That was an interesting description of the well organised office and records Ned had seen here just a few months ago. Rob Black strained forward and Ned could hear the grinding of teeth, as his companion suppressed the outburst of a denial. Sir Welkin also noticed the rising tension and took a half step back, nervously watching the artificer.
Ned quickly moved onto a less contentious field. “What was Master Robinson working on before he disappeared?”
“Var…Various tasks. In all this confusion it is difficult to say. M-my new clerk is sorting through that now. If you return next week all will be ordered.”
So a lot of paper work had to be rewritten within seven days. Ned made a note of the interesting timeline. Sir Welkin gave a nervous smirk. It was plain he really wanted them gone, the sooner the better. To Ned that last answer reeked of falsehood. He was certain the Master of Ordinance knew exactly what Ben Robinson was working on when he vanished.
There had been sufficient evasion on both sides. Ned found it best to kept interviews brief before his opponents regained their equilibrium. Thus it was time to make Sir Welkin a happily relieved official. The search for truth was for now finished. Other parts of the Tower could bear further exploration, but first one must observe the social niceties. For instance, it was a common practice to reward cooperation and obligation, however little and unwilling it might have been given. The plays of social intercourse between gentlemen held that it was insulting to pay over coin, well not before a witness anyway, so Ned began the social convention of a ‘gift’.
“Sir Welkin I must thank you for your help in this. Your assistance will not go unnoticed. May I beg your indulgence?” That got his interest. The Master of Ordinance looked almost happy with a flood of insincere comments on the loss of such company and anything to assist the Council. If they gave out merit for grovelling, he’d be in Heaven already.
“I find myself at a loss. I have forgotten a present for my mistress and was wondering if you would part with that basket of oranges for, say, two angels.” In truth, for two angels he could have bought a barrel of oranges. It was the form of the gesture that made it not an outright bribe.
Since their arrival, Sir Welkin Blackford’s colour had been slowly improving. Not that it came close to approaching the deep crimson of their introduction. His prior pale, waxy hue of the terminally distressed had acquired a measure of what Doctor Caerleon called the balance of the humours. At Ned’s reasonable request his shocked pallor instantly returned and he stepped between his visitors and the inoffensive basket of fruit, almost protectively. “I…I fear not Master Bedwell. It is, ahh, not…not possible!” The reply was in a voice high pitched with anxiety. One would have thought Ned was offering to buy his daughter for the night.
“Come Sir Welkin, it is an honourable price. I would even go so far as four angels for the pleasure of my mistress.” He gave a brief wave that took in the discarded fruit baskets stacked almost four deep in the corners. “Surely sir, you can spare a few for a gentleman’s lady?”
That got a very odd reaction. For one thing, his friend Rob Black made a vain attempt to muffle a guffaw, while Sir Welkin, if it were at all possible, went even whiter and stammered out a very interesting refusal. “I…I…I can’t, even for a hundred angels! They’re a present from an aunt to my wife. I daren’t part with it, on my life!”
Oh ho, so it was that sort of situation! Ned felt a twinge of sympathy. Poor fellow, no wonder he was so keen on raking in the gilt. His wife must be seriously besotted with oranges to go through so many if the empty baskets were any indication. Oh well who could understand a woman’s mania? “Please forgive my presumption. I would not offend for all my honour. Was that your aunt who just left?”
At first the Master of Ordinance had calmed down at the apology, but when he’d made casual reference to the lady who had swept past them, you would have thought that Ned was informing him that he was going to have both his daughters and seize all the family silver. Sir Welkin’s kerchief fluttered about like an army’s banners in a rout as he stuttered a reply. “Ahh …ahh…ahh, yes that was my aunt. Yes, definitely. She dotes on my wife, little presents and such all the time!”
Ned gave a generous smile as he noted the distress and pushed on. “To have kind relations must be a real comfort, Sir Welkin. I seem to remember seeing the lady at Court. However I fear I cannot recall a name.”
It was kindly said but not meant. There was a certain vicarious pleasure at watching this fellow, who’d driven Rob into rages from his greedy obstructions, quiver with sudden terror. The whole situation Ned felt just begged for retribution and both of them were now getting full reward. Sir Welkin must have the sort of in laws that were the basis for all those wicked tales of great aunts-the old dragons who came for a visit of a few days’ duration that stretched to months and were soon so well bedded down that in the end the family fled their house to another county to get away.
It must be so, for Sir Welkin stood there quietly gibbering in panic. Ned lent significantly against the door jamb, patiently awaiting a reply while he could hear Rob out in the corridor making a vain attempt to stop the peals of laughter by shoving his hand in his mouth. “It…it…it was the Dowager Duchess of Buckingham, Lady Eleanor Stafford!”
From the deep dragging reluctance of his answer you would have thought Sir Welkin was on the rack being put to the ‘Question’. To Ned that admission unlocked a host of answers. So Sir Welkin Blackford could claim a connection to one of the most prestigious families in England. There were many stories about Lady Eleanor, a very domineering and forthright woman according to rumour. That explained in part his distress, thought why a witnessed visit from his aunt should send him into such a blind panic was a mystery. “You are indeed blessed Sir Welkin, to have a kind and doting patroness, especially of so distinguished a lineage.”
From the look on the man’s face he would have been happier marrying into a clan of wild Scotch reivers. Ah well, they say you can choose your friend’s company or not, but family has to be endured. At that moment Ned had a vindictive flash of inspiration. “Sir as a sign of my regard and friendship for your assistance, when I next see your aunt at Court I will recount how worthy a gentleman you are, an ornament to His Majesty’s service.”
If the raw wounds of relations were still open and bleeding, then that was at least a pound or two of salt rubbed in. Ned smiled and gave one of his more impressive bows while the Master of Ordinance stood in stunned regard staring at him in horrified fascination. Their exit was preceded by Sir Welkin’s sniggering servant, Bottoph the minion. It was evident that he enjoyed his master’s discomfort, repeating Ned’s barbed comments in a hoarse voice, interspaced by the coughing bark of laughter. Ned shook his head in wry amusement. It just went to show, connections at court always trumped ability of service.
***
Chapter 7. The Modern Engines of War, Tower Courtyard, Afternoon, 6th June
Once they were in the Tower commons having shed their hobbling and cackling escort, Ned grabbed his friend’s shoulder and steered him behind the shelter of a clutter of timber frames on the western flank of the White Tower. “As you said Rob, Sir Welkin is useless. So who else can we ask about Ben Robinson?”
His friend was still chuckling over the discomfort of his nemesis and had to pause a moment before coming up with a considered reply. “When Welkin took the office most of lads were replaced with his cronies, except for the two Doutch Gonne artificers.”
“Who?”
“Hubrecht and Henryk van de Fonteyne. They’re brothers and masters of the craft from the Low Countries, Doutchmen. Welkin couldn’t get rid of them or there’d be none left who could actually work any of the great ordinance.”