Treachery (30 page)

‘I don’t know. But Dunne was a regular there. I thought someone might recall something, but when I started asking questions about him, I was cornered and set upon by a man I am certain was John Doughty.’

‘Doughty? Good God.’ Drake rubs his temple with the flat of his hand as he processes all this. ‘So he
is
in Plymouth. What would he want with you?’

I shake my head. ‘I didn’t stay to find out.’ I point to the cut on my face. ‘I jumped out of a window. Unfortunately, it was on the first floor.’

Drake smiles, despite himself.

‘What I do know is that they were waiting for me. The madam was part of it – she led me into a trap, ready for Doughty. So perhaps she could be questioned, if you want to find him.’

Drake nods slowly, his face grim. ‘I will make some discreet enquiries. The difficulty with the House of Vesta, Bruno, is that it is not an ordinary brothel. It operates by discretion and exclusivity. Customers come to her by introduction only. She takes the girls very young, so she can guarantee to her clients that they are clean. Some as young as eleven, and you won’t find any over fifteen. They say it’s the one place in Plymouth you can be sure you won’t get the pox, and there are plenty willing to pay her prices for the peace of mind.’

‘So she attracts the wealthiest men in the area,’ I say, beginning to understand.

‘It has grown into a sort of meeting place for men of influence in the town,’ he says. ‘They go there to dine, smoke, play cards, talk business – not just for the girls. Any man with ambition wants to be included in that company, and the benefits far outweigh the moral objections. Makes it very difficult for anyone in authority who tries to have the place investigated or shut down – as I found out when I was mayor.’ His jaw tightens at the memory.

‘Which is why that woman – Mistress Grace – believes she is above the law?’ I finish the thought for him. ‘She has the most powerful men in the town by the balls.’

‘They say you can get whatever you want at the House of Vesta with no questions asked, as long as you are willing to pay.’ He gives a meaningful nod. I consider telling him about Toby, but decide against it; if Drake does persuade the authorities to investigate, it would be the boy who was punished for his sins, not the people who forced him to it.

‘Nevertheless,’ Drake says, brisker this time, ‘there are certain pressures that can be brought. If she is hiding John Doughty, I want to know about it.’

I turn to leave, but he lays a hand on my sleeve. ‘One more thing, Bruno. In your nocturnal wanderings, did you see anything of Jonas last night?’

‘Last night? No, not after we came ashore.’

‘Hm.’ He takes a deep breath. There are shadows under his eyes; it looks as if he has not slept. ‘Jonas did not come back to the ship all night. No one has seen him. Plymouth is full of thugs who would lay into a man because they didn’t like his complexion, and believe they are defending England that way.’ He grimaces. ‘I hope Jonas has not fallen foul of that sort.’

He lets his hand fall from my arm and continues to stare out of the window, as if the answer might present itself if he waits long enough.

‘I hope not,’ I say, though another explanation occurs to me. ‘I’m sure he will turn up. Perhaps he drank too much and ended up spending the night in the arms of some Plymouth maiden.’

‘He’d be lucky to find a maiden in Plymouth, even at the House of Vesta.’ Drake tries to summon a smile. ‘I dare say Jonas enjoyed the same pastimes as any other sailor on shore leave, but he never neglected his duty. He was supposed to take the middle watch last night, after midnight. That’s not something he would have forgotten. I hope to God he is back by tomorrow, at any rate – he must be the principal witness at the inquest. It was he who found Dunne hanging.’

Perhaps Jonas had good reason to make himself scarce before the inquest, I think. Or perhaps there is someone else who does not want him to testify.

‘Why did you ask Mistress Dunne about her father?’ asks Drake, abruptly changing the subject.

‘It was Lady Drake who mentioned to me that Mistress Dunne is an heiress. Robert had told Gilbert that he expected to come into some money soon. I wondered if he might have meant his wife’s inheritance.’

He nods, understanding. ‘A good thought. And she would hardly want a gambling husband getting his hands on her father’s fortune too.’

‘In fact,’ Thomas says, ‘it is difficult to imagine anyone with as much reason to want him dead as his wife.’

There is a silence as we all consider this.

‘Even so, I cannot see how she could have engineered this particular outcome,’ I say, eventually. ‘Assuming she wanted him murdered, she would have done better to poison his dinner at home, or have someone attack him on the road. A death that looks like a suicide is not to her advantage – quite the reverse.’

‘As she is at pains to make clear,’ Drake says. ‘We must find this killer before the inquest. I will see that you are amply rewarded, of course,’ he adds, seeing my expression. ‘That is not in doubt.’

‘That is generous of you, Sir Francis, but—’

His brow darkens. ‘But what?’

