Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

This caused quite a response. The handkerchief dabbing of his neck increased and Sir Welkin eyes widened in what could have been interpreted as the onset of terror.

Ned suppressed any inclination to smile. So far so good. “We have received word that your clerk, a Master Benjamin Robinson, has disappeared. That is of concern and I’m charged with his recovery.” Simple and true to a point.

For the Master of Ordinance, it seemed to be more than enough as he began to rattle out excuses. “The…the fellow was a disgrace! I mean, good sir, look at the mess he has left me with. I…I haven’t seen him for days. Damn him to the Devil’s care! Robinson has left me in this wrack!”

Even for one so young, Ned had gained a reasonable amount of experience from the Courts at winnowing truth from facts. The Master of Ordinance was the perfect example of a worried official. His claims appeared to hold a healthy measure of fear, evasion and was overlaid by the indignation of the honestly put upon. Whatever the reason, Sir Welkin felt very bitter towards the vanished clerk. How and why would require further delving.

“Sir Welkin, when did you last see him here?”

The royal official almost trembled in consternation. His hand clenched the now grimy kerchief. “Ahh, four or so days ago. The fellow has left the most terrible confusion. I had to engage another clerk to handle his commissions, at great expense to my own purse!”

Ned nodded sagely. That would be the one he kindly offered to have supervise the demi cannon casting at such an exorbitant charge. Considering the new Master of Ordinance’s current track record, he had no doubt that the new clerk was a cousin, and on presenting his bill for expenses to the Privy Purse, the clerk would magically transform into twins or triplets. At this point in the conversation, Ned could make a fair prediction of the future; all and any irregularities were about to be placed in the unresisting hands of the missing Ben Robinson. “Isn’t his lack of presence unusual? I was led to believe that Master Robinson was a commendable royal servant, zealous in his duty?”

Sir Welkin shifted his attention to Rob and they exchanged fierce glares of mutual loathing. Ned began to see why prior discussions between them had gone so badly. “Hmmph! A cozener’s sham, sirrah! The Ordinance was in terrible disorder before my supervision!”

That was an interesting description of the well organised office and records Ned had seen here just a few months ago. Rob Black strained forward and Ned could hear the grinding of teeth, as his companion suppressed the outburst of a denial. Sir Welkin also noticed the rising tension and took a half step back, nervously watching the artificer.

Ned quickly moved onto a less contentious field. “What was Master Robinson working on before he disappeared?”

“Var…Various tasks. In all this confusion it is difficult to say. M-my new clerk is sorting through that now. If you return next week all will be ordered.”

So a lot of paper work had to be rewritten within seven days. Ned made a note of the interesting timeline. Sir Welkin gave a nervous smirk. It was plain he really wanted them gone, the sooner the better. To Ned that last answer reeked of falsehood. He was certain the Master of Ordinance knew exactly what Ben Robinson was working on when he vanished.

There had been sufficient evasion on both sides. Ned found it best to kept interviews brief before his opponents regained their equilibrium. Thus it was time to make Sir Welkin a happily relieved official. The search for truth was for now finished. Other parts of the Tower could bear further exploration, but first one must observe the social niceties. For instance, it was a common practice to reward cooperation and obligation, however little and unwilling it might have been given. The plays of social intercourse between gentlemen held that it was insulting to pay over coin, well not before a witness anyway, so Ned began the social convention of a ‘gift’.

“Sir Welkin I must thank you for your help in this. Your assistance will not go unnoticed. May I beg your indulgence?” That got his interest. The Master of Ordinance looked almost happy with a flood of insincere comments on the loss of such company and anything to assist the Council. If they gave out merit for grovelling, he’d be in Heaven already.

“I find myself at a loss. I have forgotten a present for my mistress and was wondering if you would part with that basket of oranges for, say, two angels.” In truth, for two angels he could have bought a barrel of oranges. It was the form of the gesture that made it not an outright bribe.

Since their arrival, Sir Welkin Blackford’s colour had been slowly improving. Not that it came close to approaching the deep crimson of their introduction. His prior pale, waxy hue of the terminally distressed had acquired a measure of what Doctor Caerleon called the balance of the humours. At Ned’s reasonable request his shocked pallor instantly returned and he stepped between his visitors and the inoffensive basket of fruit, almost protectively. “I…I fear not Master Bedwell. It is, ahh, not…not possible!” The reply was in a voice high pitched with anxiety. One would have thought Ned was offering to buy his daughter for the night.

“Come Sir Welkin, it is an honourable price. I would even go so far as four angels for the pleasure of my mistress.” He gave a brief wave that took in the discarded fruit baskets stacked almost four deep in the corners. “Surely sir, you can spare a few for a gentleman’s lady?”

That got a very odd reaction. For one thing, his friend Rob Black made a vain attempt to muffle a guffaw, while Sir Welkin, if it were at all possible, went even whiter and stammered out a very interesting refusal. “I…I…I can’t, even for a hundred angels! They’re a present from an aunt to my wife. I daren’t part with it, on my life!”

Oh ho, so it was that sort of situation! Ned felt a twinge of sympathy. Poor fellow, no wonder he was so keen on raking in the gilt. His wife must be seriously besotted with oranges to go through so many if the empty baskets were any indication. Oh well who could understand a woman’s mania? “Please forgive my presumption. I would not offend for all my honour. Was that your aunt who just left?”

At first the Master of Ordinance had calmed down at the apology, but when he’d made casual reference to the lady who had swept past them, you would have thought that Ned was informing him that he was going to have both his daughters and seize all the family silver. Sir Welkin’s kerchief fluttered about like an army’s banners in a rout as he stuttered a reply. “Ahh …ahh…ahh, yes that was my aunt. Yes, definitely. She dotes on my wife, little presents and such all the time!”

Ned gave a generous smile as he noted the distress and pushed on. “To have kind relations must be a real comfort, Sir Welkin. I seem to remember seeing the lady at Court. However I fear I cannot recall a name.”

It was kindly said but not meant. There was a certain vicarious pleasure at watching this fellow, who’d driven Rob into rages from his greedy obstructions, quiver with sudden terror. The whole situation Ned felt just begged for retribution and both of them were now getting full reward. Sir Welkin must have the sort of in laws that were the basis for all those wicked tales of great aunts-the old dragons who came for a visit of a few days’ duration that stretched to months and were soon so well bedded down that in the end the family fled their house to another county to get away.

It must be so, for Sir Welkin stood there quietly gibbering in panic. Ned lent significantly against the door jamb, patiently awaiting a reply while he could hear Rob out in the corridor making a vain attempt to stop the peals of laughter by shoving his hand in his mouth. “It…it…it was the Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, Lady Eleanor Stafford!”