Treachery (40 page)

‘Mm,’ I say, watching the door as Savile slips out. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment? I’m afraid I too must – you know.’

‘Well, of course.’ He looks put out; he had condescended to draw a parallel between us and I rebuffed him. But offending Pettifer is the least of my concerns at present. I excuse myself and squeeze past the seated guests and the serving boys to the door. Sidney gives me a questioning look as I leave; I gesture with my eyes to Savile’s empty chair.

The entrance hall is quieter now; perhaps everyone is in the tap-room for supper. I take the stairs to the second floor and tread as quietly as I can along the creaking corridor, following the directions Hetty gave me to Mistress Dunne’s chamber. Wan evening light falls, slanted, across the bare boards. All the doors along the passageway are shut, but I hear the murmur of voices, muted, from one at the end, on the side that faces the courtyard. I slow my steps, keeping against the wall, where the boards make less noise under my weight.

‘But how did you allow this to happen?’ A woman’s voice, tight with anger.

‘If you would let me explain …’ Savile’s voice, placatory, wheedling. ‘Fate was against me—’

‘Fate! Do not talk to me of fate, William – you have marred everything, you alone.’

‘How many times must I say it – there was nothing I could do, the priest was with him.’ Savile’s voice rises, growing defensive. ‘Besides, it is done now. You have the end you wanted, one way or another.’

‘You think
this
was what I wanted?’ She makes an explosive sound through her lips. ‘God preserve me from foolish men. How does any of this serve us?’

‘Martha, you know I did not intend—’

This is where I make an error of judgement. I am too anxious to see how they interact with one another, the subtle cues of gesture and touch that often express better than words the relationship of one person to another. I want to ascertain the degree of intimacy between these people who claim to have barely met. As I move closer and crouch to put my eye to the keyhole, the floor betrays me with a loud groan and Savile breaks off without finishing his sentence; I can almost hear the tension bristling as he strains to listen. The rustle of frantic whispering rises inside the room; Savile hisses, ‘
You
go – I cannot be seen coming out of your chamber.’

I hear movement; if they find me here, any advantage I have will be lost. I try the next door along the passage; to my surprise, it opens and I find myself in an empty bedchamber. I slip the pin under the latch, just in case.

There follows the sound of a door opening, the creak of boards in the corridor, some scuffling, more hurried whispering, then the click of a door closing again and footsteps outside, fading towards the stairs. From Mistress Dunne’s room comes a sound like a muffled sob, but which might just as well be laughter.

When I am sure that no one is stirring outside, I leave the room as quietly as possible and pick my way towards the stairs. As I round the corner I collide with Hetty, a leather jug in her hand. Liquid slops over the rim and splashes both of us; she swears colourfully, though I am relieved to find it is only water.

‘You’re in a hurry, sir,’ she observes, wiping herself down with a sly smile. ‘Looking for something?’

‘The gentleman you mentioned earlier, the bald one who left the message – did you see him?’

‘Just this second pushed past me. Went down to the dining room, he did.’

‘Thank you.’ I hesitate. ‘Where would I find his chamber, if I wanted to leave him a message?’

‘Why would you need to do that, sir? You’re having supper with him, as I recall.’

She feigns an uncomprehending look; I give her a stern glare.

‘I do not have my purse on me. Just tell me, will you?’

She gives me a pitying look, as if this lie is so feeble it hardly bears the telling.

‘I’m afraid I don’t recall which room he has, sir.’

I suck in my cheeks, but I reach inside my doublet for my purse just the same.

‘By Christ, Hetty, you should be a usurer, you would bleed a man dry in no time.’

‘God helps those as help themselves, Mistress Judith says.’

‘I’m sure she does. A groat, no more. It is all I can spare. Tell me something else, since you know everything – did you notice anyone leaving a message at Lady Drake’s door this afternoon?’

‘Lady Drake? Why, has she got a secret sweetheart too?’

‘No,’ I say firmly, before she can run with any rumours. ‘Someone left a letter for Sir Francis. He is particularly keen to find out who it was.’

She pockets the money with a serene smile. ‘I was washing the floor in the tap-room this afternoon. Never went near Lady Drake’s chamber. Sorry.’

