This all still rankled him and Ned stopped in the midst of the street causing a following carter to curse him as an imbecile and to tell him in no uncertain terms to get out of way. Jumping aside he shifted towards the corner of St Mildred’s and Bread Streets and lent against the wall, under a projecting eave deep in thought. Ned had seen many tricks and cony plays before, loaded dice, shaved dice, marked cards, and he’d gained a canny knowledge of what cony traps were favoured and where. But it had taken months of watching and even so you still missed many gambits such as Earless Nick’s tricks with his five iron rings and lodestone dice. What a canny use of modern natural philosophy! If he hadn’t spoken to Rob last week and if their chat hadn’t veered towards the strange properties of iron on a pilot’s compass, Ned would have been lost. But that wasn’t all. One had to have the knowledge of where to go to employ these advantages. Ned had been in London on and off for a few years and he still occasionally got lost. For instance Earless Nick’s lair. Without Gruesome Roger’s reluctant admission, it would have remained hidden. So how did young Walter unerringly head for these secret haunts? His daemon suggested that was a secret to pry out later. In the meantime other more expensive matters held sway.
However the events of last night still held his thoughts in thrall, such as the manner of young Walter’s discovery at the Black Goat. According to Roger that room upstairs was packed with unclad girls all cavorting with the innocent lamb. Thus in one blow the tally of Walter’s codsmanship, stood at four or five, or even six. Well thankfully that evidence dismissed his prior suspicion of a prenuptial contract between Meg and Walter, so some good news after all.
Ned was about to head off when he heard a chorus of piteous cries. He stopped for a moment to locate the source and then he remembered where he was. That had to be the inmates of the Bread Street Compter. It was the common ward gaol, where debtors and law breakers were lodged. Those that could, begged through the barred windows. One wheedling voice in the cracked melody however sounded gratingly familiar. Ned’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Perhaps, perhaps Lady Fortuna had favoured him? Cautiously he edged along the wall closer to the gaol. Oh yes he recognised that voice! It was his dear friend and errant charge, Walter. Ned smiled.
He sat at the bench of the small ale house around the corner from the Compter and sipped the thin ale. Not what he was used to, but at least it was drinkable. With the most feral of grins, he studied the letters before him. It had been a simple task to acquire one of the street urchins to act as a messenger and fetcher for young Dellingham. Running errands for prisoners was how they earned their keep. It had been easy to supply paper, quill and ink from his own clerk’s satchel and have the finished correspondence returned to him. Walter had been a very, very busy young lad. For a simple fellow from Shropshire, he knew a fair number of merchants and goldsmiths, and if the requests were anything to go by, the meek and mild reformer had stashed away quite a sum. Seven pounds was not the kind of coin that jingled loose in the purse. His spree had been meticulously planned and the cajoling/blackmailing rescue letter to his ‘long time friend’ Earless Nick revealed more than was prudent to put on paper. Now it was just a matter of Ned taking advantage of this golden opportunity, but first to make a few preparations of his own…
***
Chapter Fourteen: Compter Caught
Ned had put on his best arrogant air as he sat in the Warder’s chamber of the Bread Street Compter. Rob stood behind him playing the role of imposing retainer. His size helped if not his good natured appearance. Tam Bourke would have been perfect for this task. However Ned needed someone who’s usual reaction to a delicate problem wasn’t to thump it until subdued. Anyway even the drunkest of his fellow Christmas revellers respected the ‘protection’ that Tam represented.
After some delay Warder Locksley shuffled into the room and plunked himself into a handy chair, sighing with the effort. Ned gave him a rapid inspection. The official was maybe five foot odd tall, had a portly appearance and short grey beard. His doublet and gown were of a decent quality cloth and cut, while his podgy fingers displayed a love of gold rings and ostentation. At a guess the warder extracted a goodly share of fees and gifts from his charges. Well Ned could work with that.
