Free The Liberties of London by Gregory House Page B

summons from Ralph Sadler and a note from my uncle.”

    At that answer his nascent lawyer’s instincts tingled. He’d stake silver on the fact that Mistress Black was lying, what about Ned wasn’t sure, but somehow he suspected it involved his presence in this scheme.

    All of a sudden Meg Black, the most practical of apothecary apprentices, gave a loud sniff and burst in to tears. “Oh poor Walter – the poor lost lamb! I’m sure he’s been led astray! Oh, Walter – lost and alone in London!”

    At this suddenly distraught scene Ned was at a loss. He’d only ever seen Meg cry once, and that was when recounting the loss of her parents. To shed such prodigious tears for Walter, a mere stranger, set loose a veritable host of suspicions. The first and foremost of the pack was the prospect of a secret marriage contract between a reformist apothecary and a lad who was training to be a leading reformer. Not that he had any right to complain. Well not really…but…but he damned well didn’t like to be manipulated! So if that was the game, as his daemon whispered, Ned had a few ready plans for some revenge. He thumped the table with a fist. “By all the saints, stop your wailing. Trust me. Walter’s not that much of a lost lamb,” Ned replied bitterly.

    The crying halted with a shocked sniff and Meg Black dabbed at her tear–stained cheeks with a linen kerchief and glared at him. “Why not? Have you no shame, Ned Bedwell! Poor Walter, lost, alone and bewildered in the city, at risk of every foister, nip or lewd punk!”

    “Ahh…I think not.”

    “What?” At this denial, Meg Black lost the last of any desire for weeping. Instead she surged up to a full, angry five foot and balled her fists as if to lay a blow. Roger, still with that amused smile on his scarred face, edged closer to intercept. As for Ned, it was purely an instinctive reaction that made him blanch.

    Quickly he summed up his reasoning, or at least his daemon’s suspicions. “No, no. It’s not what you think! ‘Innocent lamb’ Walter took my lads from the Chancery for some six angels this morning at Hazard. Then he supposedly left Rob here with his purse.” Ned indicted the forlorn pile of scrap on the table. “That much nerve and skill takes a canny player of cozenage.”

    Meg Black’s hands remained clenched and her words were still bitingly bitter. “What are you implying, Ned Bedwell, you cozening swaggerer?”

    Ned could see he still had a long way to go before his own play was set, and spread his hands wide in the most innocent of expressions. “Just the facts Meg. For an innocent lad fresh from the country, lambkin Walter has already used two old cony–catcher’s tricks, and played them damned well. You’ve got to ask how many more does he know?”

    Ned noticed Meg’s fingers unclenched slightly and, with just the barest margin of belief, before she shot back a suspicion tinted question. “So where is he then?”

    “To be honest, I don’t know. We’re the only ones he’s seen in the city except for that blonde punk at St Paul’s.”

    Oh no, that was definitely the wrong thing to say. Doubt and mistrust flooded back into Meg Black’s face as she lent forward, now quivering with menace. “Yes…St Paul’s. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that Ned. Thank you for reminding me.”

    Unless he thought quickly he was done for. Instantly his daemon reminded him of an old score. Ned put his hand over his heart and tried his best to appear both hurt and offended. “Me? Why, I had nothing to do with those punks. I don’t know them, despite what some may claim. However, perhaps we should ask someone who does, ehh Hawks ?”

    Three sets of eyes immediate swung towards the previously amused Roger Hawkins. He didn’t look so happy now and Ned, leaning forward on the table with a quiet smile, fired off the first question. “So Hawks , how do you know Anthea?”
    ***

Chapter Seven: A Lost Lamb or Loose in the