‘And you didn’t notice anyone behaving oddly? No one hanging about who should not have been?’

She makes a derisive noise through her nose. ‘Everyone behaves oddly round here, sir. How would I know the difference?’ She tucks her pitcher into the crook of her arm. ‘First floor, you want – turn right at the stairs, third door along. Facing the yard.’

‘Thank you. And it is a private message, so …’ I mime sealing my lips. She merely arches an eyebrow and continues on her way. She would lie to me as soon as look at me, I have no doubt of it, though for as long as I have an open purse she has decided to favour me, it seems.

Luck is on my side; the first-floor corridor is empty. I could have made use of Sidney’s hat pin, but he is not here; I must do my best with the thin blade of my knife. Though I nick my fingers several times in the process, the lock eventually yields and I open Savile’s room.

There is nothing here except a short cloak laid out on the bed and his leather bag. I lift the flap and begin to look through the contents. Nothing of any special interest; only a few clothes, hastily packed, which should make it less obvious that I have been rummaging through his belongings. Like Sidney, Savile is fond of his fine clothes, and appears not to have considered how much use these silk and brocade doublets will be in the middle of the Atlantic. I curse softly, striking my knee with my fist; there is nothing conclusive here, nothing to prove the exact meaning of Savile’s elliptical conversation with Mistress Dunne. If only I had stayed quiet and heard more. What does she think he has marred? What did he mean by ‘the end you wanted’ – surely a reference to her husband’s death?

At the bottom of the bag I draw out a pair of sleeves of fawn-coloured silk; I give them a cursory glance and am about to fold and replace them when I notice that the cuffs are decorated with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons in the shape of a flower, a line of four on each. Except that on one sleeve, there are only three. I hold it up to examine it more closely. There is a brownish stain near the lace trim; I rub it with my thumb and a powdery substance adheres to my skin. I sniff it just to be sure, but I already know what I have found. The sleeve with the missing button smells of nutmeg.

EIGHTEEN

I pause outside the dining room to lean against the wall, slow my breathing and compose my expression. Savile must not suspect anything until I have had a chance to speak to Drake and let him decide how to proceed, though Savile is sharp enough to mark my empty place at the table and perhaps connect it with the sounds he heard upstairs. If not, he will certainly notice something amiss when he realises his room has been left unlocked. It is one thing to pick a lock, another altogether to close it again, and I gave up for fear of breaking the mechanism. After some deliberation, I left the sleeves in the bag; though I would have liked to show Drake the evidence, I reasoned that Savile must be unaware that he has lost a button, or that it could incriminate him.

I wait until I am sure I can enter the room with a neutral expression. It is a talent of sorts, this ability to keep my most turbulent thoughts from being read in my face. It would have served me well in the politics of religious life, but it is useful enough in this strange existence I ended up with instead. Savile turns his head briefly as I take my seat, his glance mildly curious, though he quickly returns to his audience; he is regaling Dom Antonio and Drake with some tale that involves exuberant arm gestures. The Portuguese is laughing politely. Drake wears a fixed smile, but he is looking past Savile to the panelling on the wall, his thoughts elsewhere.

I spear a piece of pork on my knife and when I look up again Savile has reached the climax of his tale; the men around him are laughing, though none so heartily as the teller himself. I lay the knife down and cast my gaze around the table. The drone of conversation begins to sound distant, like a swarm of bees on the other side of a window; I seem to see their mouths moving – talking, chewing, laughing – as if time had slowed and I was standing outside, looking on. The whole atmosphere here feels infected with suspicion, bluff and counter-bluff, falsehood and fear, as if we are all of us engaged in some grand card game where the stakes are men’s lives and the winner will be the one with the greatest skill at lying. And the men who are dealing the cards are somewhere out of sight, still hiding in the shadows.

Gilbert does not speak much for the rest of the meal, except to remark on the appetites of others, though I see his eyes flit from one speaker to another, always attentive to the conversations around him. A great wave of tiredness breaks over me. I find myself longing to leave this company and fall on my bed, close my eyes, embrace oblivion. Though this is wishful thinking; my mind will be too busy turning over the day’s revelations for sleep to come. I may as well make use of the time by working.