‘I only wonder – why me?’

‘Ah.’ He moves closer, drops his voice. ‘Sir Philip has told me a little more about your work.’

I look at him, perplexed, thinking he means my books.

‘For Walsingham,’ Drake whispers, to clarify. ‘Any man who has earned Master Secretary’s trust and respect also has mine. My brother and I were most impressed, weren’t we, Thomas?’

Thomas Drake makes a noise that could mean anything, and folds his arms across his chest. I have rarely seen anyone look less impressed.

I give a little cough and try to look humble. ‘I may need resources, Sir Francis. Information is not cheap in this town. People keep their eyes and ears open, but they sometimes need encouragement.’

Drake nods, murmuring assent. ‘I will arrange a purse for you when you return from your excursion with Mistress Dunne.’ At the door he pauses. ‘Watch her closely, Bruno. She is determined to make trouble. She could ruin me.’

It is tempting to observe that, if the verdict goes his way, it could ruin her, but I appear to be in Drake’s pay now, so I say nothing.

‘What about the book?’ I ask, as I am leaving.

‘I suppose it will have to wait.’ He rubs his beard and looks gloomy. ‘I will pay you for your work there, too, do not fear.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Safe under lock and key in my cabin aboard the
Elizabeth
.’ He glances around the room as if he might have left it lying unguarded somewhere.

I consider whether to mention the pages stolen from my room, but decide it would not help matters if I were to damage his new faith in me. I may yet find the thief without Drake needing to know of my folly. ‘If I were you, sir, I would keep it with you, where you can see it.’

‘Why? The ship is safe enough, is it not?’ His brow creases and he glances across at Thomas.

That’s what Robert Dunne thought. I decide not to say this aloud.

In the entrance hall I find Sir William Savile loitering, a leather travelling bag at his feet.

‘Ah, Bruno!’ he says, unexpectedly animated. ‘Have you heard about this oath? Damned impertinence, if you ask me. Not sure I like the precedent either. Instinct tells me it goes against the proper order of things. What does Sir Philip say? I suppose he has sworn it readily, being desperate for a berth.’

I wait until he stops for breath. ‘What oath?’

‘Oh, Pettifer the chaplain, you know, is going about this morning with great pomp and ceremony, announcing that every man who means to sail with the fleet must swear an oath of loyalty to the Queen and to Captain Drake as supreme commander of the enterprise before we set sail.’

‘Is that a problem?’ I wonder what has prompted this; does Drake sense stirrings of unrest, or is this a pre-emptive measure, to try and flush out the killer?

‘Not in theory, but’ – he glances about, then leans in – ‘it does rather give a mandate to any course of action that takes his fancy, don’t you think? It robs one of any capacity to challenge him once at sea – he can simply say, “But you were sworn, my masters, and to break your oath is as good as treason.” I mean, it’s all very well for the crew, you know, but for a gentleman …’ He regards me down the length of his nose. ‘That’s why I wondered if Sir Philip meant to swear.’

‘You had better ask him, I have not heard him mention it,’ I say. I like Savile less every time I speak to him. I glance down at the buttons on his green silk doublet; disappointingly, they are flat, silver and all present. ‘Are you going somewhere, Sir William?’ I ask, indicating his bag.

‘Decided to take a room here until we sail,’ he says, tapping the bag with his foot. ‘I reasoned I’d be spending time enough in that poky cabin once we leave, and since no one seems to know the day nor the hour at present, why should I not sleep in a feather bed while I can?’

‘Cabin fever already?’ I say. His eyes narrow; before he can reply there is a commotion behind us and a woman’s voice, low and cultured, cuts across him.

‘There you are, Doctor Bruno. Shall we get this over with?’

I turn to see Mistress Dunne, pulling on a pair of gloves, the granite-faced servant scowling at her elbow. But Dunne’s widow is not looking at me; her gaze is fixed over my shoulder, on Savile, with an expression that appears more than anything like irritation. While this is likely the response Savile provokes in many people, it takes me by surprise because I had no inkling that they knew one another.

Savile crosses the hall in two strides and sweeps off his hat, bowing low.

‘Sir William Savile, Mistress Dunne. You may not remember, we met once, at court I believe. Please accept my sincere condolences for your loss.’ He raises his eyes, looking suitably regretful. At least he has the decorum not to mention the money Dunne owed him, I think. Not yet, anyway.

‘At court. Yes, I suppose it was.’ Mistress Dunne sounds vague; she concentrates on her gloves. ‘I thank you. Please excuse us. I am going to view my husband’s body.’ She looks up sharply as she says this; Savile seems to flinch.

