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| Source: The Guardian |
A wooden bird. Worth a fortune to those in the know. Royal connections and skull-duggery. I think we have here what is known as a prequel.....
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My manservant coughed discreetly as he let her into the cheap room that I rented in a cheap alley near Cheapside.
"A lady to see you, sir"
What sort of lady would come by herself to my part of town? She swept into the room, veiled and wearing a dark cloak.
"Mr Shovell? I need a man of discretion and ability. I am afraid for my life. A certain personage is threatening me"
"Indeed my lady? What do you wish of me?"
"Follow me tonight. I shall frequent Whitehall. Scare him away, Mr Shovell."
"And may I know your name? For to act for one unknown is to cast dung after ordure"
She frowned at my aphorism "Call me Lady Moresee". She left. I pondered a while, then procured my sharpest dagger, my second-best cloak and a bottle of mead. It was going to be an interesting night.
*&*&*&*&*&
The Fat Man grunted as he swilled another bottle of sack. His weaselly associate still held the pike with its sharp tip just under my throat. I breathed very carefully. No sound from outside reached this small, tapestry-lined chamber.
"I am after this ...object, Mr Shovell. I have been pursuing it for many years. During that time I have risen high in my ...chosen profession. I have much power and you would do well to hearken."
"Oh, I'm hearkening" I said, as jauntily as a man with a pike at his throat can be "But I haven't heard anything worth hearkening to yet"
"Shall I prick him a little, your eminence?" hissed the little man.
"No, we need him intact, Mr Cornwall. But only as long as he is useful to us. Now, I ask you again, where is Mistress Moresee?"
"I don't know and even if I did, I never betray a client"
"But she has betrayed you, Mr Shovell". The Fat Man laughed, a long and wheezy laugh "And she has betrayed me and Mr Cornwall here, too.
Then it all went black.
*&*&*&*&*&
We were gathered in the upper room in the Angel Inn at Islington. A fast coach-and-four was waiting below but I knew that none of us there would be fleeing north on it tonight. The Fat Man sat in the only chair, sweat glistening on his forehead in the light of the crackling fire. Cornwall paced up and down. Lady Moresee stood by the window, tense and trembling.
I pointed to the package on the table. "Before we unwrap that, let me tell you a story. A story about three very ambitious people. People like - you, Lady Jane Seymour! Yes, I saw through your story at once. And you, Cardinal Wolsey! Everyone knows you're the fattest man in the Church. And as for Cornwall - or should I say Cromwell? The finest pike-twiddler this side of the The Strand. But what was it all about?"
Wolsey pointed a shaking finger at the package. "Mr Cromwell?"
Cromwell slit the paper. Wolsey reached and withdrew a small wooden figure.
"At last. After so long, it's finally mine". I watched the others; they were watching him. I grabbed the pike. "Back against the wall, Cromwell. And you, Wolsey. Hands where I can see them. Ah, no you don't" and I snatched the little knife from Seymour's hand "Now, I prithee, show us the prize".
"It's a falcon" Wolsey's voice registered amazement and shock "I thought it was a precious relic, covered in gold and jewels. It's just a sodding wooden falcon. It's worth no more than £75"
Ignoring the pike, he stood up, gathered his robes about him and swept out, Cromwell following meekly in his wake. I let them go. Little did they know that the coachman was going to take them directly to the Tower where the King's executioner was waiting. I looked at Seymour, whose moist lips were parted.
"Oh, Mr Shovell, you'll not see me taken by the guard, will you? I thought we had something special between us. You did love me, did you not?"
"Perhaps, Jane" I said through gritted teeth "But you're taking the fall. The King's been on to you for some time. That falcon is going back to Ann Boleyn and you, My Lady Moresee, can kiss goodbye to your pretty little head".
*&*&*&*&*&
| Cardinal Wolsey |
Orson Welles (with sherry) | ||
| King Henry VIII | Orson Welles (with cushion up his tunic) | ||
| Lady Jane Seymour | Jane Seymour (Jane Seymour the actor, not Jane Seymour the Lady) | ||
| Thomas Cromwell | Oliver Cromwell | ||
| Sam Shovell | see if Michael Caine has a free day | ||
| Manservant | Sam Kydd |
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