Read Online The Cardinal's Angels by Gregory House - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gregory House
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extolling the many virtues of Pleasant Anne with an attempt at rhyming verse. Although inventive, the tune would have sounded better if yowled by cats. A whispering tease of ragged memory engaged Ned’s attention. The name, he knew something about the name. Curious now, he slipped along behind them, keeping to the deep shadows.
Lady Fortuna or a kindly saint must have finally have taken pity on his plight, because he caught a closer glimpse of the weary carousers as they staggered along the southern wall of St Paul’s and past an early morning procession of monks on their way to Matins prayers. The light from the wavering lanterns were enough to show him a drunken Will Coverdale arm in arm with two other inhabitants of Gray’s Inn. Ned would have smiled but it hurt. Still he took a chance and joined in the chorus and, moving fast, nudged Will’s swaying prop aside. “Greetings Will, how be you?”
A very bleary pair of eyes tried to focus on its new crutch. “Gods wounds, tis Ned’s ghost. Mornin ’ ghostie . Whats y’ doin ’ w’out y’ shroud?”
What! Dead? His friend’s response sent shivers down Ned’s spine and the shock froze the welcoming smile into a rictus grin. Faster than he would have thought possible, Ned re edited his opening words from a frightened mewl. “Why ?… Why, ahh, to check on my good friend Will of course! Anyways, how do I come to be dead?”
Master Cloverdale tried to tap his nose in a conspiratorial manner. He missed and clouted his other walking crutch in the ear. The fellow spun off and stumbled into another of his boon companions, leaving him with the uncertain and now frightened support of Ned. His new passenger leant closer and the fumes of ale and sack washed over Ned, setting him coughing and gagging as a teary Will tried to console him “ Puir Ned, p’rr Ned…Ned? C’n y’ nay recall it? Twas the brawl in S’thwark did y’ in, wit’ th’t whores ’n Smeaton.”
“What!!” Damn, was he going to have to escape to France anyway? Ned’s shivering increased with the mounting fear. Will reacted to the display of shock with more teary sentiment. “Oh y’ puir , puir ghostie . Nay tremble so. I could nay help. The Watch were a carrin ’ y’ off a’time we gots out the door.”
Ned just nodded sympathetically. Well at least he knew who had his sword and purse, the damned thieving Southwark Watch!
Will gave a big smile and lolled his head in a northerly direction. “Said a prayer an’ lit a doz’n candles fo ’ y’ soul o’ St Bot’oophs . Sure Geoff did a’well , though he’s a gone t’ Glo’stshire , or Ch’shire or Sumwh’reshire .”
Hmm, smart Geoffrey. He obliviously knew enough to get out of the city with a dead Smeaton literally lying at his feet. Ned had a moment’s suspicion of his other friend, but in any slaying the last suspect would be Geoffrey. The lad was terrified of blood for one and, unlike Ned, always shied away from a fight, relying on his skill with words. But enough speculation, back to his drunken friend. “Thanks Will. That was kind. Where was this? I’ll go and light some candles there as well.”
Perhaps that was the wrong question since Will once more began sobbing almost uncontrollably. “Ahh puir , puir ghostie . He don’t kn’w wh’re he died. S’thwark , ghostie , S’thwark . Oot side the C’dinal’s C’p , wh’ren we was all singin ’ wit your friend an’ the purrty girl.” At this point, Will began to weep noisily.
“ Puir ghostie o’ Ned. No shroud fo ’ your rest, an her’ S’Paul’s !” His sorrow then shifted with a snuffling snort on his sleeve and once more returned to the song about Pleasant Anne. Ned eased him onto another pair of shoulders and headed south towards the river.
Thoughtfully Ned trudged through the slowly stirring city. So Southwark was his destination. That news wasn’t unexpected. Will’s reaction, however, was. Now one apprentice lawyer, Ned Bedwell by name,
Lady Fortuna or a kindly saint must have finally have taken pity on his plight, because he caught a closer glimpse of the weary carousers as they staggered along the southern wall of St Paul’s and past an early morning procession of monks on their way to Matins prayers. The light from the wavering lanterns were enough to show him a drunken Will Coverdale arm in arm with two other inhabitants of Gray’s Inn. Ned would have smiled but it hurt. Still he took a chance and joined in the chorus and, moving fast, nudged Will’s swaying prop aside. “Greetings Will, how be you?”
A very bleary pair of eyes tried to focus on its new crutch. “Gods wounds, tis Ned’s ghost. Mornin ’ ghostie . Whats y’ doin ’ w’out y’ shroud?”
What! Dead? His friend’s response sent shivers down Ned’s spine and the shock froze the welcoming smile into a rictus grin. Faster than he would have thought possible, Ned re edited his opening words from a frightened mewl. “Why ?… Why, ahh, to check on my good friend Will of course! Anyways, how do I come to be dead?”
Master Cloverdale tried to tap his nose in a conspiratorial manner. He missed and clouted his other walking crutch in the ear. The fellow spun off and stumbled into another of his boon companions, leaving him with the uncertain and now frightened support of Ned. His new passenger leant closer and the fumes of ale and sack washed over Ned, setting him coughing and gagging as a teary Will tried to console him “ Puir Ned, p’rr Ned…Ned? C’n y’ nay recall it? Twas the brawl in S’thwark did y’ in, wit’ th’t whores ’n Smeaton.”
“What!!” Damn, was he going to have to escape to France anyway? Ned’s shivering increased with the mounting fear. Will reacted to the display of shock with more teary sentiment. “Oh y’ puir , puir ghostie . Nay tremble so. I could nay help. The Watch were a carrin ’ y’ off a’time we gots out the door.”
Ned just nodded sympathetically. Well at least he knew who had his sword and purse, the damned thieving Southwark Watch!
Will gave a big smile and lolled his head in a northerly direction. “Said a prayer an’ lit a doz’n candles fo ’ y’ soul o’ St Bot’oophs . Sure Geoff did a’well , though he’s a gone t’ Glo’stshire , or Ch’shire or Sumwh’reshire .”
Hmm, smart Geoffrey. He obliviously knew enough to get out of the city with a dead Smeaton literally lying at his feet. Ned had a moment’s suspicion of his other friend, but in any slaying the last suspect would be Geoffrey. The lad was terrified of blood for one and, unlike Ned, always shied away from a fight, relying on his skill with words. But enough speculation, back to his drunken friend. “Thanks Will. That was kind. Where was this? I’ll go and light some candles there as well.”
Perhaps that was the wrong question since Will once more began sobbing almost uncontrollably. “Ahh puir , puir ghostie . He don’t kn’w wh’re he died. S’thwark , ghostie , S’thwark . Oot side the C’dinal’s C’p , wh’ren we was all singin ’ wit your friend an’ the purrty girl.” At this point, Will began to weep noisily.
“ Puir ghostie o’ Ned. No shroud fo ’ your rest, an her’ S’Paul’s !” His sorrow then shifted with a snuffling snort on his sleeve and once more returned to the song about Pleasant Anne. Ned eased him onto another pair of shoulders and headed south towards the river.
Thoughtfully Ned trudged through the slowly stirring city. So Southwark was his destination. That news wasn’t unexpected. Will’s reaction, however, was. Now one apprentice lawyer, Ned Bedwell by name,
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