To Ned’s embarrassed ears that sounded worse than the first effort, and both girls glanced from his face to his codpiece, and almost simultaneously raised their hand to hide smirking grins. He was certain he was blushing redder than a beetroot from collar to cap. Finally after what seemed long minutes the blue ribboned girl stepped behind a heavy curtain that separated the rear of the shop while he was subjected to a continuing inspection by the remaining sister. He decided that Red Ribbon would do her for a nickname. The colour did enhance the warmly inviting colour of her lips after all. If it were possible Ned could feel his blush deepening further. Soon he would look just like the Indians of the New World. A few moments later Blue Ribbon returned and held a whispered conversation with her companion.
Perhaps he should have tried another tack, but Blue Ribbon who seemed to be the spokesman suppressed a giggle. “The apothecary isn’t in, but you can see his apprentice.”
Ned was deflated-all this way and still nothing. Well perhaps the apothecary’s lad could help. Bethany had some reason for sending him here and it was probably easier to go in than admit defeat. Anything was better than having these two continue to smirk at him. Ned pursed his lips and gave a short nod of acceptance. Blue Ribbon escorted him through the heavy curtain that screened off the rear of the building with a knowing smile. In response he straightened up and strode through with his best nonchalant swagger. The heavy cloth swung in place behind him but did little to block the sounds of ill-concealed mirth from the shop front.
Chapter Seven-The Apothecary’s Apprentice Greyfriars
If the front shop was curiously beguiling with its scents and aromas to tempt one in, then this part of the establishment was the true heart of the apothecary; the workshop. For Ned it was like entering the secret shrine of an Italian alchemist who had embarked on the quest for the philosopher’s stone. Every inch of space was filled. The benches and shelves were packed with all manner of glass and pottery vessels in the strangest of shapes; ambics, retorts and cloudy flasks, jostling cheek by jowl with wax sealed jars stamped with strange symbols.
Then on the small cleared corner of a bench abutting a small brick furnace was an ominous array of trade-known tools-long sharp edged knives, fine toothed saws, polished hooks and what he thought were probes, all gleaming in threatening repose, set out in a rollup leather pouch of the sort barber surgeons used. Ned swallowed nervously and forced himself to look elsewhere. The rest of the space resembled a vastly upgraded version of Goodwife Johnson’s herb and medicine closet. That recollection triggered a surge of guilt. It had been too long since he sent his old nurse any letters. Then his conscience gave his buttocks a kick- he really should find out where these vessels came from and send some as a gift back to Suffolk. Then while he was trying to sort out the function of a coiled copper tube attached to a set of glass spheres a voice spoke out from somewhere amongst the scattered equipment. “If you are looking for a cure to the French pox, go find a doctor to take your money. We’ve nothing here.”
Both its tone and asperity took him back to the night of the brawl. He had a sudden flash of an image-an open hand connecting with the side of his face! But this was better than the next picture that accompanied it. Smeaton was bent double, a purple pained expression on his face as he gasped for breath.
Ned spun around. The callous comment came from yet another young girl of middling height. She looked similar to the two out front, but where they reminded him of graceful sprites flitting between flowers, this one had a more earthily reassuring presence. It was first the blue grey eyes that sparkled in the lantern light with broad flecks of mischief, and then further features registered on his memory-the small pert nose and the light brown curling locks aglow with a chestnut shine brushed off her ears with a distracted flick. “I know you! You were at the Cardinal’s Cap the other night!”
That was a mistake, as the open handed blow that snapped his head into the wall proved. “I will not be insulted by a flap mouthed lewdster!”
Ned slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor, displacing a couple of besoms of dried herbs that tumbled over him. The curtain burst open and his former audience from out front stormed into the workroom. They didn’t look quite so ethereal now. Red Ribbon had a cudgel idly slung from a leather strap, while her sister Blue Ribbon held a wickedly sharp looking poniard, in a meaningful manner.
“Any problems, Cousin Meg?”
By all the love of the saints, this was definitely turning into the worst day of his life! Though dazed Ned raised his open hands in supplication. He needed a very quick intervention by his watching angel. Luckily he took inspiration from a book of verse he had recently perused while bored at the Inns. “You mistake me gracious maidens. I would never impugn the honest virtues of such. Why, the muses themselves would blush to behold three such lovely hued, fair flowers, that shine so bright with beauty. You would dim an Ethiop’s gems, to emerald or blood ruby, that are so delightful in grace and form.” Ned tried very hard to look both non threatening and innocent. It was perhaps as his daemon remarked a doomed enterprise but what did he have remaining to lose?
‘Cousin Meg’ glowered at him suspiciously and could be seen to be weighing up the possibility of another assault, until an expressive sigh sounded from behind. “Ohhhh, how sweet. I wish Jonathan would speak to me like that.” This was Red Ribbon. The cudgel forgotten swung from clenched hands as she sighed deeply again.
At the interruption ‘Cousin Meg’ gave her rescuers a penetrating frown. Blue Ribbon answered her with a resigned shrug and shepherded her still sighing sister through the curtain. Once more Ned was subjected to intense scrutiny. The affronted frown slowly coalesced into a marginally reluctant glower. “I remember you…you spoke as sweetly at Pleasant Anne’s. Not that it will get you anywhere.”
Well it was dismissive, but still an improvement. No one was threatening him with weapons or thumping him-he must have done something right at last. Ned struggled into a more or less upright stance with a couple of winces and groans, not that such sounds elicited any sympathy from ‘Cousin Meg’, who stood there impatiently, arms crossed and foot tapping. Ned gave a semblance of a courtly bow. Damn but he needed to guard his ribs. They complained loudly as he made a bow to the girl. “Let me start again. You would be the apothecary’s apprentice?” That received the briefest of nods. Well it was a start at least.
“I am Edward Bedwell.” This elicited a disbelieving stare and the suggestion of a snigger. It was not the first time his name had encouraged mirth. It was a worn joke but still it flushed his colour once more. “I prefer Red Ned.”
“I can see why. You said as much the other night.” That really didn’t make it much better, but least she was listening. “You don’t remember my name from the Cardinal’s Cap, do you? From what you said I was either Calliope or Erato. Pray tell me, who were they?”
It was asked so sweetly and convincingly, he almost fell into the trap. All that saved him was the hint of a warning flicker in her eye that reminded him of the two slaps so far.
“Why they are ancient Greek goddesses who couldn’t possibly compare with your wit and charms.” It was a quick save and somehow he just knew that ‘Cousin Meg’, the apothecary’s apprentice, already knew that those two were the muses of epic and love poetry. Perhaps he’d better be more cautious in his turn of phrase.
She’d paused for a moment listening to his reply. He could have sworn her lips quivered on the edge of a smile. “Since, Ned Bedwell, you were so merry with celebrating that night, you may not remember our previous introduction. I am Margaret Black, and as you now know, apprenticed to my uncle, Rhys Williams.”