Gregory House - The Liberties of London

After some delay Warder Locksley shuffled into the room and plunked himself into a handy chair, sighing with the effort. Ned gave him a rapid inspection. The official was maybe five foot odd tall, had a portly appearance and short grey beard. His doublet and gown were of a decent quality cloth and cut, while his podgy fingers displayed a love of gold rings and ostentation. At a guess the warder extracted a goodly share of fees and gifts from his charges. Well Ned could work with that.

The Warder huffed a bit, unfolded a small letter and peered at it frowning. “So Master Bedwell, how can I be of service to Councillor Cromwell?”

Ned had found it convenient on more than one occasion to employ the name of his patron for smoother transactions. “My master requests that young Dellingham be released to my custody. It is a matter of concern to the Privy Council that he’s being unlawfully restrained here.”

The Warder puffed out his cheeks and tut-tutted as he pulled out a pile of what looked like writs. “I fear Master Bedwell, his detention at the Compter is entirely legal, as these will show.”

Ned picked them up and gave their contents a quick perusal. He bit his lip. Oh yes, they were undoubtedly legal. Despite the occasional wandering script, each was signed by justice of the peace. The names of the officials however gave him concern. In these dozen sheets you had as fine a selection of venial and corrupt Londoners as you could find. Ned didn’t have the luxury of playing the Courts so this had to be settled quickly and quietly. “I see, Warder Locksley. Hmm, Councillor Cromwell would prefer if this was dealt without fuss.”

Ned removed his leather glove and slipped off a gold ring set with a small amethyst and placed it on the table. Warder Locksley’s eye’s sparkled with interest as he picked up the ring and closely examined it. Ned, in the meantime, kept up his play of arrogant disdain, though inside he was cursing fiercely. That ring had been his one true extravagance with the reward of the Cardinals’ Angels. It hurt to let it go as a bribe for worthless Walter. The ring disappeared inside the Warder’s gown and a rumbling cough announced a resolution. “I understand the Councillor’s concern and it would be my pleasure sort out these, ahh…errors.”

At this concession, Ned returned the slightest nod.

“However I have another difficulty Master Bedwell.” The warder immediately produced yet a further sheaf of papers and began o read through them. “Young Master Dellingham also has a number of debts. This one is for three angels to Nick Throckmore at Tower Royal of St Paul’s yard. Another bill here charges a debt of ten shillings to the taverner of the Red Boar.”

The warder then plunked them in front of Ned. “Then these. Well it’d be quicker to tell you the total — three pounds, two shilling and eight pence. He is also charged with affray by the parish constable whom he assaulted. And of course his debt here so far is five shillings and four pence since he’s been our charge.”

Ned wearily rubbed his face. Walter had been a busy lost lamb. No, his splurge went past busy, frantic was a better description. Thus Ned’s conviction of being led into an elaborate cony trap hardened into a granite certainty. “That, Warder Locksley, is simply sorted out.” Ned flicked his finger over his shoulder and Rob stepped forward, and opening a leather satchel, spilled out a spray of coins onto the table.

The warder’s eye glowed and he returned a very ingratiating smile. “I can see, Master Bedwell, that you can be very persuasive.”

Ned kept a tight rein on his brewing anger and nodded politely in reply. Walter had better be worth all this damned trouble and expense. Or else.

Ned waited impatiently for the shambling warder to sort through his keys and unlock the last door. Locksley had correctly scented opportunity in the Dellingham lad and put him in private, shared cell rather than one of the larger rooms with the common lawbreakers and debtors. It had been a very well rewarded chance. Ned winced at how much he’d borrowed from his company of Christmas revellers — ruin wasn’t even a step away. The first part of his plan had succeeded. Now it depended on others to fulfil their parts. He’d sent out a flurry of messages all over the city, aimed at the unpredictable Meg Black, imploring her to delay Lady Dellingham’s progress. Rob’s postscript may help but he couldn’t depend on it. In the meantime he detailed his friend to keep a watch on the front of the goal. As for Warder Locksley, trust and chance only went so far.

Finally the correct key rattled in the stubborn lock and the door opened with a poorly oiled squeal. Ignoring the grumbling warder, Ned stepped inside. The cell held two occupants, a snoring cloak covered form in the corner and their missing lamb. Walter had been eagerly peering out of the barred open window, no doubt waiting for the return of his messages. At the grating squeal he looked around curiously at his visitor. Ned noticed a flash of expression. Whether it was curiosity, anger or surprise he wasn’t sure, but Walter quickly covered it with his accustomed sheepish mask and cried out. “Ned! Ned, I am so glad you’re here! I’ve prayed ceaselessly for succour from the good Lord and now a miracle!” The lad’s eyes instantly brimmed with tears and he threw himself at Ned, clutching at him like a drowning man.

Playing the concerned friend Ned sympathetically patted him on the shoulder. “Walter, Walter, we’ve been so worried. Where have you been?”

The Dellingham cony sniffed loudly and more tears flowed as he gasped out an explanation. “I’m afraid I must confess to imbibing too much sack the previous night. I fear I’m not used to it. After that…I…I don’t remember what happened. It all seems like a horrible nightmare and in my wanderings, the parish constables mistook me for a felon, and I fear, locked me in here.”

Ned put on his best solicitous lawyer’s face and slowly nodded at the tale. Walter was good. Maybe he should forget the Geneva venture and take up at the Inns of Court. With a play like this he’d have clients by the dozen, though his daemon noticed Walter’s failure to mention his flight at the Fleete Bridge. Evasion was for this lad as easy as breathing.

While Ned was comforting the new found lamb a thumping at the door drew his attention. Rob’s anxious face was on the other side. “Ned, Ned they’re here. Hurry up for god’s sake!”

Enough pandering. Ned grabbed the supposed cony by the doublet and pushed him up against the wall, thrusting his head forward until they were face to face. “Look Walter, I suggest we drop the mummer’s play. I’ve chased you all over London. I know where you’ve been and I know what you’ve done!”

Ned tilted his head in the direction of the gate. “Your mother is here, on the other side of the prison with Councillor Cromwell. I can leave you here to be discovered, or help you. What’s your choice?”

“Ahh…Ahh…Ahh!”

Ned gave the doublet an extra twist, cutting off Walter’s air supply. After the dice affair, the chase, Earless Nick’s game of Thirty One , the brawl and hanging over the manure choked Fleete Ditch, he wasn’t feeling any Christian charity. Even if it was Christmas!

“Arrgh…yes…yes!”

Ned dropped his errant charge, Walter crumpled against the wall gasping for breath.

“What…what can we do?” Walter appeared crushed and defeated by his recent ordeal, but Ned wasn’t so sure. Any fellow, who could dissemble so well before a gossip of lawyers during the several hour long game of Hazard, was as slippery as a greased weasel, and not even half as trustworthy.

For Ned it was time to apply the thumb screws of leverage. “Walter, by my calculation, you should have some forty angels you cozened out of that card play. Where is it?’