The Warder huffed a bit, unfolded a small letter and peered at it frowning. “So Master Bedwell, how can I be of service to Councillor Cromwell?”
Ned had found it convenient on more than one occasion to employ the name of his patron for smoother transactions. “My master requests that young Dellingham be released to my custody. It is a matter of concern to the Privy Council that he’s being unlawfully restrained here.”
The Warder puffed out his cheeks and tut–tutted as he pulled out a pile of what looked like writs. “I fear Master Bedwell, his detention at the Compter is entirely legal, as these will show.”
Ned picked them up and gave their contents a quick perusal. He bit his lip. Oh yes, they were undoubtedly legal. Despite the occasional wandering script, each was signed by justice of the peace. The names of the officials however gave him concern. In these dozen sheets you had as fine a selection of venial and corrupt Londoners as you could find. Ned didn’t have the luxury of playing the Courts so this had to be settled quickly and quietly. “I see, Warder Locksley. Hmm, Councillor Cromwell would prefer if this was dealt without fuss.”
Ned removed his leather glove and slipped off a gold ring set with a small amethyst and placed it on the table. Warder Locksley’s eye’s sparkled with interest as he picked up the ring and closely examined it. Ned, in the meantime, kept up his play of arrogant disdain, though inside he was cursing fiercely. That ring had been his one true extravagance with the reward of the Cardinals’ Angels. It hurt to let it go as a bribe for worthless Walter. The ring disappeared inside the Warder’s gown and a rumbling cough announced a resolution. “I understand the Councillor’s concern and it would be my pleasure sort out these, ahh…errors.”
At this concession, Ned returned the slightest nod.
“However I have another difficulty Master Bedwell.” The warder immediately produced yet a further sheaf of papers and began o read through them. “Young Master Dellingham also has a number of debts. This one is for three angels to Nick Throckmore at Tower Royal of St Paul’s yard. Another bill here charges a debt of ten shillings to the taverner of the Red Boar.”
The warder then plunked them in front of Ned. “Then these. Well it’d be quicker to tell you the total – three pounds, two shilling and eight pence. He is also charged with affray by the parish constable whom he assaulted. And of course his debt here so far is five shillings and four pence since he’s been our charge.”
Ned wearily rubbed his face. Walter had been a busy lost lamb. No, his splurge went way past busy, frantic was a better description. Thus Ned’s conviction of being led into an elaborate cony trap hardened into a granite certainty. “That, Warder Locksley, is simply sorted out.” Ned flicked his finger over his shoulder and Rob stepped forward, and opening a leather satchel, spilled out a spray of coins onto the table.
The warder’s eye glowed and he returned a very ingratiating smile. “I can see, Master Bedwell, that you can be very persuasive.”
Ned kept a tight rein on his brewing anger and nodded politely in reply. Walter had better be worth all this damned trouble and expense. Or else.
Ned waited impatiently for the shambling warder to sort through his keys and unlock the last door. Locksley had correctly scented opportunity in the Dellingham lad and put him in private, shared cell rather than one of the larger rooms with the common lawbreakers and debtors. It had been a very well rewarded chance. Ned winced at how much he’d borrowed from his company of Christmas revellers – ruin wasn’t even a step away. The first part of his plan had succeeded. Now it depended on others to fulfil their parts. He’d sent out a flurry of messages all over the city, aimed at the unpredictable Meg Black, imploring her to delay Lady Dellingham’s progress. Rob’s postscript may help but he couldn’t dep
end on it. In the meantime he detailed his friend to keep a watch on the front of the goal. As for Warder Locksley, trust and chance only went so far.
