Treachery (55 page)

‘But you needed to silence Dunne quickly, before he could tell anyone else about the steward’s letter. Besides, Mistress Dunne stood to gain a great deal once her father died. Perhaps you decided it was expedient to change your plan once more.’

‘You are wandering into the realm of speculation now, Bruno. I do not expect a man like you to understand the concept of honour,’ he adds, curling his lip, ‘but Martha would lose more than her property if the coroner gave a verdict of
felo de se
. The stain of suicide on her family’s reputation would last a lifetime. I would never have put her in that position. A gentleman would know such things instinctively.’

‘You get a child on another man’s wife and scheme with her to murder him, and you dare talk to me of honour?’ I step forward, jabbing a finger in his face.

‘Keep your voice down, Bruno, there’s a good chap,’ he says, arching an eyebrow.

I catch Drake’s warning glance and bite down my next retort.

‘Well, Sir Francis,’ Savile says, folding his arms, ‘for myself, I am not sure what this has achieved, other than allowing this
Catholic
to imagine he can take the moral high ground, but I have nothing more to add. Except that I would like you to take your guard away from my chamber. In England a man is innocent until his guilt is proved, as I recall. And since I am not going to be tried for this, my innocence endures indefinitely.’

Drake rises to face Savile, though he does not reply immediately. His quick eyes flicker over Savile’s face as he calculates.

‘God’s blood, man, I have already assured you I will not take flight,’ Savile snaps.

‘It would look like an admission of guilt if you did,’ Drake says mildly. He presses his fingertips together and steeples his hands under his chin. ‘I think the matter might be resolved if you were to return to your cabin aboard the
Elizabeth
, Sir William,’ he says eventually, with impeccable courtesy. ‘If you are still intending to travel with us, that is. I have hopes of a fair wind soon enough.’

Savile gives him a long look, his eyes suspicious, as if he fears he might be tricked. ‘That is another way of keeping me informally under guard, I suppose.’

‘Not at all. It is a way of demonstrating that I agree with the principle of your presumed innocence.’

‘I would be free to come ashore when I choose?’

‘Of course. Though it would be in your interests to keep a discreet distance from Mistress Dunne until the inquest is concluded.’

Savile falls silent, considering, then nods. ‘And I have your word of honour that neither of you will mention any of this to the coroner or the town authorities?’ There is a note of warning in his voice. He is hinting at the agreement he mentioned earlier; the price of his continued involvement with the fleet is Drake’s silence.

Drake inclines his head, and stands to take his leave. It appears that he considers this price reasonable. I watch Savile, trying not to react to the self-congratulating smile that creeps slowly over his face as he looks at me. There is something in his manner that makes me inclined to believe his account, but this bargain infuriates me nonetheless; Savile wears the complacent expression of a rich man confident that he can buy his way out of any trouble. I clench and unclench my fists, and say nothing. He is right that I have no authority, and Drake appears to consider the matter settled.

‘Let us go, Doctor Bruno,’ the Captain-General says, gesturing towards the door. As he reaches it, I turn back to Savile.

‘And what about Jonas Solon?’

Savile looks startled. ‘What about him?’

‘You said you feared Dunne would confide in him about the steward’s letter and the pregnancy.’

‘I feared Dunne telling anyone,’ Savile says, defensive. ‘I only mentioned the Spaniard because I knew they were friends.’ There is alarm in his eyes.

‘I think you suspected that Dunne had already told Jonas,’ I say, warming to the idea. ‘Was that why you had to silence him too? Did he accuse you?’

Savile flicks his head as if trying to shake off a persistent fly. ‘No, and no. The Spaniard never spoke a word to me about the business. I have no idea if Dunne confided in him, but I certainly never laid a finger on Jonas. It’s impossible.’

‘Not at all. You speak Spanish,’ I say, in the same defiant tone. From the corner of my eye, I catch Drake’s expression. With every word, I am undoing his neat arrangement with Savile. ‘When I was speaking to Jonas in the rowing boat, you understood our conversation.’

‘I understand a little,’ Savile says, with a shrug. ‘What has that to do with anything?’

I glance at Drake. He gives a short nod.

‘You wrote a letter to Captain Drake, purporting to be from Jonas. Explaining his absence.’

