The lass under scrutiny gave a very deep curtsy, as one would to a respected elder, and clutched her hands in an attitude of beseeching prayer. “My lord, I can assure you upon my very soul that I had no knowledge of the heinous smuggling of Albrecht Hagan or any part in his treasonous plot. These gentlemen here are my witnesses that when I found out about the nefarious plan, I rallied as many good citizens of the city as I could, and went to their aid.”
It was as good a piece of acting as anything seen at the Inns, though at no point did Meg Black actually lie. She just took an interesting walk around the truth, stopping for occasional visits with prevarication and misdirection.
“Aye, the lass certainly was there in the thick. It would ‘ave been a rough time with’ut her help.” Skelton growled out his valediction of her action. The northerner reckoned he liked a girl with spirit, and visibly mourned the lack of any reciprocal regard from the apprentice apothecary.
In the byplay of the Royal Court, Sir Thomas More was no fool having survived well over a decade. You could accuse him of many abiding sins like arrogance and pride, but he knew that Margaret Black was, for this time, out of reach. The mounting acclaim of her impromptu street party had touched a royal nerve. Open displays of loyalty were appreciated by His Majesty and had been brought to his attention by her patron Lady Anne.
So frowning in thwarted ambition, the Lord Chancellor tried for his last play. “Master Bedwell, in the missive from Sir Thomas Cromwell, he informed me that you had been given the task of investigating the Royal household at Richmond. Did you find anything?”
Such a casually asked question and so loaded with traps and mazes. A year or so ago Ned would have been paralysed with fear and trepidation. Now he faced the Lord Chancellor with all the accustomed veneer and circumspection of a courtier. “My lord, as I said to Sir Frederick Belsom, I was unable to find anything unexpected in Her Majesty the Queen’s household. All was as I had been lead to believe. It was, I must say, a perfect model of the decorum and behaviour we have come to expect from the wife of our beloved sovereign and aunt of his Imperial Majesty.”
Ned loved the use of language. It could be so expressive, revealing and concealing at one and the same time. He of course failed to mention exactly what he had expected to find. That was already fixed in the mind of the hearer.
To Ned it was evident that, for the Lord Chancellor, this interview was not going according to plan. He’d been expecting a different set of conclusions or even a completely different audience. Whether that was to be a grateful sovereign, thankful for the saving of his throne from a catastrophe, or a reinstated Queen, was difficult to say. Neither Belsom nor Blackford had been overly forthcoming with information in that sphere before their demise, so all Ned really had to go on was conjecture.
In the meantime it was worth pushing a bit. “My lord, since the affair of the murdered Hanse shipmaster and his nephew has been solved, and the smuggling of texts has been halted, can you release the Ruyter?”
This request had not been part of Sir Thomas’s script, and he frowned darkly before giving a wave of assent and dismissal.
Ned bowed deeply. However he didn’t move off as anticipated.
“This matter is concluded, Master Bedwell. The ship is released!”
As a command, Ned really should have obeyed, but still he maintained his patient stance.
“My lord, I am loath to bring up such matters before the most valued servant of His Majesty, one in whom our glorious Sovereign has reposed so much trust and affection, especially on such an important day as this one, with his Great Petition waiting to be signed. However Sir Welkin promised Master Robinson a pension of fifty pounds for his injuries in the King’s service, and advancement.”
The Lord Chancellor pursed his lips into a tight line of disapproval. Ned made note of it, and continued ticking off items on his fingers. That, at least, meant no further interference in the demi cannon casting, and gave Master Robinson a chance to proof his office against any more incompetent appointments. He could also hear Rob’s sigh of relief. In the circumstance, it was the least he could do. The foundry crew had come in very useful and may so again, which is why he’d waved the proffered rescue fee.
“As well my lord, Sir Frederick promised recompense for the defence of the King’s powder of twenty pounds to my men and eighty pounds to Mistress Black’s retainers.” That settled most debts. Ned maintained his respectfully humble bow and avoided eye contact with the Lord Chancellor. He could feel the anger and disapproval washing over him anyway. The silence stretched out and the rest of the band fidgeted nervously under the lengthened strain.
“I shall command it, Master Bedwell.”
From the grating tone, Ned could tell that Sir Thomas would prefer to order his questioning at Chelsea, and just as an extra tweak, Ned pushed that inch more. “My thanks and gratitude, my lord. If you could append your seal, it would ease matters with the officials of the Privy Purse. They have an unfortunate reputation for tardy action”
That audacious demand, framed as a request, shocked his following. Ned could hear the sudden indrawn breath of surprise. Even Skelton suppressed a curse.
The eventual reply came in a musing tone, rich in future promise. “Master Bedwell, Councillor Cromwell advised me that you were a young man to watch. I believe I shall. You are dismissed.”
Ned straightened and gave another deeper bow, dripping with respect and obsequiousness, then led his party out of the audience chamber.
At the last step before he left, a now familiar voice called out. “Master Bedwell, I see that you bear your tokens openly.”
Ned spun around, hiding his surprise at the parting comment. “Yes my lord. I do not believe in concealing my allegiances.” Well no more than necessary.
The Lord Chancellor gave an abrupt wave towards him. “The ring, is it yours?”
This question appeared to be motivated by genuine interest, and as such, puzzled Ned. ‘Yes, my lord. I have it from my mother.”
Sir Thomas More gave Ned a very strange look, as if measuring him up, a comparison if you would, and then, eyes hooded, slowly nodded, in some way satisfied. “At some time in the future, Master Bedwell, we will have to have a talk about the past.”
Another low bow and he escaped. More had some strange notions. It must be all the time spent bent over his quill, refuting Luther.
Once outside the chamber, Skelton was the first to speak. He gave his bushy beard a hefty scratch and then thumped Ned on the back. “That’s a game play lad ta ‘ut bold the Lord Chancellor. Remind me taniver face ye at cards.”
With that parting comment he took Ned’s proffered hand, gripping it like a vice, before strolling off to join the remainder of his band of savage northerners. Last night would have been more of a disaster without Skelton, and Ned had retained a certain amount of gratitude for his rescue and possibly more, if it weren’t for the shots from Byward Tower. Who had Skelton been aiming at, him or Don Juan Sebastian?
“Damn it, Ned. Are you cracked? Baiting More like that is a dangerous risk!” This response from an angry Meg Black was also accompanied by a solid whack.
Ned intercepted a second, and grinning, shook his head. “No. Sir Thomas More lost and he needed to see that he’d lost. Also he needed to be forced to pay recompense for what was tried by his minions.”
Margaret Black scowled at the answer, and disentangled her captured arm. “Doesn’t that stupid posturing declare us as his enemies?”
“Too late. After this week and what he just said, you can have no doubt that we are already listed amongst his foes. If you remember the Ruyter wasn’t chosen by chance. It was a considered action to enhance More’s campaign against heresy and the Boleyn faction.”
She continued to frown at the thought and was clearly not consoled.