Treachery (38 page)

‘Good God,’ Sidney says, as if he had run into an old acquaintance. ‘Thomas Drake.’

SIXTEEN

Thomas looks equally amazed to see us; he rises slowly, brushing the filth of the street off his clothes and looking from Sidney to me, his face drained of colour.

‘I thought …’ he begins, but then his mouth keeps working, his jaw shaping words without sound. I know that I must look equally witless as I stare at him, but I cannot will myself to any sensible response. Sidney recovers faster; the blood rises back into his cheeks and it is as if the fury of the shock boils up and erupts in one motion, as he strides out and seizes Thomas’s doublet by the buttons, bunching the cloth in his fist and pushing him up against the wall of a house.

‘Christ in heaven – you tried to kill us!’ he splutters, scrabbling to articulate his disbelief. ‘You will answer for this, Thomas Drake. Who sent you?’

Drake’s brother shakes his head like an agitated dog. His bravado has been punctured; his face is still pale as milk and he appears genuinely frightened.

‘No one. That is to say – I came of my own accord. I didn’t know it was you in there.’

‘Really?’ Sidney’s voice drips with scorn, but he lets go of Thomas’s clothes and allows him to slump against the wall. ‘It was just coincidence, then, that you show up with a knife at Dunne’s lodgings at the very time we are searching them? Something you didn’t want us to find, is that it? Something that might incriminate you?’ He wipes away flecks of spittle with the back of his hand; he is so angry I can see him shaking. His other hand is still on the pommel of his sword. ‘Was it you he was blackmailing?’

‘What?’ Thomas Drake tugs his shirt and doublet into place and draws himself up a little; now that the immediate danger is over, the old hostility creeps back over his face. ‘What are you talking about? How was I to know you would be there? I only found out this afternoon that Dunne had this lodging house. I thought—’ He breaks off again and stares at Sidney, eyes lit with fury. ‘What blackmail? Did you just accuse me of murder, Sir Philip?’

Sidney does not answer immediately; I see a muscle twitching in his cheek as he works to master himself. ‘No, Thomas Drake,’ he says, eventually. ‘I asked if Robert Dunne had been blackmailing you.’

‘And you implied thereby that I might have had reason to kill him. God’s death!’ He runs his hand through his hair and looks around, as if he is considering bolting up or down the street. Instead, he takes a deep breath and addresses himself to me, presumably to slight Sidney. ‘I depend on my brother’s success, as I am sure is painfully obvious to everyone. I am nothing without him. So you can see that I am the last person who would want to jeopardise this voyage, knowing how much he stands to lose. Do you not think’ – here he turns to Sidney, raising his voice – ‘that if I had wanted to be rid of Robert Dunne, I would have waited until we were out at sea and found some better means to contrive his end?’

‘Like executing him for mutiny, you mean?’ Sidney says, arching an eyebrow. ‘That has proved an effective way for men like you to be rid of gentlemen, I believe.’

‘Be careful, Philip Sidney,’ Thomas says, in a voice that could cut through glass. He leans back against the wall. ‘You are talking of matters about which you know nothing. That business with Thomas Doughty is long buried.’

Sidney opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again, but I see his knuckles whiten around the hilt of his sword.

‘It’s not buried very deep, though, is it?’ I say. ‘You don’t believe that. The curse of John Doughty lives on.’

‘No curse about it,’ he says. ‘John Doughty means to destroy my brother, or die in the attempt.’ He glances along the street again and lowers his voice. ‘When I came up those stairs today and heard voices in Dunne’s room, I thought it must be him. That’s why I threw the knife.’

Sidney gives me a sidelong look to see whether I believe this.

‘Why did you assume it would be Doughty?’ I try to ask this lightly, but it sounds like an accusation all the same.

He hesitates, then appears to relent.

‘A fortnight ago, Jonas the Spaniard told me he had seen Dunne with a man he believed was John Doughty here in Plymouth.’ He pauses, checking for passers-by. There is only one old woman, further up the street, sweeping her front step. ‘I confronted Dunne in private. He denied it in the strongest terms, said he had not seen Doughty in years. He became agitated at the accusation, but anyone would. I did not take that as proof.’

‘You did not tell Sir Francis this?’

Thomas makes a face. ‘My brother is already obsessed with John Doughty, as you have seen.’

‘With reason,’ I murmur.

