The Fetter Lane Fleece Read Online Free

London. As of a few days ago Red Ned Bedwell had come to the negative attention of Earless Nick due to circumstances surrounding that damned evangelical ‘lamb’, Walter Dellingham. So there no small need for circumspection in this matter. As a precaution and to hopefully prevent recognition the normally strutting Red Ned, aspiring lawyer and potential gentleman had drawn upon the classical tale of Ulysses and opted for disguise. He’d felt himself rather inventive. The beaver’s pelt of a beard and the padded hunchback were dismissed out of hand back as worse than useless. Instead he had reasoned that the simplest of disguises usually proved to be the best, and thus he had put this problem to the assembled Revellers. In the main their suggestions had been sound, that was all except Radford who’d sniggered that Ned needed a kirtle, a dress and a french hood to truly be hidden from view. That drunkard’s delusion had been ignored. Instead they’d pooled a collection from several of the lads at the Revels who were newly come to the Inns this last law term. For a couple of flagons of Rhenish and the sly whisper of a play at cozenage in the Liberties they’d been more than keen to lend their older garb.
    Thus here he was clumsily strutting down Fleete Street in an ill fitting gown, doublet, cap and to Ned’s present irritation, a ‘borrowed’ codpiece that required constant scratching thanks to fleas and other bedfellows. Hence the clumsy walk as he constantly sought to apprehend or smite the minuscule foe. So to the casual observer or not so casual beggar, Ned presented the very image of an ill tutored and gawky country lad on his first visit to the city.
    The risk of identification having been dealt with, this only left one other potential difficulty, and as his daemon and angel whispered in unison, it was perhaps the most fraught with peril. The Wool’s Fleece in Fetter Lane had an unsavoury reputation. It was indeed a sink hole of depravity and vice, full of the boldest rogues and dice men well skilled in fleecing innocent lads such as the youngest of the Reedman brothers. Yes damn them—the patrons of the Fleece were very well practiced. They’d even caught out the renowned Red Ned Bedwell, though as his better angel consoled at that time he was but a callow youth, barely a week in the city. The humiliation still rankled, a shameful mark on his reputation, he all too easy cozenage of young Ned. By all the rutting devils of Satan’s merry hell, didn’t that remembered shame stoke a fierce anger fuelling his present lust for retribution! Ned presented an unpleasant smile to the dark of the night. Maybe young Reedman was an excuse, but damn him, the opportunity to ‘fleece’ The Fleece was too good an opportunity to refuse. And as his daemon counselled, always give in to Temptation for in these perilous times one never knew when it would come one’s way again.
Chapter Four . The Wool’s Fleece
    Standing in the lee of a projecting upper storey, Ned pretended to lean against the wall and clean frozen street muck off his shoe, while his servant still holding the sputtering link light stood out in the lane. Pretty standard behaviour for most gentlemen—they’d shelter in comfort awaiting while the minions suffered the cold and the rain. As a piece of scene setting Ned thought it perfect even though Rob had voiced a pointed reminder of the perishing cold. He needed to watch the tavern for a few minutes before putting his cozenage into play. There was the usual beggar huddled under a half collapsed lean–to across the lane. That was to be expected in the Liberties, no doubt another pair of hired ‘eyes’ for Earless Nick. Most establishments under his ‘patronage’ had at least one nearby to report the comings and goings so as to speedily informing their lord and master on the departure of any likely targets for ‘tithing’.
    Apart from the defacto gateman The Wool’s Fleece looked pretty much the same