‘A distressing task, madam. God be with you,’ he adds, hesitantly, as if he is uncertain of the protocol.

‘Well, I shall have Doctor Bruno with me, which is the next best thing,’ she responds in a clipped voice. ‘One never knows when one might need a theologian on hand. A pleasure to meet you again, Sir William.’

Savile is still muttering something about sad circumstances as she is halfway through the door, though I notice she casts a glance back at him before she leaves, and it is not a friendly one. It does not require any great genius to see that this exchange is not all it appears; even Savile’s personality cannot account for Mistress Dunne’s hostility towards him. What history is there, I wonder, as I limp to catch up with her outside the inn.

‘I am not, strictly speaking, a theologian, madam,’ I say, as we make our way along the narrow street towards the centre of the town, since she appears to have no intention of beginning a conversation. The skies are clearer today, the sun hazy behind a threadbare gauze of white cloud that shows patches of blue as pale and fragile as eggshells. But the air is still cool; a sharp wind gusts in from the sea, stinging the cut on my face. Last’s night rain lies puddled between cobbles.

‘I am not, strictly speaking, interested.’ She looks straight ahead as she walks. She has a long stride for a woman and my bruised legs and ribs pain me as I work to keep up. ‘We both know this is no more than a gesture to placate me. But we shall play along until the inquest. No doubt Drake is paying you well to conclude whatever best suits his purposes.’

I subside into silence. After a few more yards she turns to me and sighs, impatient.

‘Well – what are you, then?’

‘I am …’ I hesitate. What am I, exactly, at this point in my life? This August morning of 1585, at the age of thirty-seven, how do I explain myself, to her or to anyone? I am, variously, a heretic, an ex-Dominican, a philosopher, a spy, a poet of sorts, a teacher, an exile. A lover – once perhaps, though that seems distant. A necromancer, if you believe my detractors in Paris. A traitor, if you ask the Baron de Châteauneuf. A hunter of murderers, if you ask Walsingham. I shift shape, like Proteus, according to necessity; so much so that I am in danger of losing my original form altogether.

‘I am a philosopher, if you like. I write books.’

Her glance flits sideways beneath her veil to take me in. ‘It would appear philosophy is a dangerous sport.’

‘That is just the way I practise it.’

We walk in silence, through narrow streets I am gradually coming to recognise. Just behind my shoulder I can hear the steady wheezing of Mistress Dunne’s maidservant, laboured as bellows.

‘You are acquainted with Sir William Savile, then, madam?’ I say, after a while. She seems irked by the interruption.

‘Hardly acquainted. I believe I may have met him at court, with my husband. I barely recall, but one doesn’t wish to look rude. One meets so many people.’ She trails off, distracted.

‘Are you often at court?’ I keep my voice light, as if making conversation, but I sense she is wary of my questions.

‘Not these days, no.’ She presses her lips together; behind her veil, her face is closed. ‘We used to be,’ she says, in a softer tone, just when I think she will not discuss the matter further. ‘When Sir Francis first returned from his voyage around the world, he and the gentlemen who travelled with him were much celebrated. That was when I married Robert. He came home a rich man, and for a while it pleased Her Majesty to keep her gallant gentlemen sailors about the place. But …’ She gives a small shake of the head and rubs a thumb along her brow, through the veil. ‘Things change. I suppose that is the nature of life, is it not? And our task is to look on good fortune or ill with equanimity.’ She says this as if she holds the idea in contempt.

‘What changed?’ I ask gently.

‘Oh, you will have heard, no doubt.’ Her voice is brisk again; she picks up her pace to match it. ‘Robert grew restless. He said he missed the adventure.’ She laughs, short and bitter. ‘How strange you men are. For a woman there is risk enough in the day to day – just the getting of children is a roll of the dice with Providence. But no – you men must seek it by circling the Earth in a tub of wood. Or throwing away all you have on a hand of cards.’ Her tone is like the edge of a knife; I glimpse the naked fury she harbours for her husband. ‘After a while he took to avoiding the court. Too many creditors. We came back to Devonshire, leased a manor near Dartington, but even then he was hardly at home. He spent most of his time in Plymouth, where he could still trade on his reputation as one of Drake’s famous crew. But there’s only so many times men will stand you a drink and waive your debts in return for a tale about the Straits of Magellan. The credit notes began piling up again, and still the damned fool thought he could mend it all with one lucky night at the card table. But there never is a lucky night for men like Robert.’ She stops and turns to me, so abruptly that the maidservant collides with my back. ‘No doubt you think me an unnatural wife, Doctor Bruno, to speak so ill of a man who has suffered a cruel death not three days since.’