‘I did no such thing,’ Savile snaps, colour rising in his cheeks. ‘I understand Spanish, but not well enough to write it. But in any case, I have a better defence.’

‘Let us hear it, then.’

‘I was nowhere near Jonas the night he died. I was at the House of Vesta all evening. A number of people can testify to that.’

I am tempted to repeat my point about honour, but I bite my tongue; where he puts his cock is none of my business. I am only interested in whether he is trying to negotiate his way out of two murders. ‘You had to walk there and back from the quayside,’ I say. ‘You could have gone via the Hoe and found him up there.’

‘Perhaps I could, if I had been alone,’ Savile says, in a smooth voice. ‘But I walked to the House of Vesta and back in company. I was not on my own all evening.’

‘Will your companion swear to that?’ I ask, growing more aggressive as I feel my conviction wavering.

‘Oh, I should think so,’ he says, cheerfully. ‘Sir Francis could ask him. My companion was Thomas Drake.’

‘Thomas?’ Drake looks startled, then shakes his head. ‘But Thomas does not go to the House of Vesta. He would not.’

‘That may be what he tells you.’ There is a vindictive gleam in his eye. ‘Go and ask him.’ He spreads his hands wide again. ‘There you have it – I cannot write a word of Spanish, and I was in company the whole evening when Jonas fell over the cliff, or was pushed, or whatever it may be. So you and Sidney will have to go back to your room and cook up another half-baked theory, Bruno. And now,’ he adds, ‘if you don’t mind,
gentlemen
, I should like to finish this letter to my lawyer.’

Outside the room, Drake exchanges a few words with the armed guard, who nods and slips quietly away. The Captain-General’s face is tight with anger, though I cannot tell if it is directed at me. I wait for him to speak.

‘Do you believe him?’ he says, in a low voice, when we are far enough away from Savile’s door. ‘About Dunne, I mean?’

I look at him. I had been expecting a reprimand for my hasty accusations about Jonas; he was obviously embarrassed by Savile’s revelation about his brother.

‘I think I do.’ I speak slowly; my judgement only really begins to crystallise as I form the sentence. ‘I don’t doubt he can be a very persuasive liar. But he was thrown by my question about the blackmail – that seemed to me an honest response. He didn’t know what I was talking about.’

Drake nods. We reach the end of the passage in silence.

‘And you, Sir Francis?’ I ask, emboldened. ‘Do you believe him?’

‘I am inclined to accept his version,’ he says, carefully. That is not the same thing, I think, but I say nothing. ‘Though I will have to speak to my brother now.’ His jaw tenses again.

‘I’m sorry – I did not realise Thomas would be dragged into it,’ I begin, but he waves the apology aside.

‘All the years I was mayor of Plymouth, I tried to do something about that place, as I told you,’ he says, his words coming quick and sharp. ‘It is despicable, in a community of civilised, Christian folk, to have young girls traded like so much horseflesh.’

‘And thrown on the street when they are considered broken jades,’ I say.

‘Exactly.’ He shakes his head. ‘You may imagine the opposition I encountered. It was my belief that some of the aldermen were taking bribes in order to block any attempt to close it.’

‘I suppose they claim that where there are sailors, there will always be whores,’ I say.

‘Yes. Though you know the Queen’s father, King Henry, shut down all the brothels in Southwark for a time. So it can be done.’

‘He was king of England, though.’

He gives a tired smile, and claps me on the shoulder. ‘True. The mayor of Plymouth does not have quite the same reach. In the end I had to settle for trying to improve the conditions of the girls. I pressured the churches to get involved, as a matter of conscience and charity. Padre Pettifer was an enormous help – he has tried to liaise with the madam about placing the unwanted babies with Christian families, and finding honest work for the girls when they are no longer required.’

‘I admit I was surprised to hear that he visited. It is the sort of place I imagined he would make a point of denouncing.’

Drake smiles. ‘Yes, Pettifer can appear a little pompous. But beneath the bluster he is a good priest, or I would not take him on the voyage. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty.’

Perhaps it appeals to his sense of moral superiority, I think, uncharitably. Then I recall the brothel-keeper’s illicit trade in unwanted babies and a shadow of a suspicion flickers through my mind. ‘I imagine the madam was delighted by his intervention.’