Finally the correct key rattled in the stubborn lock and the door opened with a poorly oiled squeal. Ignoring the grumbling warder, Ned stepped inside. The cell held two occupants, a snoring cloak covered form in the corner and their missing lamb. Walter had been eagerly peering out of the barred open window, no doubt waiting for the return of his messages. At the grating squeal he looked around curiously at his visitor. Ned noticed a flash of expression. Whether it was curiosity, anger or surprise he wasn’t sure, but Walter quickly covered it with his accustomed sheepish mask and cried out. “Ned! Ned, I am so glad you’re here! I’ve prayed ceaselessly for succour from the good Lord and now a miracle!” The lad’s eyes instantly brimmed with tears and he threw himself at Ned, clutching at him like a drowning man.
Playing the concerned friend Ned sympathetically patted him on the shoulder. “Walter, Walter, we’ve been so worried. Where have you been?”
The Dellingham cony sniffed loudly and more tears flowed as he gasped out an explanation. “I’m afraid I must confess to imbibing too much sack the previous night. I fear I’m not used to it. After that…I…I don’t remember what happened. It all seems like a horrible nightmare and in my wanderings, the parish constables mistook me for a felon, and I fear, locked me in here.”
Ned put on his best solicitous lawyer’s face and slowly nodded at the tale. Walter was good. Maybe he should forget the Geneva venture and take up at the Inns of Court. With a play like this he’d have clients by the dozen, though his daemon noticed Walter’s failure to mention his flight at the Fleete Bridge. Evasion was for this lad as easy as breathing.
While Ned was comforting the new found lamb a thumping at the door drew his attention. Rob’s anxious face was on the other side. “Ned, Ned they’re here. Hurry up for god’s sake!”
Enough pandering. Ned grabbed the supposed cony by the doublet and pushed him up against the wall, thrusting his head forward until they were face to face. “Look Walter, I suggest we drop the mummer’s play. I’ve chased you all over London. I know where you’ve been and I know what you’ve done!”
Ned tilted his head in the direction of the gate. “Your mother is here, on the other side of the prison with Councillor Cromwell. I can leave you here to be discovered, or help you. What’s your choice?”
“Ahh…Ahh…Ahh!”
Ned gave the doublet an extra twist, cutting off Walter’s air supply. After the dice affair, the chase, Earless Nick’s game of Thirty One, the brawl and hanging over the manure choked Fleete Ditch, he wasn’t feeling any Christian charity. Even if it was Christmas!
“Arrgh…yes…yes!”
Ned dropped his errant charge, Walter crumpled against the wall gasping for breath.
“What…what can we do?” Walter appeared crushed and defeated by his recent ordeal, but Ned wasn’t so sure. Any fellow, who could dissemble so well before a gossip of lawyers during the several hour long game of Hazard, was as slippery as a greased weasel, and not even half as trustworthy.
For Ned it was time to apply the thumb screws of leverage. “Walter, by my calculation, you should have some forty angels you cozened out of that card play. Where is it?’
Walter’s eyes went all teary and he snivelled out a reply. “I spent it Ned. I’m sorry, it’s all gone! I’m a poor, miserable sinner who seeks forgiveness from the Almighty for my many grievous faults.” A trail of snot and tears ran down Walter’s face, making him look the most forlorn of coneys.
Ned gave a grin that was all teeth and once more thrust his face closer. “Oh no Walter. You can play the meek lamb with Meg Black, but I’m not so easily cony-catched.” Well not more than once, his daemon cautiously added.
“I’ve chased you all over the Liberties of London. For an innocent country lad you have a canny nose for the sites o’ mischief, and I’ve questioned all those you had a run in with, even Earless Nick. Now I know he still wants you which is why he had you cooling your heels here in Bread Street Compter on that false bill.”
Walter continued to whimper pitifully so Ned dropped him and walked for the door. “As you wish. I’ve got signed statements and writs from all your recent ‘friends’ so I wonder what your mother will think when she sees them?”
“Wait…wait Ned. I…I’ve got twenty five angels left!”
“Sorry, was that thirty five angels I heard?”
“Ahh…ahh…yes Ned, it was thirty five, on my oath.”
