Treachery (15 page)

‘Yes, sir, what can I get you?’ She wipes her hands on her apron.

‘I wondered if I might have a word with you in private?’ I offer up my best smile; it has served me well with older women.

She smooths down her skirts and simpers. ‘Well, of course – get along with you, slattern,’ she adds, to the girl. ‘And don’t let me catch you shirking your duties again – there’s plenty would take your position here if you were to lose it.’

The girl mumbles something, bobs a curtsey and scurries away. The landlady turns to me, hands on hips. ‘These girls – act like they’re the ones doing you a favour, turning up at all. Now – what is it, sir?’

‘Mistress, I was with Sir Francis Drake earlier and he expressed some concern about a small matter.’

Immediately her face stiffens; she folds her hands together as if in prayer.

‘Was it the dinner? If it was in any way lacking, please assure him—’

‘No, no – there was no fault with the dinner. It was fit for Her Majesty herself, Sir Philip Sidney said so.’ She relaxes and her expression unfolds into a smile. ‘No, it was only that a couple of days ago he received a letter. It was left here for him. Sir Francis was anxious to know where it came from.’

She frowns.

‘People do deliver letters here for him sometimes. His clerk drops by to collect them, but I don’t remember each one.’

‘It was two days ago. Sunday. There can’t be that many people delivering letters on a Sunday, surely?’

‘You’d be surprised. When a fleet like this is preparing to sail, there’s no such thing as a day of rest. I’ve no recollection. You could ask the girl, she sometimes delivers messages.’ She gestures to the door.

In the corridor outside I find the sullen maidservant sweeping the flagstones, her features set in a pout. She glances up as I pass and I make a face, nodding behind me to indicate her mistress. The girl breaks into a smile.

‘Do you recall someone bringing a letter here on Sunday for Sir Francis Drake?’ I ask.

She leans on her broom. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘I do, obviously.’

She looks me up and down, her eyes coming to rest on the money bag at my belt. Her manner is pert, but her expression, when she looks me in the eye, is shrewd.

‘Are you the Italian?’ She says it as if she has heard mention of me, a thought that makes me uneasy.

‘Who wants to know?’

She gives a brief laugh. ‘Fair enough. No, I don’t recall any letters being left on Sunday.’ She eyes my purse again. ‘Now you have to answer my question,’ she says, when it becomes clear that the purse is staying shut.

‘As you wish. Yes, I am Italian.’

‘And you travel with Sir Philip Sidney?’

‘You are very well informed. Where did you learn this?’

She shrugs, nodding to the door. ‘Mistress Judith said. Her in there.’ Her gaze slides away from mine as she says it. I dislike the thought that people are gossiping about us already, but I suppose it is to be expected, with all the interest around Drake’s expedition. This girl is sly, there is no doubt, but servants’ knowledge can be valuable; they slip in and out of private rooms unobserved, and usually have sharp eyes and ears.

‘You must see everyone who comes and goes in this place,’ I say, casually, as she resumes her sweeping. Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow.

‘Most of them,’ she says. ‘Why?’

‘I wondered if you had noticed a man in black, wears his hat pulled low, even inside. I saw him the other night in the tap-room.’

She shrugs, purses her lips as if considering. ‘Can’t say as I recall. Lot of men come and go round here.’ There is a challenge in her gaze as she waits for me to make the next move.

Reluctantly, I draw out a groat and hold it up. ‘Perhaps you could try to recall.’

She eyes the coin. ‘I know the man you mean. Smallpox scars. Bright blue eyes. That the one?’

I nod, slowly, a chill creeping up my neck. She is describing Rowland Jenkes. ‘Did you notice his ears?’

‘What about them?’

‘He doesn’t have any. That’s why he wears the hat.’

‘Well, then, I wouldn’t have noticed, would I?’ She holds a hand out for her payment. I withdraw it slightly.

‘Is he a regular here?’

She shrugs again. ‘He’s been in a few times. Not seen him before the last fortnight, though.’

‘Listen – what’s your name?’

‘Hetty. Sir,’ she adds, making it sound sarcastic.

‘If you see this man again, Hetty, or you can discover anything about him or where he lodges, let me know and there could be more of these.’ I hand over the groat; it vanishes into a fold of her dirty skirts. ‘You’ll find me around the place. I’m staying here.’

