Alright, now he was getting somewhere and had an idea what to call her apart from Meg. Now Ned decided safety lay in continuing to play the gallant and opted for a more becoming title. “Well Mistress Margaret, I crave your assistance.” This was answered by a raised eyebrow, so daring all, he pushed on. “I’ve been accused of murdering the gentleman from whom I believe I tried to rescue you.”
He may have expected shock, surprise or any one of a number of similar reactions. As with the rest of his day, the usual didn’t happen. Margaret Black just shook her head in denial. “I don’t see how that is possible. He was giving you a good kicking last I saw, with you groaning and on the ground.”
This was getting frustrating. Why was it that no one he spoke to gave him a straight answer? He’d traipsed all the way through the city just to hear that Smeaton was attacking him? This new information didn’t necessarily aid his case for if Smeaton had truly been attacking Ned then surely he would have made his best endeavour to defend himself. In the eyes of any court under Wolsey’s influence that was a death sentence. Ned massaged his forehead. The ache had only marginally diminished before Mistress Black’s tender taps gave it further cause for complaint. Ignoring the mounting fuzziness he pushed on with his questioning. “How in the name of St Michael did that happen?”
Mistress Black now looked suspiciously at him, more as if he were a louse than a man. “Why ask me? You were there.”
That did it. His temper, never under the tightest rein at the best of times, let loose. He was tired of this and slapped his hand on the bench, precariously rocking a number of glass vessels and growled out his answer. Strangely it was essentially the truth. “Because, for the love of all the blessed saints, I cannot remember! I’ve spent two nights in the Clink, and unless I find out what happened, and why, I will be arraigned for the murder of a servant of the Cardinal, as will everyone else from the gaming house!”
His outburst caused an immediate response. Mistress Black turned very pale and that pallor made the freckles on her nose stand out. Despite the peril of his situation, Ned found himself distracted. Mistress Black had a very attractive nose, oh and eyes. However he lost the train of that thought before he’d encompassed the rest of her features as her frown returned, this time darker than ever.
“You fool! Why’d you drag honest folk into your stupid brawls?” Ned felt deeply offended-it was a biased and twisted slander. He couldn’t remember much about the affray, but he’d rarely been brainless or befuddled enough to challenge four armed gentleman. So in this case, his honour stood in for his memory. If he’d faced them down on her behalf then there had to be a compellingly good reason to risk his life, though her unfriendly welcome was beginning to make him reconsider his undoubtedly noble and selfless intentions, thus does rancour lead to anger.
“Otherwise they’d have taken you and killed your two friends, as they threatened, Mistress Ungrateful!” That just burst out from the morass of his memory. Ned had no idea where it came from, but it seemed to sound right. At least his angry response halted the growing argument.
Mistress Meg Black crossed her arms and returned a cooler stare, just maybe there was a touch of doubt and hesitation in her sparkling eyes. “So Master Bedwell…what now? How do you suggest we escape Wolsey’s Star Chamber?”
Such a simple question and so full of complications. Her tone had him intrigued despite his aching head. It sounded almost thoughtful, lacking the bitter edge he would have expected. It also told him that Mistress Black understood the problem-that possibly was a pleasant surprise. He knew more than a few third year law apprentices who wouldn’t get it, even at the end of the trial. Not that the processes of law were complicated in regard to the slaying of a senior royal official-they were really very simple. Everyone even remotely involved would be seized, thrown into prison and eventually, when they got around to it, questioned by the Cardinal’s men. A witness may hope to only spend a day under lock and key. That in truth would be a vain hoe. According to what he had seen in the Courts, if it was a complex or delicate matter, remand could last for months, unless a patron with sufficient influence intervened. Then the difficulty lay in whether the case involved any current court factional battles. If so, it could be either a blessing or a curse, depending on your allegiance or facility to supply a ‘gift’, otherwise you rotted in goal.
However it was not all bleak. In her reply Mistress Black appeared to have agreed to joint action. Well a trouble shared was a trouble halved. If so it was his first piece of good news. In answer to her question, Ned could only see one solution. “Well Mistress Black the answer is easy. We find who killed the Cardinal’s man as well as why.”
Mistress Margaret stood awhile in pensive thought, one finger lightly tapping her folded arms, and looked at him speculatively. While she hadn’t disagreed her intense scrutiny was making Ned feel more than a little nervous. That had been an impulsive act to ask as he did, but what choice did he have here? Perhaps it was his patron saint who had prompted it. He’d briefly considered subterfuge as his daemon had whispered, until he was more certain of her response, but conscience, calculation and temper had prodded him to honesty. Maybe Lady Fortuna had stepped in as his benefactor and he wouldn’t be left as a scapegoat.
“Anne, Alison?” Red Ribbon and Blue Ribbon returned through the parted curtain. From their rapid appearance, ears must have been very close to the other side of the cloth barrier. Both however still looked warily at Ned, and he was sure that their implements of threat defence were very close to hand. “Close the shop and find your father. Tell him it’d be a good time to check the harvest at the Hawkhurst farm.”
Her pair of skirted retainers gave each other a significant look and rapidly disappeared without a word. Then it was his turn once more for Mistress Black’s attention. “How long before you’re called to the inquest?”
Ned was still trying to catch up with the departure of the menacing twins. Now Mistress Black was grilling him on law procedures as though she possessed some familiarity with the subject. This was confusing. A small section of his mind clawed out of the morass to ask why was Master Williams’ establishment accustomed to closing on very short notice and disappearing into the countryside? There was something in that exchange between the girls he should have been paying attention to, but in his current state that question sank back into the dull mire of a headache. Instead he fixed Mistress Black in his blurry vision and once more resorted to unaccustomed honesty. “I have ten days from this morning until my uncle fills out the writ. The Surrey magistrates may have already done so.”
That earned him a very sharp look. She was about to ask another question but Ned waved it off. “Look, it’ll take several days until it hits the Lord Mayor’s Council. We still have some…”
At this point of the discussion, his brain cashed in its loan on his body and shut down. Ned blurrily recalled collapsing onto a stool and the scene of the apothecary’s workshop became blurry and indistinct.
“…time.”
Chapter Eight-The Apothecary’s Secrets, Greyfriars
It could have been minutes-it may have been hours, but when Ned came too it was without the dull ache of the past few days. That had been replaced by a cool tingling across his forehead. It felt quite soothing. Slowly he opened his eyes, saw nothing and panicked. “What!!?”
A firm hand held him down. It may have been the calming voice of a ministering angel except for the following instruction. “Hold still you stupid puttock. I haven’t finished!”
Ned tried struggling but strong hands gripped his shoulders and held him down.
“There, done!”
Suddenly his world was bathed in light, and before him a blurry visage was surrounded by a halo. As his vision cleared, he found himself looking up into the upside down face of a heavily built man, complete with a savage scar that half closed his right eye. Not an angel instead the familiar visage of a leering devil. “By Christ, a daemon!