‘Oh, she was furious, of course,’ Drake says. ‘But at the time it was a compromise we both accepted – she found it preferable to the prospect of any other measures I might take against her enterprise. Though that was four years ago now. I do not think the present mayor is so troubled by what goes on.’ He purses his lips. ‘But I never imagined Thomas would be seen there, knowing how I feel about the place.’

‘And Padre Pettifer continues his charity work with them?’ I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral. Drake looks at me from the tail of his eye.

‘So it seems, though I have not discussed it with him for a long time. He said he found the girls remarkably receptive.’

‘Did he.’

We look at one another for a moment and burst out laughing. It shifts the tension that has built up since Savile’s confession. I feel my shoulders relax; I had been bracing myself for Drake’s reprimand.

‘To the message of Christ, I mean, of course,’ he says, still smiling. ‘He said the girls took readily to the idea of a churchman coming to pray with them. According to the madam, it improved their morale, so she was not inclined to object. I think he hears their confessions too, though he would not say as much.’

‘
Dio porco
. What confessions those must be. No wonder he always wears that expression.’

‘What expression?’

‘As if someone has pushed a cork up his arsehole and he might explode from the pressure.’

Drake attempts to suppress his smile. ‘That is a very wicked way to describe one of God’s servants, Bruno. I will never be able to look at him again without that coming to mind.’ He pauses at the top of the stairs. ‘I hope you and Sir Philip will not object to dining with Dom Antonio today, if you are feeling well enough? Poor fellow, he is desperate for some intelligent company, but I cannot entertain him every hour of the day. I am anxious to return to my ship. I have been absent more than I would wish over the past couple of days.’

‘Of course. There is one matter, though.’ I glance around in case Hetty or anyone else is lurking in the shadows. ‘If we are agreed that Sir William is telling the truth, then …’

‘Then there is still a murderer at large,’ he says softly.

‘So we are still hunting.’

He puts his head on one side and gives me a long look. ‘I am reluctant to ask any more of you, Bruno. After all you have been through. If you do not wish to go on with this, you need only say so.’

‘I have given you my word that I would help you, Sir Francis,’ I say. ‘I do not like to give up on a task before it is finished.’

‘Good man.’ He pats me on the shoulder. ‘Enjoy your dinner. And keep an eye on Sidney. See if you can rein him in. I know he means to help, but …’ He shakes his head and leaves the thought unspoken.

I nod. ‘It will make for a difficult atmosphere on board, will it not – now that Sidney has confronted Savile with these accusations?’

‘Yes,’ he says. His face is grave once more. ‘Exactly what I have been thinking.’

TWENTY-FIVE

The tap-room downstairs is bustling; despite Drake’s best efforts at discretion, talk has seeped out quickly into the town and the stories have grown in the telling. Two deaths among Drake’s own crew were a source of interest and speculation, a lively subject for the town gossips, but the killing of the two guards on St Nicholas Island has provoked fury since the bodies were brought ashore earlier. Both were local men with families; according to Mistress Judith, there would be a fierce appetite to see someone brought to justice for their murder. Sharp-eyed observers had noted the movement of Drake’s small boats around the island the previous night and connected the two, giving birth to rumours that an advance party of Spanish invaders had landed on the island and escaped to Plymouth. More impressionable citizens are packing their belongings, ready to flee the town. Some are saying Drake’s voyage is cursed and has brought the wrath of God, or the Devil, on Plymouth; they predict the deaths will continue until the ships set sail.

‘Won’t make life any easier for the likes of you,’ she says, looking at me with a sigh. ‘Or any of the foreign merchants, for that matter. Can’t deny it’s good for business though.’ She waves a hand around the crowded entrance hall. ‘They’re all here for a glimpse of Drake and his captains.’

Outside the tap-room, I run into Gilbert Crosse, a roll of papers bunched in his fist.

‘Afternoon, Gilbert. You are in a hurry.’

‘Ah, Doctor Bruno.’ He blinks rapidly and glances behind me to the stairs, looking harassed. ‘You are not going up to see Sir Francis, by any chance? Some messages have arrived for him and I am just on my way to the stationer’s up the street for more paper and ink before he closes business for the day. With all the recent dramas, Sir Francis has had a great deal of correspondence and we are eating through our supplies. At this rate, we shall have none for the voyage. If it ever happens,’ he finishes, with a defeated expression.