‘I know,’ she says, regarding me with the same level stare. I bid her good day, but I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away.

SEVEN

Climbing the rope ladder up to the
Elizabeth Bonaventure
seems easier this time; the sudden swaying and the knocks against the barnacled wood of the ship take me by surprise less often and my hands are growing hardened to the coarse fibres of the rope. I find I can shin up it quicker than before, and though I still feel giddy at the drop when I glance down from the ship’s rail, I am in no danger of slipping. Thomas Drake is there to welcome us aboard with his usual lack of warmth.

‘My brother is occupied with Captain Carleill at present. I will take you to him when they are finished.’

‘In the meantime,’ Sidney says, with a pleasant smile, ‘perhaps we could look at the cabin where Robert Dunne died? Sir Francis thought it might be useful to see if there is any indication among his belongings as to who could have wished him harm.’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Thomas glances quickly around. He does not seem inclined to oblige. ‘His belongings need to be boxed up for his relatives to take. But I am certain that, if there was anything to be found, we would have seen it. He had very few possessions with him.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Sidney says, still beaming. He seems to have decided that aggressive charm is an effective way to irritate Thomas Drake. It is proving successful so far. ‘The most telling items are often so small as to be overlooked. And of course your brother would have been concerned with the dead man and not in examining his possessions. Fortunately, Doctor Bruno here has just the kind of sharp eye that is suited to this task. I do distinctly remember Sir Francis saying it would be a good idea for Bruno to take a look at Dunne’s cabin.’

Thomas Drake hesitates, weighing up whether to dig in his heels, then appears to relent. ‘I will fetch the key. Wait here.’ He turns abruptly and disappears up the ladder that leads to the captain’s quarters.

‘You enjoy baiting him,’ I observe, leaning on the rail and looking out to sea.

‘He invites it. He makes his dislike of me so clear, I can’t help rising to it. He enjoys the fact that he has some small authority here – it is the only place where he could speak as he does to a man of my estate. Jumped-up little farm boy, riding on his brother’s glory.’

‘He is a captain in his own right, Philip.’ I sigh.

‘Yes, and why is he never on his own ship? He seems to believe he must be all over his brother’s business, as if it will unravel without him. I wonder Sir Francis tolerates it.’

‘I don’t like his manner either, but if you keep antagonising him, he will do his best to make sure you are kept off this voyage. And whose part do you think Sir Francis will take?’

‘Have you noticed how reluctant he is to allow us to look into Dunne’s death?’ Sidney says, ignoring my question. ‘Every time the subject is raised, he makes an objection, though Sir Francis seems keen.’

‘I wouldn’t say keen, exactly—’

‘But Thomas is actively trying to keep us away from it,’ Sidney persists. ‘Do you think he has something to hide?’

‘For the love of God,’ I say, turning back to him. ‘You can’t possibly think Drake’s own brother would—’

Sidney digs me sharply in the ribs and I see the man in question approaching us.

‘Follow me, then,’ he says, looking from one to the other of us with narrowed eyes before leading the way towards the officers’ quarters. He climbs a ladder to the deck below the captain’s cabin and stops in front of a low door, which he unlocks with a key taken from inside his doublet. He turns to us, one hand resting on the latch.

‘See that you treat everything with respect,’ he says, raising a finger in warning. ‘Sir Francis will have to account to the family for all Dunne’s effects.’

Beside me, I can feel Sidney bristling at the implication.

‘Rest assured we will leave everything just as we find it,’ I say, in a soothing voice, laying a restraining hand on Sidney’s arm.

Thomas regards us for a moment, then nods and opens the door to reveal a small cabin much like the one Sidney and I shared aboard the
Leicester
. Sidney elbows past him to enter; I mutter an apology as I squeeze in behind. The smell hits us like a fist.

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Sidney says, pressing his sleeve over his mouth and nose. The room is thick with the stench of urine and vomit, intensified by the damp.

‘I wish you joy of your labour,’ Thomas says, through his sleeve. He stands in the doorway, blocking the light. The ceiling beams are low enough that Sidney is forced to stoop; I can stand upright, but only just. If I breathe through my mouth, the air is almost bearable.

‘There is no room for a man to hang in here,’ I remark, stating the obvious. Even if Robert Dunne was my height, he could barely have swung from one of the rafters without his feet scraping the floor. ‘Where was the rope fastened?’

