Ned’s prediction proved pretty accurate. He saw several people exiting the gaming house and stew just before the terce bells. Most were clients wandering off to pursue whatever business or trades occupied their daylight hours, and were of little interest to him. Then after the first cluster, he spotted a familiar figure who strode out carrying an empty basket. Ned smiled in appreciation. How could he forget that lass? What a vision of beauty! She was pert and blond with a cleavage that would cramp a man’s cods, even more so when she stopped and adjusted her bodice to better display her natural advantages.
Ned slung his satchel over his shoulder and stepped out after his quarry, allowing her to get a good fifty paces or so distance from the stew before he sidled up beside her. “Good day Mistress Bethany. How do you this fair day?”
It was a tentative greeting to feel the way. At first the punk swung around with a suspicious glare that miraculously transformed into a generous smile of welcome with more than a hint of encouragement. “Why tis Red Ned.I hardly recognised y’ at first sight.I took y’ for a common vagrant. You look so bruised and torn. Whatever happened?”
Ah so that was how poor he looked. The bruises must lend his face an interesting halo of purple and black. No wonder most people had shied away from him. The populace of London were not generally known for their kindly regard for the beaten or otherwise downtrodden. It was a miracle that when he was unconscious he’d been ‘rescued’ by the Watch after the brawl, rather than some kindly soul from the Liberties stripping him naked and committing his corpse to the river. “Bethany, I beg your indulgence, oh beauteous nymph of the dawn.”
A raised eyebrow and coquettish laugh greeted this flowery request. “Why Ned, Mistress Anne tis very strict about bringing back punters in the daytime. I suppose for you, I’d make an exception, iffin’ y’ feel y’ve got the quicks for it.”
The bruises helped hide the red blush that spread quickly across his face. It didn’t hide enough and Bethany smiled wickedly at his response. Perhaps he should have thought longer on just how he had phrased his greeting. He cleared his throat with a cough of embarrassment. “Aargh, that’s not quite what I wanted.” Actually it was, but needs overrode wants this day.
“Well I ain’t a common strumpet! I want a proper bed and clean rushes on the floor. I’ll not hump against a wall, with my skirts pulled high, liken those sluts down at Dockside. Nor any lewd acts liken those foreigners at the Biddle!”
This was much more than Ned’s imagination could handle right now, though his physic was sending urgent indications that it was up for the game. His daemon idly pondered exactly what lewd acts one could pay for at the Biddle that were so offensive to Bethany. Hmmm? Reason won out over these baser urgings and he strangled out a reply through a suddenly constricted throat. “No. Arghh, not that! I mean, ahh, I want to talk to you about the other night.”
This didn’t bring the expected response, for Bethany harrumphed loudly and turned to walk away. Damnit! The brawl, the cell and his uncle had really befuddled his thinking. This was going all wrong! “Wait, I can pay!”
This was a bit too loud. A few stall holders took note of his cry and called out imprecations, while a couple of touts closed in, hollering out offers of sweet girls to bed.
But his outburst did halt the departing Bethany, who swung around with a sceptical expression. “’ow much?”
Ned dug into his doublet and rattled the small purse meaningfully. “Two groats?” he managed to quickly squeak out. It was almost a fifth of his assets but a necessary sacrifice.
The spark of greed lit up her light blue eyes. However Bethany was a suspicious girl by occupation. “I’ve said I’ll nay perform any strange acts, an’ I’ve got my honour t’ think of.”
Ned came up with a bow that he thought would shame a courtier and waved her over to the table by another food stall. Londoners loved to eat. At almost every available corner were collections of competing stalls or bakeries. As Bethany cautiously settled down on a trestle seat, Ned considered what a whore or punk would call honour. He’d never really thought about it before, but supposed, like everyone else, they must have their own rules to govern actions. That bore some further thinking at another time. Ned purchased a couple of hot pies. From the painted sign above, hopefully they were pigeon. Then he pulled out one of the promised groats, laying it on the table. His new companion eyed the small, silver coin, and quickly snatched it up, at the same time taking a sampling bite from the pie. The coin instantly disappeared into the depths of her bodice.
Ned swallowed dryly and suppressed the urge to dive in after the silver or take up the prior offer. Temptation was damned difficult to ignore. He supposed that’s why it was a sin. Bethany looked at him with an eagerness that set his cods a twitching but he ignored his impish daemon and drew a steady breath and nodded. “The other coin is yours when I have the information that I need, Mistress Bethany.”
That earned him a brief but sharp look then a resigned shrug. Only a fool, fresh from the country, would pay over first-too much chance of her doing a flit. Ned may have only been in the city a few years but he’d never been that innocent! So compliance for now assured, he pushed at the ragged wisps of the evening, searching for facts. “The last time I was at the Cardinals Cap, I remember you being there to help out with the serving.”
Well that was substantially true-Bethany did work there and she did ‘help’ the clients in a round about kind of way. As any sensible man knew, every gaming house either in the City or the Liberties had its own methods of playing the cony-catchers game, that of parting the gullible from their money. Some used loaded dice to alter the roll, while with others it was bait and switch. The game started with real dice till they had pulled the conies in, and then those innocent dice were palmed and replaced with the rigged set.
At the Cardinal’s Cap, however, they disdained the common moves of nip and foister, aspiring to higher plains of cleverness. They employed a combination of bait and switch, along with the insidious effects of double strength ale. In the unwary it created a heady mix of befuddlement and confusion. Once primed, the punks twitched their skirts and moved in. He knew how easy it was to succumb to the distraction and encouragement of girls such as Bethany. He knew how it worked-you were going well and the next roll might just win you enough silver to party like priest after Lent. Then up would sidle a helpful and well endowed lass, who while leaning over to whisper huskily in your ear, also gave you the chance to ogle to your hearts content at the glimpse of smoothly promising breast with just a hint of nipple trying their best to burst out of her bodice. And she would whisper huskily, so close that the feeling of her lips and breathe sent ripples all the way down to your codpiece. And what would those lovely lips whisper lovingly into your ear? “Ooohhh Ned, you can do it Ned. Y’resoo clever” and while gently twisting a lock of your hair between her fingers, “then we’s can celebrate … upstairs.” Well, in such a drink befuddled state, what chance did you have?
It had taken Ned all of an hour and a half and several shillings to spot the tricks, but it was done with such craft and style that he’d returned afterwards just for the entertainment. Anyway once he understood it, the play gave him good warning of when to pull out of a game. The snap of those delightfully white teeth on the pie returned Ned to the immediate present. “Bethany, that night who else was there and what happened?”
The punk looked thoughtful, frowning hard in concentration. It was a short while before she answered. Perhaps it was also due to the pie that was rapidly disappearing, but eventually she licked the crumbs off her sweet red lips, and eased open the door to his past. “Twas was just on the Compline bell when y’ came in wit’ the rest o’em.”