Those words dragged another reluctant image out of his slowly clearing mind fog. “Yes! I remember that. And you had a large well-built lad, taller than me, with you that night! We need to see him. Maybe he knows what really happened.”
That elicited a most strange response from the apothecary’s apprentice. Mistress Black, keeper of secrets, gave a very knowing and cryptic smile. “Well Master ‘Red’ Ned Bedwell, that’s the first bit of sense I’ve heard from you today, and you’re going to think this really amusing, since that lad’s been looking for you.”
Alright, so that meant there were now five people after him, not counting Canting Michael over in Southwark. Nothing to worry about really. He didn’t mind the sudden popularity. If only he knew whom he could trust!
This could have been another heated discussion, with much shouting, waving of hands, more threats, and equally possible, another slap to his face. It wasn’t. It was just calm, brief and above all, final. Mistress Black claimed to know where this mysterious fellow was and how to get to him. Ned tried offering to help search, but that was firmly refused by his newly acquired ally. Instead she suggested that he dress and wait, while she made some arrangements. There followed a whispered conversation with Gruesome Roger, involving frequent hostile glares in his direction and much hissed argument, but in the end, her menacing retainer reluctantly consented.
Ned, while grateful for the care and ministration of his injuries, wasn’t completely dim-witted. Trust was a very fragile plant. It required watering with kindness and encouragement to grow with selfless action. However in these decadent times the flowering of trust was frequently severed by the scythe of greed, ambition and treachery. Ned had survived a multitude of threats so far in his young life and he was planning on continuing that habit. While Mistress Black and her henchman had swapped fierce whispers, Ned made a closer inspection of the space they were in as well as his companions. From the tapering triangle of the walls to the apex above, they were in the top most garret of the apothecary’s shop, some four storeys off the ground. So he didn’t walk up and Mistress Black wasn’t interested in leaving him lying around in the apothecary’s workroom. That left her menacing minion, Gruesome Roger, as his porter. The fellow certainly looked strong enough. Ned was a large lad compared to most, almost six foot tall with what he considered a good set of shoulders. Mistress Black’s retainer however had that extra height and rangy physical presence that fitted his menacing status perfectly. It did look ever so slightly incongruous that such a grim faced fellow deferred to the foot or so shorter Margaret Black, though from what Ned had seen so far, what she lacked in size, the apothecary’s apprentice seemed to make up for in spirit and determination.
As to their sanctuary, why drag him up here? Usually attic spaces were the rooms of servants accessed by a small stair or ladder. They were cheap, dim and small, often full of smoke from poorly sealed chimneys. This garret couldn’t have been more different. The roof thatch was sealed off by simple white washed timber-slatted panelling nailed to the beams, and the space in between was snug and dry with a well kept air, free of the usual musty odour he had grown used to at his lodgings. The simple pallet he had been lying on was of fresh straw with a heavy fine wool woven coverlet. He would almost expect it to be Mistress Margaret’s room, but it seemed to lack any signs of ownership, and from how she had acted, the pallet he had briefly occupied was not hers. Considering the state of his shared room back at Gray’s Inn, this was paradise-clean floors, lack of snoring companions and room to stand and stretch your arms. It was luxurious.
The discussion had finished. Gruesome Roger then pulled off a section of the timber panelling, and with a parting glower towards Ned, disappeared into a hidden recess. Now if anything here was going to spark curiosity a secret panel was it. Ned perked up. It was possible he could use this if the situation fell apart. “What’s going on?”
Once more Mistress Black gave him her frowning attention. What, didn’t she ever smile? In his prior experience, not many girls had been able to resist his charms for long. Was she practicing for a nunnery or something? That would be a shame-if a lad looked past her creased brow, Mistress Black had the shape and sway in her long dress and tightly filled bodice that could cramp a man’s cods, and dare he admit it, there was something else behind that darkened gaze that intrigued him. Maybe that’s what prompted his stupid gallantry the other night.
“I sent Roger out to see who’s around and to deliver a message.”
Now he was really curious. Messages could be good or bad. Subconsciously he noted his two escape routes, the narrow stairway and the secret passage. “How is he going to do that? Surely they’re watching the building?”
That perfectly reasonable question was answered by a pensive tightening of her lips and, if such a thing were possible, an even more suspicious frown. Ned waved it off with a pretense of knowledgeable nonchalance. “I would think that it’s not normal practice for an apothecary to have a hidden passage.”
That hit home. Mistress Black’s pert nose sniffed warningly and her glare increased to the imminent strike level. It was obvious he had trespassed onto forbidden ground. Excellent, now to show that he had cards to play as well, and forestall potential treachery.
“Mistress Black, considering that you ministered to my injuries, I am not ungrateful enough to expose your secrets to the Cardinal, especially since you’ve already had a chance to hand me over. It’s in our common interest to start trusting one another. I’ll swear on any saint’s relic or even on my mother’s soul, that I’ll not bring harm to you or your family, if that’ll help.” Ned tried to put as much sincerity into his plea. So far he was just stating the truth. The Cardinal’s men would be undiscriminating in their ‘questioning’. As for the other interested parties, court rivalry was bloody and merciless. If he read the present situation correctly, Mistress Black, apprentice apothecary had her own secrets to keep away from the view of Wolsey’s men, so for now their needs ran together, shackled by a shared peril.
“Why should I believe your words Master Bedwell? You could be a cross biter at the gaming table, lining us up as an easy mark. We know nothing about you or who you serve.”
Ned studiously tried for his most innocent expression, as if he had been most sorely insulted by the accusation. However his better angel pointed out that Mistress Black’s suspicion was valid-so far reason for trust was scant. Reluctantly Ned realised that in order to gain her trust then he must firstly show some of his own. “Alright, I live and work on Chancery Lane.”
Unfortunately this didn’t help. This confession gained him the biggest wallop yet and sent his shoulder thudding into the wall. The instant’s warning before the blow had him shield his head, saving the onset of further addling of his wits. For a girl shorter than him by almost a foot, she really did pack quite a wallop. What had he done wrong? Now those blue grey eyes sparked with fury and Mistress Black scanned the room for a handy weapon. Lucky for him the stool was out of reach. “Damn! I knew we couldn’t trust you! Damned Royal Courts. Why are you pursuing us?”
Ned held out one hand as a shield while with the other he attempted to ease some of the newly reblossomed pain out of his shoulder. “No, no! I’m at Gray’s Inn, training for law! I don’t serve the King’s Courts. I am there through the influence of my uncle, Richard Rich, Commissioner of the Peace for Essex County.”
He did however edit the details of his uncle’s connections and aspirations. Those would earn a lot more than a clip across the ear. Mistress Black slowly subsided, though it was a close thing as to whether she’d hit him once more for this declaration. His daemon pointed out her flushed appearance, red lips and heaving bodice. For once he ignored its suggestion, opting instead for survival. It appeared he’d chosen the wrong time to be honest. That’d teach him to be more circumspect with his answers. If her reaction was any guide, then in this establishment lawyers and pursuivants of the Court rated only slightly higher in their estimation than ‘Judas’.