Read Online The Liberties of London by Gregory House - Free Book Online
Authors: Gregory House
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any strays and then finally, wet, tired and chilled, he’d staggered back to the Sign of the Spread Eagle and, ignoring the carousing, he’d taken a blanket and collapsed on the corner bed.
That probably explained why Ned was having a problem flogging his weary sleep deprived brain into action. Why had he been summoned? Fortunately Ned found he had some hour or so in which to figure it out, though the impulse to snore away on a bench was sore tempting. The courts at Westminster may be closed and most clerks overwhelmingly concerned with their own Christmas revels. However that didn’t mean the function of government had closed down. No, there were still petitioners, reports and allocations to arrange. So Westminster, though leaner than the Law terms, was still bustling with activity.
Finally Reynolds, his patron’s liveryman, waved him into one of the hall’s privy chambers. Thomas Cromwell was standing with his back to a roaring fire, examining a letter. Ned immediately gave his most practiced bow, his cap brushing the floor. His master returned only the slightest flicker of an eyebrow to register the arrival of his latest retainer. Instead all of his attention remained on the letter. From his humbled position, Ned tried his best to read what he could of Cromwell’s demeanour. The newest of the King’s privy officials had a solid build. It was said around the Inns of Court that when younger, Cromwell had served as a mercenary in the Italian Wars. From all the signs Ned had seen, that could well be true. Cromwell moved amongst the men of power and violence with an ease that spoke of a long familiarity of court and command.
Finally Cromwell put down the letter and swung his undivided attention at Ned. With a slightly impatient flick of his fingers, he indicated that Ned should rise from his bow. “ Ahh, Master Bedwell. Your Christmas Revels are going well I trust?”
This may have sounded like a pleasant question from his indulgent patron, but Ned knew that it wasn’t. Cromwell, as he was coming to understand, never indulged in idle conversation. Every word and nuance was weighed and measured for use, impact or return.
Quietly and respectfully Ned answered. “As good Christians and gentlemen, Councillor, our ceremony is celebrated with proper reverence and due respect for the season.” Ned’s better angel tut–tutted reprovingly, as the memory of the carousing at the Sign of the Spread Eagle several hours earlier resurfaced. Ned kept a tight rein on his bland smile. Cromwell could read volumes in a single twitch.
His lord and master paced over to the nearby table and tapped it with a single finger as he gave a very slow nod. “I see. I hope that it is exactly as you maintain, Master Bedwell. The good ‘health’ of young Walter is a matter dear to the King’s interests.”
Ned didn’t have to translate that. The Dellingham scion was important to some scheme of Cromwell’s.
His patron gave the slightest cough and continued. “Sir Martin Dellingham is an ardent reformer and as you’ve seen, is much influenced by the opinions of his good lady.”
The sudden image of Sir Martin, ring through his nose like that of a bullock, and with tether grasped firmly by Lady Dellingham, was produced by his delighted daemon.
“There are several matters currently before the Shropshire assizes that Sir Martin has offered his assistance in mediating with his neighbours. Since they are closely connected with His Majesty’s personal affairs, I do not need to spell them out.” Once more this wasn’t a question, though it sounded like one.
Cromwell twisted a ring on his large hand and gave the slightest frown as he spoke. “So Master Bedwell, I’m sure I have made a wise choice in placing this unworldly young man into your charge?”
“The care of Walter Dellingham is my watchword Councillor.”
Cromwell turned his back to Ned and strolled over to the fire. Then after a minute’s silence Cromwell
That probably explained why Ned was having a problem flogging his weary sleep deprived brain into action. Why had he been summoned? Fortunately Ned found he had some hour or so in which to figure it out, though the impulse to snore away on a bench was sore tempting. The courts at Westminster may be closed and most clerks overwhelmingly concerned with their own Christmas revels. However that didn’t mean the function of government had closed down. No, there were still petitioners, reports and allocations to arrange. So Westminster, though leaner than the Law terms, was still bustling with activity.
Finally Reynolds, his patron’s liveryman, waved him into one of the hall’s privy chambers. Thomas Cromwell was standing with his back to a roaring fire, examining a letter. Ned immediately gave his most practiced bow, his cap brushing the floor. His master returned only the slightest flicker of an eyebrow to register the arrival of his latest retainer. Instead all of his attention remained on the letter. From his humbled position, Ned tried his best to read what he could of Cromwell’s demeanour. The newest of the King’s privy officials had a solid build. It was said around the Inns of Court that when younger, Cromwell had served as a mercenary in the Italian Wars. From all the signs Ned had seen, that could well be true. Cromwell moved amongst the men of power and violence with an ease that spoke of a long familiarity of court and command.
Finally Cromwell put down the letter and swung his undivided attention at Ned. With a slightly impatient flick of his fingers, he indicated that Ned should rise from his bow. “ Ahh, Master Bedwell. Your Christmas Revels are going well I trust?”
This may have sounded like a pleasant question from his indulgent patron, but Ned knew that it wasn’t. Cromwell, as he was coming to understand, never indulged in idle conversation. Every word and nuance was weighed and measured for use, impact or return.
Quietly and respectfully Ned answered. “As good Christians and gentlemen, Councillor, our ceremony is celebrated with proper reverence and due respect for the season.” Ned’s better angel tut–tutted reprovingly, as the memory of the carousing at the Sign of the Spread Eagle several hours earlier resurfaced. Ned kept a tight rein on his bland smile. Cromwell could read volumes in a single twitch.
His lord and master paced over to the nearby table and tapped it with a single finger as he gave a very slow nod. “I see. I hope that it is exactly as you maintain, Master Bedwell. The good ‘health’ of young Walter is a matter dear to the King’s interests.”
Ned didn’t have to translate that. The Dellingham scion was important to some scheme of Cromwell’s.
His patron gave the slightest cough and continued. “Sir Martin Dellingham is an ardent reformer and as you’ve seen, is much influenced by the opinions of his good lady.”
The sudden image of Sir Martin, ring through his nose like that of a bullock, and with tether grasped firmly by Lady Dellingham, was produced by his delighted daemon.
“There are several matters currently before the Shropshire assizes that Sir Martin has offered his assistance in mediating with his neighbours. Since they are closely connected with His Majesty’s personal affairs, I do not need to spell them out.” Once more this wasn’t a question, though it sounded like one.
Cromwell twisted a ring on his large hand and gave the slightest frown as he spoke. “So Master Bedwell, I’m sure I have made a wise choice in placing this unworldly young man into your charge?”
“The care of Walter Dellingham is my watchword Councillor.”
Cromwell turned his back to Ned and strolled over to the fire. Then after a minute’s silence Cromwell
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