He stared at her as if she had just recited the secret of life. “Christ, how do you remember this?”
She laughed softly. “I was born into it, my Alec. I should hope I would remember something.”
Marveling at her knowledge, he gestured toward the great copper vats that were presently steaming with their contents. “Tell me something of the process. That is, if you feel you can trust me with the secret.”
“The recipes are the secret, Alec, not the process,” she responded to his droll comment. “Actually, the process is simple; the ingredients are mashed with water and cooked in thecopper tubs you see. Then the mixture is cooled for at least a day and a night before cakes of yeast are added. In three days’ time, the mixture ferments enough so that a head rises, and the head is skimmed away. Then, it is casked and stored for up to three weeks, depending on the strength of the ale.”
“Amazing,” he muttered, glancing about the bricked interior of the brewery. “I am married to a genius.”
“Hardly. I did not invent the process.”
“Nay, but you certain know your business. No wonder St. Cloven ale is the very best.”
Feeling rosy with his adoration, she looked away shyly. With a faint smile, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, laughing softly when her blush deepened. “I know something of the ale process, too.”
She looked to him. “You do? What?”
He looked rather pleased with himself. “I know that two hogshead equals one butt, and that four barrels equal one hundred and eight imperial gallons.”
She shook her head slowly. “Really, Alec. Any drinking fool knows that.”
He feigned injury. “I cannot help what I am. Certainly, I am not as intelligent as you. Pray be kind to me, madam, and my simple, drinking fool’s mind.”
She giggled, turning her attention back to the business at hand. “Are you going to help me determine the readiness of the pale ale?”
“Absolutely. In fact, ’twill be a duty I shall excel at.”
They passed into the fermenting room and were immediately met by John Todd. The master brewer grinned broadly at Peyton, bowing purely out of habit. His eyes were warm upon his lady.
“My lady, how good to see you,” he said sincerely.
“Thank you, John,” she eyed Alec. “I understand you have met the new lord of St. Cloven?”
“Aye, we have met,” John bowed to Alec, and Alec swore he’d never seen anyone bow so often in his whole life. The man was permanently bent at the waist. “A pleasure to see you again, my lord.”
Alec nodded silently as Peyton delved into the subject at hand. “Last week’s lot of pale ale should be ready for sale. I am worried that it has been aged over-long.”
John led Peyton and Alec to an armored side door and they exited into the bright sunshine. “I do not believe so, my lady. After all, it has only been a week exactly.”
“It was a week exactly last night. If the liquor takes on too much of the wood, it will be ruined.”
“But it was casked in beechwood, which should discourage the added flavor,” John said pointedly as they approached the massive storage barn.
Peyton’s hair glistened like a raging fire under the brilliant sun, flickering wildly when she shrugged. “We shall see.”
Alec listened in complete silence, vowing to learn all he could so that he would not be entirely ignorant when his wife brought up the subject of ale-making. After all, St. Cloven was his now, and as lord he should know something about the process.
The ale was ready. Almost over-ready, Peyton thought, but she ordered it distributed and sold. John Todd whipped the storehouse servants into an efficient frenzy and the casks of pale ale were lowered onto their sides and the seals broken. Alec watched intently as the liquid was delegated into various measurements for sale, all flasks and barrels emblazoned with the St. Cloven crest.
Alec studied the crest, considering minor changes to add his own House to the seal. Now that St. Cloven belonged to a Summerlin, it was only correct that the House be added tothe emblem. A very minor change, to be sure, because the seal of St. Cloven was one of the most recognizable in England. If consumers were to make note of a major change, they might think the contents changed as well, and Alec would not risk the reputation of the liquor in such a fashion.
Great wagons were brought about for the transfer of the ale, men as well organized as any army as they began to load the product. Alec stood silently, studying every aspect of every job, watching the careful storage of the ale aboard the wagons and observing the rig drivers as they roped the barrels and packed straw around them to prevent damaging the goods.
The brewery steward who kept records of customers and payment brought Peyton a long list of taverns and private parties who were waiting for their shipment of pale ale. Peyton passed a glance at her husband when she saw Blackstone heading the list, but he did not catch her glance. Approving the tally, she moved to her husband as he watched the organized commotion.
Alec was enthralled with what was going on before him, furthermore involved when great barrels of newly-cooled hearty ale were brought in from the brewery and organized in to a specific corner of the storehouse. He watched curiously as the brewery steward’s assistant scratched the date and time on one of the barrels. There was so much happening that it was difficult to keep track, but his sharp mind absorbed the chaos like a sponge. All of this was his.
It took him nearly an hour to realize Peyton was waiting for him to complete his observations. Enthralled as he was at the entire process, he’d lost track of time. When he became aware of her patient presence, he smiled sheepishly.
