In his passage through the city parishes, Ned took as careful a note of the street’s pulse as would any barber-surgeon for a patient, since he’d been awarded the useful but dangerous post as intelligencer and pursuivant to Thomas Cromwell-a sniffer out of secrets and listener to keyholes, a spy some sneeringly labelled it. Ned ignored the slander and considered his task as more a searcher out of inconvenient truths. In that duty he’d gained some measure of success and standing last year, with the mystery of the Cardinal’s Angels as well as one or two other minor matters since of unpaid debts and doubtful wills. He preferred not to remember the long running and contentious Dellingham incident at Christmas and he definitely didn’t want his uncle to discover his solution to the grain shortages during the crisis in February. While those were dangerous, messy and complicated, they were minor affairs for his patron who was steadily ascending in Royal regard at Court. However, as any man knew, the Wheel of Fortuna was fickle, and advantages could change with the whim of the King or a shift in foreign alliance. These were higher affairs of lords and princes and it was the here and now that concerned Ned the most. As an apprentice law student at Gray’s Inn he still had little in the way of security, and his uncle’s family was nowhere near connected enough for him to be taken on by one of the more prominent lawyers. Not that Uncle Richard would stir himself much for a bastard nephew, so continued service under Master Richard Rich with his ‘borrowed’ use by Councillor Cromwell was his only option.
Having finally reached his destination, Ned stepped through the wreathing cloud of bitter scented smoke that shrouded the apothecary’s entrance, to find Meg’s twin cousins, Anne and Alison, dealing with a selection of customers. Since there was no sign of their father, Master Williams, the apothecary must be off again doing the rounds of the surrounding counties for herbs and remedies. Though having met Meg’s aunt, Goodwife Agnes, if he’d been so wedded he’d want to spend as much time elsewhere as possible as well. He’d never seen anyone so obsessed with the meaningless minutia of social position. Goodwife Agnes’s every waking moment was devoted to gaining minuscule advantages over her friends and relations. Ned had been unfortunate enough to collide with the woman on a prior visit to her niece, Meg. It was purely concerning business of course. Instead Ned found himself dragged in by the rest of the family for an Easter feast, as a potential shield to deflect the goodwife’s endless fussing and interference, while they dealt with the preparations. It was the worst three hours of his young life, as the goodwife poked and pried to find out every detail of his social prospects and that of his family. By the end she had a list of twenty eligible girls who would jump at the chance of marriage. Ned also heard an intriguing list of each candidate’s foibles and assets, probably down to the value of a clipped groat.
After that gruelling experience, he could see why the family frequently suggested that the old parish priest needed her assistance with the myriad affairs that only a devoted parishioner could provide. He only wondered what the poor priest had done to deserve such an affliction.
After dealing with the last customer, one of the girls sauntered over. Ned had assumed a vaguely injured expression and was leaning meaningfully against one of the pillars, trying to portray an air of suffering stoicism. From the red ribbon in her hair he thought it was Anne. He still found it very difficult to tell them apart. The only way to tell the difference between the two was their red and blue ribbons, and Ned had often thought about how easy it would be for them to pull a switch.
“If you are looking for sympathy from your lady love, she’s not here Ned.”
That cut the ground right out from his proposed sorrowful declamation. Instead he straightened up and suppressing a wince, whispered a reply. “Alison, I’ve told you before that Meg isnot my lady love. I have eyes only for you.”
At that witty retort she just shrugged and twitched a disbelieving eyebrow while her sister came over to join the baiting. The other one, Anne he hoped, put her hands together and sighed deeply. “If only Jonathon would learn to fight for me. It would be so romantic and courtly.”
Ned suppressed a chuckle at that suggestion. He’d met Anne’s intended, a young lad who was training to be a draper’s clerk. Not meaning to disparage the fellow, but he’d have to put on a bit more meat before he could pick up a sword without falling over. What Meg’s young cousin saw in her scrawny boyfriend-well they say love is blind. Ned just hoped the fellow had other ‘hidden’ compensations.
“So fair damsels, where is the sought for maiden?”
That at least elicited a matched pair of giggles before Alison pushed her sister away and adopted a more businesslike demeanour. “A couple of hours ago she got an urgent summons from the Steelyards, around the time of the Nones chimes.”
Ah that was the reason for the suddenly, serious expression-the unofficial part of Meg Black’s duties, the ‘secret’ that had kept the noose from around their necks and their innards unroasted during the Cardinal’s crisis last year. Ned had found out that sweet innocent Mistress Margaret Black, apprentice apothecary and keen amateur surgeon, a lass of no more than seventeen, was deeply involved in the smuggling of heretical writings. Now London was no stranger to bizarre happenings or circumstance. The surprising revelation was that one of her key patrons was Lady Anne Boleyn. The woman, it was said by some, steered the King’s complex manoeuvring over the annulment of his present wife, Katherine of Aragon. That little fact had left Ned gratefully flabbergasted, though it was the kind of exasperating one-upmanship he was beginning to expect from the resourceful Mistress Black.
So whatever the summons meant, he’d have to see Meg another time. He briefly considered asking Alison, if she knew of a remedy for his bruises. But if such a request was taken the wrong way, he might find himself with another very long and convoluted interview with Goodwife Agnes. So instead he suffered the whispers and twitters as he made as dignified an exit as possible. Maybe his aunt had a decent cure-she seemed to come up with all sorts of treatments for the bumps and scrapes of his cousins.
Before he had made his halting way to the end of the street, Ned found his passage barred by a large, sneering fellow who strode purposefully towards him, idly swinging a cudgel. Almost automatically, hand to sword, Ned sank into a half crouch at a speed that Master Sylver would definitely approve. It took a moment to recognise the scarred face of Gruesome Roger Hawkins, Mistress Black’s menacing shadow. While the man had proven his worth and more last year, that didn’t mean his arrival was welcomed or wanted. It irked Ned that the retainer still regarded ‘his’ presence with the grudging acceptance usually reserved for impecunious relations with unsavoury habits regarding sheep, especially since the ‘Liberties of London’ escapade with young lamb Walter Dellingham. ‘Hawks’ lacked a certain credibility in claiming any moral superiority after that little chase.
“About time Bedwell!” growled out the rough voice. “At least I don’t have to tramp through all y’r sordid haunts in the city. Mistress Black wants y’ down at Smarts Key wharf!”
Ned dropped his hand from the sword hilt and adopting a more dignified pose snarled out a reply to the peremptory summons. “Despite what some may claim, I do not come and go at Meg Black’s say so!”
Gruesome Roger seemed amused by Ned’s stand and shook his head with a grim chuckle. “Y’ will this time. There’s a death involved.”
It was simple statement but it immediately brought back memories of last year’s affray. Death had figured prominently in that affair, well murder to be precise. More deaths came later. Ned felt a chill march up his spine. If Margaret Black sought his assistance, then it must be serious. He really didn’t feel like another limping tramp across the city, but the presence of her impatient retainer left little choice. With a resigned wave of acceptance he followed on.