“Excellent Walter. See, that wasn’t too hard, was it? Now where did you hide it?”
“What? But I’ve pledged my word.”
“This may surprise you Walter, but my well of Christian forgiveness has run dry. Now where is it? Or do I leave you here?”
Walter dragged a dirty sleeve across his snot covered face and stared at Ned in a morose manner. “All right. It’s lodged at Herringwithe on Goldsmith’s Row.”
Ned nodded and gave a satisfied smile. Now, for the first time, that actually had the ring of truth about it. Herringwithe was one of the recipients of the intercepted pleading letters. Before the mood of honesty was lost, Ned whipped out a sheet of paper, along with a bronze quill and small inkhorn from his script, hanging by his sword. “Good. Now Walter, I’d like you to write out a draft for forty five angels, payable to me.”
“What! Why forty five? You said thirty five a moment ago!”
“Yes I did, but that was before you admitted cozening me, Walter. By the way, the longer you delay, the higher goes the fee.”
“This, this is extortion!”
“I doubt it. Look at it more as a fee for service. Anyway don’t whine. I suspect you still cleared some twenty angels according to my reports.”
Walter mumbled as he dipped the pen and hastily scratched away on the unfolded paper. Ned helpfully pointed out a few errors such as when poor Walter had accidentally written twenty five instead of forty five, and then added an addendum of four shillings fee for the bearer.
At the conclusion Ned stood up, thumped on the cell door, and called out through the grill. “Ho, bailiff. My friend here has recovered his memory. Tell Warder Locksley its settled.”
Instead of the pocked face of the grumbling warder, Rob’s worried features reappeared at the grill. “Ned, by the saints hurry up. Lady Dellingham and Cromwell have finished chatting with the Warder. I don’t think Meg can delay them any longer.”
Ned silently cursed. This was much sooner than he’d expected. Why couldn’t they have visited Newgate? There was no way to get Walter out of the Compter before her ladyship’s inspection – goals had only one gate for a reason. Damn, they were still trapped! How was he going to get out of this?
Providentially his daemon unfurled the tendril of a solution, and Ned gave it due consideration. Hmm you know in the right view it held a certain symmetry that even an astrologer would applaud. He pulled out another scrap of paper and furiously scribbled out a message. Then he dug into his purse and pulled out a handful of coins and thrust them at Rob along with the signed bill. “Get this note to Roger and beg him to deliver it to Reedman at the Spread Eagle. Then remind Warder Locksley of our agreement.”
Ned bent close to the grill and whispered intently. Rob’s face acquired a concerned expression and he shook his head doubtfully. “Ned, are you sure it’s going to work?”
Ned shrugged. They were out of options.
“I think that considering it’s the Christmas season under the reign of the Lord of Misrule , we should live in the confident hope of a miracle.”
***
Chapter Fifteen: A Beneficial Visit
For Meg Black, this was not the twelve days of Christmas she’d been anticipating. For a start, her plans concerning the humbling of that arrogant apprentice lawyer, Ned Bedwell, had gone completely awry. Secondly, she hadn’t expected to be chasing an errant Walter Dellingham through the Liberties of London, as he cut a swathe
across the pestholes of vice and immorality. That wasn’t the sort of pursuits she expected of a learned lad who was about to leave and study under one of the fathers of reform, Zwingli. Thirdly, Lady Dellingham was getting on her nerves. She understood that the purifiers of religion were a diverse tapestry brought together by their opposition to the corruption of the Pope and his Church. But on long exposure the woman was extremely grating. For instance during the tour of the city prisons or Compters, her response to the deserving poor seemed to consist only of regular cold salt baths and more work to concentrate their thoughts on their imperilled souls. Why she was an escort wasn’t quite so much a mystery. Uncle Williams was concerned with keeping a valuable client, while Councillor Cromwell’s motivation was…was unclear. However Lady Anne trusted him so that was enough for her.
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