‘I did not want to add fuel to his fears while he was occupied in preparations for such a complex enterprise,’ Thomas continues, giving me a hard look. ‘And I confess I was reluctant to take the Spaniard’s word at face value. He is forever trying to ingratiate himself with my brother, perhaps because he knows his fellow sailors doubt him. I suspected this was one more such ploy. None of us had laid eyes on John Doughty for years, and Jonas admitted he had not seen the man close-to. To be frank, I supposed he was inventing it to make himself important, or to satisfy some grudge against Dunne. It was only when you said John Doughty had attacked you at the House of Vesta that I realised he could have been telling the truth.’

‘And now Jonas is missing,’ Sidney says.

‘I don’t trust him an inch,’ he continues, when Thomas Drake has left us, clearly reluctant to let him off so easily.

‘I know you don’t. But he seemed honestly nonplussed at the mention of blackmail. I don’t think he can be the one with the secret. I would swear he wasn’t acting.’

‘They are all acting,’ Sidney says, grimly, as we head downhill towards the harbour. ‘One way or another.’

For a while we walk in silence, each turned inward to our own thoughts. ‘What if Jonas killed Robert Dunne?’ Sidney says, as we reach the door of the Star. ‘No, hear me out – what if he killed him out of loyalty to Drake?’

‘That is certainly a new twist on the business. Explain?’

‘Think of the way Dunne was found,’ he persists. ‘Hanged by the neck. Then that verse sent to Drake from the Gospel of Matthew. Suppose
Jonas
sent it? To draw attention to the fact that Dunne died like Judas Iscariot, the very incarnation of treachery. What if the Spaniard did it to save Drake’s life, because he saw Dunne plotting with John Doughty and feared Dunne meant to harm the Captain-General, but knew, after Thomas Drake’s response, that his superior officers would not listen?’

‘Then where is Jonas now?’ I say, pausing in the entrance hall to look at him. ‘Why did he not stay to receive a pat on the back from Drake for saving his life? Why dress it up as suicide, then send a hint that it was not?’

He gives me a scornful look. ‘He could not expect Drake to reward him for killing a gentleman on a suspicion. It is my belief that he has run away to save Drake any scandal, like a loyal servant. The letter was meant as a clue to the truth.’

‘This morning you were convinced Jonas was a traitor.’

‘Well, I have thought further on the matter,’ he says, with a touch of loftiness. ‘And now I am persuaded it is the only plausible explanation. I would wager you a hundred pounds.’

‘Let us not bet on it,’ I say, at the turn of the stairs. ‘Look where that led Robert Dunne.’

I lack the energy to argue, but I am not persuaded by his theory. Quite the contrary: a knot of apprehension tightens in my gut every time I think about Jonas and his unexplained disappearance. ‘If we only knew who Dunne was blackmailing. I begin to feel the answer lies there. Five gold angels is a lot of money – how many men aboard the
Elizabeth
would be able to pay that?’

‘Thomas Drake, for one,’ Sidney says, aggrieved. He looks down at his hose where he fell in pursuit. ‘Look at that. Horse shit all over me. I shall have to change before supper.’

We round the corner to our corridor to find Hetty lurking outside the door, making a desultory show of sweeping.

‘Your sweetheart is back,’ Sidney murmurs, taking out the key. Hetty leans on her broom and stares us down as we approach. I wonder how long she has been waiting.

‘Do you want to know what I know?’ she says, without preamble.

‘How can I possibly know that until you tell me?’ I say, though I am careful not to sound too impatient. Hetty’s eyes and ears can venture places in this inn where I could never go.

She pouts. ‘No point me telling you unless it’s worth something to you to know,’ she says, and resumes her half-hearted efforts with the broom.

Sidney unlocks the door, winks at me and closes it behind him, leaving me alone with her.

‘How about you tell me what it is, and if I judge it to be valuable information, I make recompense accordingly?’ I offer.

She looks at me, nonplussed.

‘You got such a funny way of talking.’ She sniffs. ‘All right, then. That widow, the one you went out with this morning.’

‘Mistress Dunne?’

‘Her, yes. I seen her maid delivering a message. Want to know who to?’

‘Of course.’

She is buoyant with the triumph of her knowledge; she looks as if she is in danger of exploding. ‘That gentleman who came in this morning. Took a room upstairs for a few days.’

I frown, trying to work out who she means. She makes an impatient noise.

‘
You
know him. He’s with Captain Drake. Bald. Fine clothes. Feather in his hat. Talks to everyone like he’s telling his dog not to shit in the hall.’

