand out for them. ‘Juist. Good.’ He nodded as she handed them over, and flung them into a corner. ‘The kitchen is at the end of the . . .