Free The Fetter Lane Fleece by Gregory House Page B

virtue.
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Chapter One: A Christmas Revel Christmas Eve London 1529
    The trilling notes of a harp chimed gently behind him as Ned rubbed his hands in front of the blazing fire. The sounds were echoed a moment later by the throaty laugh of a girl and the soft clink of a cup of sweet sack wine bumping the table. A glance out the diamond paned window told him that they’d made it here in good time. The usual mounds of street refuse were now being steadily covered in a hefty layer of white snow. No doubt even the water tubs that stood under the building’s eaves now had a surface of ice an inch thick. Despite the chill he found the scene alluring. London looked so much different in the white velvet blanket, almost as if it was donning its Twelfth Night mask apparel. Thus in one day she transformed into a pale fair mistress, rather than as some court wit had it, a pock marked crone with the fetid stench of the Fleete Ditch. The improved aspect and the subduing of the foul city airs were to Ned only the first of the benefits the winter snow had bestowed on him.
The second had been the growling dismissal by his master, Richard Rich, that year’s esteemed Autumn reader at Lincoln Inn. Most prentice lawyers were worked hard by their masters, eager to screw the last ounce of worth from the winter’s light, before having to resort to rush lights or expensive candles. So Ned shouldn’t complain too much because his fingers were cramped from his laboured task of writing up pleas for the upcoming law term. Or that the room’s meagre fire put out so little warmth that the ink in its brass pot frequently froze over and he had to chaff it warm to write. However in his case it was worse, since his master was also inconveniently his uncle. In this season it was a common joke around the Inns that Master Rich’s filial regard for his ‘worthless’ nephew bordered on that of His Sovereign Majesty’s for his recently dismissed former chancellor, Cardinal Wolsey. Thus, despite the difficulties, Ned’s better angel kept reminding him it could be worse. He could be serving his patron, Councillor Cromwell, out in the biting cold on some thankless task. However speculation didn’t aid his plans as his frustrated daemon whispered.
    As it transpired, he needn’t have fretted. Lady Fortuna in the guise of his Aunt Elizabeth swept in to remind his ‘honoured’ guardian that he’d promised to take her and the children to the first of the Christmas celebrations at the Mercers Hall. That was just as well. Three hours of enduring Uncle Richard’s disapproving snorts at his efforts had strained the bonds of service. If the old fool had sneered at his transcribing one more time Ned would thrown the pile of papers and the frozen ink pot at him and be damned. However a miracle had happened and the Christmas piety had penetrated his uncle’s hard and flinty heart. Thus he was released. At the news Ned’s oldest cousin, little Henry, some seven years old, had capered, jumped and squealed in excitement. Young Hugh though just chuckled and gurgled at the performance. At barely a year he wriggled and kicked bundled in a warm blanket. Luckily Ned had remembered to plead a prior rendezvous with his friend of last year, Rob Black, over at Williams the Apothecary. So apart from a suspicious glare from Uncle Richard, he was exempted from the chaos of the family jaunt. While Ned still chortled at the mummers’ plays, his more mature seventeen years gave him the desire to seek out the more refined pleasures London had to offer.
    Just as well. He had plans for this afternoon to increase his share of festive cheer. And they didn’t involve the Rich clan. Since the conclusion of the Cardinal’s Angels affair two months ago, Ned had done some serious thinking regarding his prospects for the winter. That significant success had improved the weight of his formerly lean and starved purse. If he wanted to be regarded as a gentleman, it behoved him to look the