‘There.’ Thomas Drake indicates an iron hook fixed into the ceiling for hanging a lantern. I reach up, take hold of it with both hands and lift my feet off the floor.

‘It would hold a man, but there is no room for the body to drop,’ I say, indicating the height from floor to ceiling. ‘At best he would have strangled slowly as his own weight pulled the noose tight.’

‘Exactly. And the face did not have the appearance of strangulation, as my brother told you.’

‘Was he a heavy man?’ I ask.

Thomas Drake tilts his head and appraises me. ‘Of a height with you, I would say, though much stockier. He had broad shoulders, and something of a paunch.’

‘He would have been solid, then. Not easy to lift.’ I look up at the hook again.

‘If the killer meant it to look as if he took his own life, hanging seems a curiously elaborate charade,’ Sidney says. ‘Why not choose something more subtle, like poison?’

I turn slowly and look at him, eyes wide.

He presses his sleeve back to his face with a quizzical look, but I am suddenly aware of the presence of Thomas Drake and reply with a minute shake of my head.

Thomas is no fool; he senses that there is an unspoken conversation being kept from him here, and it only serves to increase his distrust. He takes a step further into the small room and folds his arms.

‘Go about your business, then.’

‘I can’t see a thing in this gloom. Do you mean to stand in the doorway the whole time, blocking what little light there is?’ Sidney draws himself up to face Thomas, forgetting the restrictions of the cabin and hitting his head on the ceiling. ‘
Shit!
Do they build these for dwarves?’

‘They build them for sailors, who know how to accommodate themselves to the confines of a ship,’ Thomas says drily. He unfolds his arms, then appears at a loss what to do with them, so crosses them again. ‘Do you suppose I would leave the two of you here to rifle through the man’s possessions unsupervised?’

Even in the poor light of the cabin, I see the anger constricting Sidney’s face. The battle of wills at play here is almost audible in the silence that follows. Thomas seems to realise he has mis-spoken; his eyes grow uncertain and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but Sidney takes one stride across the cabin and stands with his face barely an inch away from Thomas’s. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and controlled.

‘Let me remind you, Thomas Drake, that I am a knight of the realm and Master of the Queen’s Ordnance. You will forgive me’ – he gives a charming little laugh – ‘but I thought you were implying that I was likely to steal a dead man’s belongings? Is this your assessment of me, or my friend?’

Thomas does not back away, but his self-assurance wavers.

‘Of course, that was not my meaning, Sir Philip,’ he says, lowering his eyes. ‘I must beg your pardon, but I have been at sea enough to know that the best of men can be tempted by a trinket that can be slipped inside a sleeve or a jacket. It is our responsibility to protect Dunne’s possessions for his family,’ he adds.

‘Pity you didn’t take more care to protect his person while he was still alive,’ Sidney says, stepping back. ‘Well, Thomas, I am not one of those men corrupted by trinkets and nor is my friend Bruno. Your brother said he was content for us to examine Dunne’s cabin in case we can shed some light on his death. Which is all but impossible with you filling the doorway.’

Thomas appears to weigh up his choices, and eventually takes a step back, out of the cabin.

‘It’s still damned near dark in here,’ Sidney protests. ‘Could you see about a lantern?’

‘I am not your chambermaid, Sir Philip.’ Thomas’s voice is tight, but after a moment, he adds, ‘I will see if one can be found.’ He hesitates, watching us, then turns and moves away from the door. Sidney immediately closes it behind him.

‘I can’t see a thing now,’ I say, barking my shin on what I take to be a wooden chest on the floor.

‘We’re supposed to be doing this discreetly,’ Sidney says. ‘Drake doesn’t want the whole ship to see us going through the dead man’s cabin. What would they make of that? Though Thomas has already drawn more attention than necessary, all that fuss just now. And now what do you say about him?’ He jerks his thumb towards the door. ‘I tell you, Bruno – he does not want us looking into this business. Why is that, do you suppose? Come now, you are the philosopher.’

‘I think he takes exception to the way you speak to him,’ I say. ‘And he regards us as outsiders. I do not think it any proof he is involved.’

‘How should I speak to him, then?’ Sidney’s voice rises, indignant. ‘When he will not show me the proper deference, and speaks to me as if I am some pampered child under his feet?’