Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

After their companions had been given sufficient assurances, Ned escorted Lizzie and her required chaperone, who was as he’d expected the dagger clutching cousin of Bethany, a lass named Mary from Peterborough. She’d relaxed enough to chat pleasantly during the journey, but was still extremely suspicious as indicated by her right hand resting close to her sheathed blade. Ned opened the door and ushered the two girls into the shipmaster’s cabin, only to find the room was already occupied.

Two pairs of startled eyes swivelled his way. One set at least he recognised easily as Rob Black. The other however took a little while longer, and then Ned realised it was Sir Roderick Belsom. He looked so different without his armour and plumed helm. It was like viewing a shell-less snail, though now Ned had a moment to contemplate the change, his style of dress made More’s man look even more like a toad than before, and a puffed scarlet one at that. Hadn’t his tailor mentioned that the colour made his cheeks look like two bulging red sacks? Probably not if he still wished to be paid for his work.

Back to the startled eyes. If Rob’s opened any wider, his eyebrows would stretch to his nape. Ned couldn’t have got a better reception if he grown an extra head. From Sir Toad it was more an equal mixing of hunger and lust, with not a little avarice as an overtone.

Ned was pleasantly surprised at the reaction, though very curious as to his visitor. “Why Sir Roderick, how pleasant to see you again so soon.”

The pursuivant continued to ogle the two girls who had stepped through the door. From the dresses, the ribbons, unbound hair and most definitely their prominent attributes, there could be little doubt as to their station or employment.

Ned was feeling very mischievous. “Had you sent word, I could have arranged few extra for an afternoon’s entertainment. There are twenty more eager lasses in the hold. Take your pick.”

Now his visitor most resembled his totem, mouth gaping wide as if ready for a feast of flies, but all that came out was a series of strangled gasps.

“No? Well, your choice. Rob, if you would be so kind as to keep my friends entertained on the deck, I will see what else our esteemed guest requires.”

Rob couldn’t have shot out of the door faster if he’d been assisted by a little of the gonne powder. Ned’s two attractive escorts gave brief shrugs and followed after their newest chaperone.

Quickly closing the door behind them, Ned paced across the room and took up a position lounging on the empty bunk. His guest closed his mouth and worked it around a few of the usual phrases of greeting. Ned’s daemon snickered wickedly at Sir Belsom’s difficulty, suggesting that Sir Toad appeared disturbed either by the departed girls or the unexpected manner of Ned’s arrival.

“Arghh, Master Bedwell. I, well…I mean…”

Ned smiled with some show of concern, arose from his perch, and poured his guest a cup of ale from the leather jack on the table. “It’s all right Sir Roderick. I can get a few more whenever I feel the need.”

Ned deliberately stoked the raging envy he saw in the pursuivants eyes. It could be that the fellow suffered a mutiny in those parts, perhaps brought on by an excess of choler or a lack of vitality. Or mayhap it was more serious. Had the Lord Chancellor’s pursuivant the Spanish pox? It was said to create fearfully painful eruptions that rotted a man from the inside, starting with his cods. The speculation, although vicariously enjoyable, was just idle mischief, though his guest was exhibiting signs of an overwrought nature since Ned’s arrival. Whatever could that mean? He hadn’t seen the Lord Chancellor’s man anywhere near his labouring soldiers over at Temple Bar or even a peep of the usual escort, either on the docks or leering by the tavern at his passing carnival.

So a lad had to ask, why was Sir Frederick visiting so quietly, so discretely, so, well furtively? More’s pursuivant wasn’t one to shirk display or ostentation when given half a chance. Ned sat back on the bunk swinging one leg patiently while he waited for the knight to regain his composure. “I’m afraid, Sir Belsom, I have nothing new to report on the murders, though I do expect to have a number of suspects in custody by Sunday for the Lord Chancellor’s inspection.”

Ned gave his blandest smile. There, let Sir Toad think on that. “If you’re after Mistress Black, I am afraid your journey was wasted. I believe she is probably at Greyfriars, doing something with herbs or potions, or whatever matters apothecaries concern themselves with.”

A blatant lie but so what. Despite his best intentions, Ned couldn’t keep a dismissive sneer out of his voice. He’d had enough of dealing with Meg Black’s problems for the day.

His unexpected guest however, seemed to rally with that news. Sir Roderick gave a barking cough that rumbled alarmingly and finally launched into more coherent speech. “Ahh it is not, umm, not the Black girl I came here to see, or any other matter about the murders.”

At the mention of the gruesome deaths, Belsom’s lips twitched in clear distaste, and he briefly averted his gaze from the bunk that Ned now sprawled upon. “Ahh…instead I’m here to see you, Master Bedwell.”

That was a surprise. Sir Toad was trying to be polite. He even managed a struggling attempt at a welcoming smile, though why Belsom should bother for an apprentice lawyer who’d tricked him was a mystery.

“Well sir, I am as ever at your service.” With this Ned doffed his cap respectfully and continued to observe his visitor. The Lord Chancellor’s pursuivant was sweating profusely and made frequent dabs at his chin with a linen kerchief stowed in his sleeve. “Master Bedwell, this is a difficult situation. I must convey to you the deepest apologies of my lord. It would seem that in our zeal to serve the King’s Majesty, a grievous error has been made.”

What, an apology from Sir Thomas More? That was as unlikely as sainthood for Cardinal Wolsey. Ned tilted his head in wary acceptance but made no reply. Where was Belsom’s accustomed bluster and threat?

“Yes indeed Master Bedwell. I am ashamed to admit that in this tragic affair we have laboured under a number of misapprehensions.” Sir Roderick seemed to pause for a moment, and ruminated as if chewing on a distasteful morsel, then breathlessly launched into an explanation. “The first was the possession of this vessel. I fear that our agents failed to relay that you are the owner. Be assured they have been punished for that.”

This was a strange twist. Once again Ned gave a brief nod in reply. News? Yes. Good? Well, maybe not. It didn’t solve the problem of the impounding, and actually it made it worse. True, Meg Black was out of the firing line now, but that left Ned Bedwell there all on his own.

“The second is your connection to the well known and respected Richard Rich. As you know the Lord Chancellor holds you uncle in high regard for his work at the Courts and extends to you a similar courtesy.”

Now Ned was really confused-More showing respect for Uncle Richard? What was this? Sir Roderick the Toad continued to smile in a most ingratiating manner. To Ned it was almost frightening. “Yes, yes indeed. My lord has mentioned many times how impressed he is with Master Rich’s ability to sway judges and juries in his pleadings.”

At that piece of oozing flattery Ned began to see the true message. Uncle Richard’s reputation of inveigling a court case by, ahh, gift or leverage was infamous. So had Belsom just said the Rich clan were renowned as being open to bribery or perhaps had been bribed already? He’d sort that out latter. In the meantime Ned decided it was time to move onto the more urgent matters.