He received a very hard eyed inspection and another of those disturbing harrumphs. Cromwell however, maintained a very tight smile that gave nothing at all away, thought Ned may have discerned the smallest spark of amusement.
“After all, my lady, where better to assail the forces of evil, than in their own bastion?”
“Yes, Master Bedwell, where indeed?” This dry comment came from Cromwell who was turning his hard-eyed inspection from one to another of them.
Ned continued to hold on to Walter. “My companions would consider it an honour to welcome you as our guests.”
This sounded perfect, the right balance of respect and humility. Ned just prayed that it was true and that the concentrated glare from Mistress Black didn’t mean what his daemon had warned. She couldn’t still want revenge…could she?
Chapter Sixteen: A Proper Repentance
The distinct clink of iron roused Ned from his musings. He quietly slipped off the bed, picked up the hooded lantern from the stool beside him and tip toed to the slightly opened door. Cautiously he eased himself through into the chamber and stood in the deep shadows of a nearby painted canvas. A rhythmic, metallic, scraping sound squeaked into the silent void of the predawn morning. It almost matched the tone of the neighbouring snores which echoed from around the room. Ned cautiously slid his feet across the floorboards, carefully easing his weight first on one foot then another, checking that the timber didn’t groan as it jostled its neighbour. Finally, long minutes later, he’d made it the curtain shrouded bed. The soft squeaks hadn’t changed their stop/start pattern. Still sliding his stockinged feet along, he made it to the head of the bed and slowly wrapped his fingers around the curtain’s fringe, then on the latest muted squeak, he tugged the curtain back and thrust the unhooked lantern into the shadows.
As he expected, the sudden glow of illumination revealed a very interesting sight. The bed covers were mounded up over a hunched figure in a long shirt. A pair of bulging, watery blues eyes blinked up at him in the sudden flood of light. Exactly as you’d expect to find behind the curtain of a privy bed, except for the snaking line of a wrought chain that wound from the corner pillar to under the coverlet.
“Morning, Walter. Having trouble sleeping?”
“What! Oh Ned you startled me. I’m sorry, did I disturb you? Pray forgive me. I had to use the privy pot.”
Ned swung the lantern over the shrouded area of the bed. Opposite he could see a second pale figure stretched out. A spill of long, straw-blonde hair trailed over the pillow and drifted along the exposed spine, terminating at the swelling buttock curves. The white skin glowed alluringly.
Ned swallowed slightly at the vision and cleared his throat. “Ahh huh, certainly Walter. Yes, it must have been when you used the pot. However unless you’re pissing nails, I don’t think so.”
Ned put his hand out, palm open, and crooked his finger. “The rasp, Walter. Now if you please.”
Walter widened his eyes in well simulated alarm, and his face dropped into its familiar pattern of mopish regret “What rasp, Ned? I’m shocked to think you’d believe that I’d renege on our arrangement. I swore an oath upon the bible!”
Ned gave a sigh and sadly shook his head. He’d thought the two days exemplary behaviour had been too good to be true. “Walter, Walter, what am I going to do with you? You remember the terms of our agreement? I’m afraid, for this breach, that I’ll have to withdraw Rosemund as your ‘companion’.”
Up to this point Walter had kept up his skilled mask of a practiced dissembler, but at the threat, he immediately dissolved into a teary, grovelling wretch, clutching desperately at Ned’s gown. “No, no! Please Ned! I’ll behave. I promise I’ll make a new pledge upon my very salvation. No, don’t take Rosemund away!”
Ned maintained his stern demeanour and continued to hold out his hand. “The rasp, Walter. Come on.”
Eventually the sniffling subsided, and seeing that his play hadn’t made any difference, the penitent Walter reluctantly shuffled across and pushing his hand under the nearby pillow, slowly extracted a battered smith’s rasp and held it out.
Ned took it and shoved it into his belt and shook his head. “Walter, I am disappointed. You’ve been going so well these past few days. Meg Black was full of praise for your work at Newgate Goal yesterday. I fear this act merits another fine of four angels.”
Walter gave a sad droop of his head and muttered agreement.
“Well, get some sleep Walter. You’ve got a busy day coming up. Meg said you’re off to Poultry Compter by nine of the clock.” Ned dropped the curtain and quietly made his way back to his own bed. The minor ruckus hadn’t disturbed the rest of the snoring company. Pulling the rasp out of his belt, Ned placed it next to the lantern and lay down, pillowing his head in his hands.
Well it was going to be busy tomorrow. The revels were nearing their last few days and he’d planned a few surprises for his revellers, including a subtly of goose, stuffed with capons and pigeons. Thanks to Walter’s unforeseen generosity, the celebrations could exceed the original budget. Anyway Ned also owed them for fronting up the gilt at his urgent request, and for the instantly convened bible meeting.
By the time Ned had led Lady Dellingham and her newly regarded Walter back to the sign of the Spread Eagle, the scene of Roman Saturnalia had been miraculously transformed by Reedman and the rest into the most sober of gatherings. One snag had been the doorway still wreathed in holly, which had Lady Dellingham frowning in suspicion until Ned passed it off as righteous deception to protect the gathering. It had been true that he’d held his breath as the door had swung open, and none could fault him that minor sigh of relief at what was revealed inside. At the word of the approach of Cromwell, the company under Reedman had out done themselves. Gone were the decorations and painted canvases of ‘antique carousing’. Instead a simple wooden cross hung from the wall. As for the diaphanous-gowned musicians, their costumes now spoke of sober respectability rather than the prior revels and Reedman himself was at the head of the table, reading aloud from the latest translated New Testament, as the rest of the company listened in rapt attention.
For a moment Lady Dellingham stood in frowning review of the scene, then clapped her hands together and shouted Hallelujah, complimenting both Meg and Ned for bringing Walter ‘unto the bosom of the most Christian community she’d seen in London’. Luckily her ladyship had been too busy exulting to notice the grimace of almost incredulous dismay that crossed the face of Meg Black. Ned was glad the apothecary’s apprentice was restrained by the present company, since he was certain that her ‘views’ on the disguised revels would be forthright and immediately painful.
However it was neither the fearsome Meg nor the reproving Lady Dellingham that had caused him the greatest fear. Oh no that was Councillor Cromwell. His patron had watched all the play with a quiet, tight smile and noted the names of the company, returning to them pleasant replies of known associations and relatives of his acquaintance. That identification had sent chills up Ned’s spine.
Somehow his patron knew that all this held as much reality as a Twelfth Night player’s revel, though he said very little to Ned until Meg reminded Lady Dellingham of their next call at the Lord Mayor’s feast. Then Ned had escorted them out into the winter evening and left them with their pack of retainers. Finally Cromwell had turned to him, and still with that quietly knowing smile, commended Ned for his efforts and bade him a good night. After that Ned had breathed a great deal easier, since Cromwell had left him with a small purse containing a dozen shillings and a simple murmured reference to the bible, Romans 6:23.
It left him puzzled for all of five minutes until he’d consulted a much relieved Rob in private, while the company of revels recovered from the visit. Afterwards it had taken several cups of good sack to steady his trembling. The reference had been chillingly accurate. For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Our Lord Jesus Christ.