As Sir Welkin’s visitor imperiously swept past, Ned wrenched off his cap and dropped into the lowest courtly bow he could manage in the narrow passage. Her costume alone merited that. In a city were the sumptuary laws were regularly ignored, it was usually difficult to judge a woman’s social ranking but with this lady there was no such ambiguity. The cloth of her dress was of the finest silk weave and the abundance of expensive trim decoration screamed High Court. Ned caught a glimpse of a gold locket and cross suspended from a necklace of pearls just before he made a close inspection of the stone floor. This lady reeked of the aura of old wealth and title, the sort that made the Royal House of Tudor look like parvenus.
After this surprising exit Sir Welkin waved them in. He seemed a lot calmer than before, though he made frequent dabbing motions around his throat with a grey looking kerchief held in his left hand. Originally Ned had considered the possibility that the new Master of Ordinance had taken this room due to his desire for ‘a hands on approach’ to his position. Well he had sort of been right. Hands had definitely been laid-on every single book and record of the office. They were scattered across the room everywhere, as if by a clerk in the manic throes of St Vitus Dance. If that disorder were not enough, the corners of the room were packed with piles of discarded wicker baskets, full of the drying remnants of fruit peel and heaped pulp fragments. The best description he could think of for this scene was frenzied.
Since he had arranged the interview with Cromwell, his ‘good lord’ and master, Ned had dressed very carefully that morning, putting on his best slashed doublet with the exposed red velvet, and his finest white shirt. But as soon as he stepped inside, the shirt stood a forlorn hope of remaining white while his expensive dark blue hose just might survive the visit. The entire room and all its contents were covered in a fine layer of black dust that seemed to fountain up wherever he stepped. As for sitting, well that was chance that had to be taken. Ned cautiously moved next to a heavy iron strapped chest and shoved a collection of loose parchments aside to create at least a semblance of a perch. For some reason, Sir Welkin twitched nervously as Ned dusted the worn oak top before he assumed a seat.
He also noted with detached interest a very finely engraved pewter ewer and two chalices on a bench next to small wickerwork basket full of fresh oranges. Their spicy aroma was heavy in the air. Despite the mess, Sir Welkin certainly didn’t stint on luxuries. Oranges from Spain were pricy at present, being well past the end of their season. Meg Black had complained of their scarcity since the declarations of hostilities with Queen Katherine’s nephew, the Emperor Charles V. Adopting the know it all guise of her profession, she claimed the fruit were an excellent remedy to the fevers and ague. Ned wisely refrained from comment. However he had ensured that he was conveniently present when the last batch was prepared for medicines and comfits. The bitingly tart taste was well worth the afternoon’s forbearance.
“Sir Welkin, I am Edward Bedwell. You have seen my warrant of commission.” That was delivered very blandly as a statement of fact. Actually Ned had made sure that the Master of Ordinance had only time enough to register the King’s Privy Council seal. The experience of previous assignments had shown him that surprised recipients were too shocked to inspect his documents closely-thus saving needless hours of explanation, clarification and obfustication. Another useful ploy was that if he acted as if he had authority, older men were quite ready to concede it. Perhaps the surprise of his presumption set them adrift in confusion. No matter, it was an advantage and he meant to use it.
The gentleman in question gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, though his hand continued to dab at his chin in an almost nervous manner while he viewed the refolded warrant with as much loathing as a snake.
“Various matters have come to the attention of the Privy Council.”
Once more this was a very safe statement though whether this matter in particular ever graced their bench was subject to debate. But at the suggestion of the Council’s interest, Sir Welkin started shuffling papers around. “I…I assure the Council that all particulars of my office are being sorted out! The last senior clerk has left it all in such disarray! It…it will take several days to find anything.”
The handkerchief fluttered like a torn sail in a storm, as Sir Welkin shuffled through the first pile of papers to hand. “I…I can personally assure the lords of the Council that the King’s powder has been fully accounted for, down to the last firkin!” With that declaration he triumphantly seized the topmost sheet and waved it like a banner rallying fleeing troops.
Ned found that prompt disclosure very curious. Every profession had its own peccadilloes and dodges. It was a fact of life. Ned hadn’t even started to prod or poke and Sir Welkin had automatically claimed all was above board. He made a mental note to ask Rob about the place of gonnepowder in the workings of the Ordinance Office. “I am sure our Sovereign Majesty and the Privy Council will be pleased to receive that notification.”
Ned was sure they wouldn’t have a clue what it was for, but if Sir Welkin was keen to list potential irregularities in his newly acquired tenure, who was Ned to stop him? So he put on his blandest court functionary face and continued probing. “Sir, it is in part regarding the disarray in this office that I am here representing our Royal Sovereign’s interest.”
This caused quite a response. The handkerchief dabbing of his neck increased and Sir Welkin eyes widened in what could have been interpreted as the onset of terror.
Ned suppressed any inclination to smile. So far so good. “We have received word that your clerk, a Master Benjamin Robinson, has disappeared. That is of concern and I’m charged with his recovery.” Simple and true to a point.
For the Master of Ordinance, it seemed to be more than enough as he began to rattle out excuses. “The…the fellow was a disgrace! I mean, good sir, look at the mess he has left me with. I…I haven’t seen him for days. Damn him to the Devil’s care! Robinson has left me in this wrack!”
Even for one so young, Ned had gained a reasonable amount of experience from the Courts at winnowing truth from facts. The Master of Ordinance was the perfect example of a worried official. His claims appeared to hold a healthy measure of fear, evasion and was overlaid by the indignation of the honestly put upon. Whatever the reason, Sir Welkin felt very bitter towards the vanished clerk. How and why would require further delving.
“Sir Welkin, when did you last see him here?”
The royal official almost trembled in consternation. His hand clenched the now grimy kerchief. “Ahh, four or so days ago. The fellow has left the most terrible confusion. I had to engage another clerk to handle his commissions, at great expense to my own purse!”
Ned nodded sagely. That would be the one he kindly offered to have supervise the demi cannon casting at such an exorbitant charge. Considering the new Master of Ordinance’s current track record, he had no doubt that the new clerk was a cousin, and on presenting his bill for expenses to the Privy Purse, the clerk would magically transform into twins or triplets. At this point in the conversation, Ned could make a fair prediction of the future; all and any irregularities were about to be placed in the unresisting hands of the missing Ben Robinson. “Isn’t his lack of presence unusual? I was led to believe that Master Robinson was a commendable royal servant, zealous in his duty?”
Sir Welkin shifted his attention to Rob and they exchanged fierce glares of mutual loathing. Ned began to see why prior discussions between them had gone so badly. “Hmmph! A cozener’s sham, sirrah! The Ordinance was in terrible disorder before my supervision!”