Free The Liberties of London by Gregory House

the London Liberties past the Fleete Ditch. With Tam keeping an eye on proceedings upstairs and in the common room, it was unlikely any nips, foister or cross biters were in residence. So scratch the cony catchers and peddlers of cozenage, although, perhaps there was one possibility.

    Ned lent forward. “Rob, tell me, did Walter take his purse?”

    “Why no, no he didn’t. Walter left it with me.” Rob smiled and patted a lump in his doublet.

    That was usually a wise move. it was incredibly difficult to chase after a thieving nip with your hose around your ankles. Perhaps Ned should have blamed his daemon for the next thought. No matter. On a hunch Ned put out his hand and Rob, after the briefest hesitation, pulled out the missing lamb’s purse and placed it the offered palm. Now practice had made Ned a passable judge of coin and its weights. He hefted the small leather pouch. Hmm, six angels or more in shillings and pence: that should sound more tinkly and heavier like sweet silver.

    Cautiously Ned loosened the cords and poured out the winnings. A small stream of coin spilled on to the wooden table and lay there forlornly. Ned’s daemon screamed in outrage at the sight, while Rob, his eyes wide in shock, as he spluttered. “What! But it didn’t leave my doublet! Ned what’s going on?”

    Before them both was a very miserable collection of a dozen farthings and a liberal section of rough copper discs. Perhaps enough to pay for day’s food for a labourer, but a healthy spread of gold and silver coins totaling forty six shillings, it certainly wasn’t.

    Ned rubbed his face as he throttled the wild speculations of his daemon. “Hmm, well at a guess those six angels have disappeared – like our dear Walter.”

    “What do you mean Walter’s disappeared, Red Ned Bedwell?”

    As those familiar tones of disapproval rang out, Rob’s face turned pale. Ned didn’t have to look behind him to identify their latest visitor. He dropped his head into the cradle of his hand. Of all the cursed luck, who should turn up but that damned nosy herb dabbler!

    As expected, the usual accusations flew forth, that he was a miserable measle, a drunkard, a tosspot, a cozener of lewd inclinations and no doubt an imp of mischief and debauchery who did the devil’s work. That, at least, was the edited version. Ned had heard all this before. The lass had more inventive and colourful language than a fishwife, though this time, as far as his better angel was willing to swear, he wasn’t at fault. Well, not for all of it. The planning and intent of debauchery, in his mind, was a different order of sin to the act. Anyway lamb Walter may have baulked at the gate, so that one didn’t count.

    In the meantime Ned didn’t try any defense, just lowered his head and let it all flow over him. Eventually Meg Black’s fearsome temper would wind down. She’d gathered breath for a further volley including, as Ned suspected, physical missiles to add weight to her argument, when her brother Rob stood up to be the willing sacrifice. Shamefacedly, he volunteered that Walter’s lack of presence was his fault, since Ned had been called away. At the news Meg Black actually halted and swung her baleful gaze towards her brother. Ned could actually see her weighting the truth of his report. In the end a quick whisper from Gruesome Roger seemed to reinforce the current version of events and reluctantly Mistress Black took a seat and almost kindly asked Rob what had happened.

    That may have been a reprieve, except that Rob also faithfully reported the progress of the revels and Walter’s willing, and in fact eager, participation. As the tale unwound Ned fervently wished for his friend to acquire a modicum of discretion. He wasn’t sure whether Meg Black was going to erupt into another bout of anger when it came to the description of Hazard .

    Instead she seemed to satisfy her violent urge by instead refocusing her attention Ned–wards. “Bedwell,