‘You mean Sir William Savile?’ I stare at her.

‘Is that his name?’ She looks uninterested in the finer details. ‘Him, anyway. You were talking to him this morning downstairs, when the Captain was here,’ she adds, to clarify.

‘Yes, that’s him.’ I nod. ‘And Mistress Dunne’s servant was delivering a message to him? Are you sure?’

‘Course I’m sure. She went to his room and put it under the door, I seen her. And about a half-hour later he delivered a reply. Want to know what it said?’

‘How would you know that?’ I ask, though I can already guess. By way of an answer, she reaches into the pocket of her apron and brandishes aloft a folded sheet of paper.

I cannot help laughing; she grins from ear to ear and holds out a grubby palm. I concede defeat and reach for my purse.

‘And
that
is worth a penny at least,’ she says sternly, in case I should think of cheating her.

‘You can have a groat. But how did you come by it?’ I ask, searching for a coin.

‘He didn’t know the two ladies had gone out. He slipped it under the door. But not quite far enough.’ She takes the coin I offer between finger and thumb and regards it with considerable satisfaction. Whoever else may have benefitted, Robert Dunne’s death is proving extremely profitable for Hetty.

‘Thank you, Hetty,’ I say, opening the door to my room. ‘You have excelled yourself.’

‘You can’t take it away, sir,’ she says, looking at me as if I am simple. ‘Or they’ll know. You’ll have to read it quick and I’ll slip it back before anyone knows it’s missing. Won’t take you long to read, it’s only short.’

I open the paper. It says, simply,

Here. During supper.

I look up at Hetty. ‘What does he mean by this? Where?’

She drops her gaze and twists the broom between her feet. ‘Don’t ask me, sir. I can’t read it. I never learned.’ She looks oddly vulnerable as she says this, and will not meet my eye.

I read the note aloud. She shrugs again. ‘They’re arranging to meet, I suppose. “Here” must mean in her chamber.’ She sniffs. ‘She don’t waste time, eh? Husband not even cold and she’s lined up another one to warm her bed.’

‘And which is her chamber?’

She gives me a cool look, one eyebrow raised. ‘Not sure I rightly remember.’

‘Oh, for the love of God.’ I reach into my purse and bring out another groat. ‘Will this help, do you think?’

‘It might.’ The coin vanishes inside her apron. ‘Second floor, end of the corridor. Looks out over the courtyard.’

‘Don’t mention this to anybody, Hetty,’ I tell her, handing the paper back. ‘Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open and there could be more where that came from.’ I pat my purse and her face lights up with a slow, greedy smile, though I don’t trust her not to gossip the moment she is out of sight.

‘I shall miss you, sir, when you have to go,’ she remarks, as she picks up her broom. ‘We’ve not had so much to-do here since the company of players came by in June.’

‘Glad we are keeping you entertained,’ I say, with a tight smile.

‘By the way,’ she adds, turning as she reaches the stairs, ‘that other lady was looking for you earlier.’

‘Which other lady?’

She pauses for effect. ‘
You
know. The one what was in your chamber last night.’

Before I can reply, she gives me a lascivious grin, hoists up her skirts and scurries away downstairs to her next intrigue.

SEVENTEEN

Drake’s armed men are everywhere, positioned around the entrance hall and outside the door to the private dining room. They lend the place an air of unease, weapons bristling in their hands, light glinting off the edges of steel blades. People do not like their presence, you can tell; the atmosphere is subdued, the drinkers on their way to the tap-room keep their heads down and avoid conversation. It is almost as if we are already at war. Drake stands by the dining-room door, deep in conversation with one of the soldiers; when he sees Sidney and me coming down the stairs he beckons us to him with a nod. He does not smile.

‘A word, if I may, gentlemen, before we dine.’ He steers us into a window embrasure. ‘Have you made any progress today?’

I watch him closely. Studying his broad, tanned face, I think of what this man has faced and lived to recount: day after day of looking death in the eye, of staring down tempests and waves higher than churches, together with all the fury of the elements, and learning to hold that implacable expression in place, his most important task as captain to keep panic at bay. On a ship of screaming, babbling men, terrified for their lives, he is the one man who must not show fear, or all is lost. It is this determinedly calm face that he presents to us now, but I can read the strain in his eyes. At sea, the forces arrayed against you are at least straightforward. Here, his enemy could be anywhere – including at his dining table tonight.