“Let me put it another way. After expenses, the Lord Chancellor’s reward should pay for a gross weight of bibles, yes?”
It took a few moments of thoughtful consideration until a generous smile began to unfurl, and Meg Black, to his surprise, grabbed him in a firm embrace, bestowing on him the most shivering kiss imaginable. “Ned Bedwell, there are times when I don’t know what to make of you!”
It would appear that his indiscretion and evasions had been forgiven.
For now.
Ned, for some reason, had forgotten to mention how much rescued Gonne powder he had already organised to sell to Southwark, and as for the salvaged weapons, Rob had arranged a suitably discrete home for them. Of course the bulk of the gold from Sir Roderick Belsom’s thoughtful donation was now locked away with an accommodating goldsmith, once it had been extracted from the obliging corpse of Joachim. A useful, if revolting, hidey hole that even the murderous powder sorters hadn’t considered, and for now the gold need not concern the Company of the Cardinal’s Angels. As for the origins of the affair, the murders and compensation were too dangerous and complex a case for any court to deal with, so Ned had made other arrangements. ‘Master Hagan’ was sending the bodies’ home along with a letter of condolence and purse of fifty sovereigns to Joachim’s widow. The lamented Hanse merchant had, before his ‘untimely demise’, signed his Steelyard business concerns across to his beloved godchildren, Robert and Margaret Black, which Ned hoped would help for a time assuage Meg’s suspicious questioning. By next week Albrecht should be safely ensconced in Lubeck, and if he was smart, have a new name.
Another more problematic reward had been to Mary’s Petty Wales punks who’d assisted Rob with the falconets. He’d arranged for Rob to deal with that, ahh, grey area in whatever manner or cost seemed right. At the present, in light of Meg Black’s current kind regard, and to avert a return of possible wrath, he’d keep the girls at arms length, if not a touch further.
Having dealt with the King’s Powder and the Queens’ Oranges, the only difficulty left was the two chests from Sir Welkin. Whom that gold belonged to was up for question, so Ned had the chest sent to Dr Caerleon. It could repose under his supervision until Ben Robinson worked out if the King’s Office of Ordinance had been short changed. However he’d made one provision from it for the realm. The rag tag crew of children under Mistress Emma had proved more valuable than their diminutive statue would have indicated. A quiet annuity of, say, fifteen pounds a year, would see them healthier, faster and able to read, a very useful skill for intelligencers and perhaps a wise investment for the future. So what Mistress Black didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him.
Well, probably-he hoped.
After all, she didn’t tell him about her private deals, or else they wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess. He also had one particular idea to chase down, an errant thought prompted by Meg Black, an investment that could literally mint gold for the canny. For once, to Ned, the future looked a good deal brighter than a week ago. Now all he had to do was buy some new clothes and find a Spaniard.