When the board has been cleared the ladies announce that they are retiring; we all stand as they leave and wish them a good night. Lady Arden looks back over her shoulder at me as she reaches the door and briefly smiles. After they have gone, there is a general stirring; some go out to piss in the inn yard, others take the opportunity to stretch and move around the table, others take out clay pipes and tobacco pouches. I excuse myself from my dining companions and ease my way around to Drake, who stands to greet me.

‘Sir Francis, may I take the book tonight?’ I ask, in a whisper. He frowns, glancing towards his brother.

‘What for?’

‘To continue working. I could finish the translation by morning, if I put my mind to it.’ If I set to work now, I may just be able to rewrite the pages that were taken from my room, and I need not confess the theft to Drake.

A smile briefly creases the corners of his eyes. ‘I can’t help thinking you would do better to get some sleep, Bruno. Take a look at yourself.’

‘I would sleep easier, sir, if there was a complete copy of that book. For safekeeping.’

‘You really think someone will attempt to steal it?’

‘I think that bookseller you met wants it very badly. He is a ruthless man with no scruples.’

He considers, glancing back at his brother. ‘Well … Thomas will not like it. He already thinks you mean to use the copy for your own profit – he will be even less keen to trust you with the original. Padre Pettifer has warned me in the strongest terms against making the translation – he says no good can come of spreading heresy and I would be calling God’s curse down on the voyage.’ He shakes his head. ‘I begin to think I have done so already.’

‘Do not say so, sir. None of this is your doing. Nor is it God’s displeasure. We are close to finding the man responsible for Dunne’s death, I am sure of it.’

‘I wish I were. I cannot tell you how sick I am at heart when I think of Jonas. Every moment I expect a messenger to tell me they have found him.’ He heaves a sigh and lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘Take the book for tonight, then. I would offer you one of my armed men, but I have promised them to Dom Antonio. Besides’ – he looks me up and down – ‘I’d wager you can take care of yourself if anyone comes knocking. Come and collect it now – I mean to retire early tonight.’

‘Quite right too, Sir Francis – if I had a beautiful wife in town I would do the same.’ Savile appears behind me, throwing an easy arm around my shoulder the way Sidney does. I try not to tense. I wonder how much he has overheard. ‘Meanwhile, we lonely bachelors must seek solace in the bottle and the card table. Will you join us, Bruno? You seem like a man who has a face for gambling.’

‘You think?’ I say, with a perfectly blank expression.

‘There, what did I tell you – you are doing it now!’ He claps me on the back as if I have performed a trick. ‘You are adept at hiding your true self. An invaluable skill for the card table. One poor Robert Dunne never mastered, alas.’

‘The same may be said of most of us, do you not think, Sir William?’ I say, with a pleasant smile. ‘But I’m afraid I must decline. I have no taste for risk.’

‘You surprise me,’ he says, and I detect an edge to his voice, but perhaps I imagine it.

It takes Drake some time to extricate himself from the lengthy farewells, especially with Dom Antonio, who has become quite emotional with all the wine, and embraces Drake several times over, brushing tears from the corners of his eyes as his speeches grow more effusive and less coherent. Sidney tells me he plans to join the card game; I wish him luck and tell him to keep an eye on Savile, note if he does or says anything unusual. Sidney gives me a quizzical look, but Drake gestures for me to follow him and I have no chance to elaborate.

One of the armed guards accompanies us up the stairs to the first floor. Another is already stationed outside the door of Lady Drake’s chamber. Drake nods to him and pauses, his hand on the latch, as if gathering his thoughts before going in to his wife. I almost speak, thinking I should tell him what I have discovered about Savile. Instinct checks me; Savile will not run anywhere tonight. He has the arrogance to believe he is above suspicion and I would need stronger proof before I accuse him outright.

A small fire has been lit in Drake’s chamber and the air is warm and smells of woodsmoke. Lady Drake sits close to the hearth, her maidservant is perched on the window seat, sewing. Lady Arden stands by the fireplace, a small bag at her feet.

‘Ladies.’ Drake sweeps across the room and unlocks a wooden chest placed beside the bed. ‘I hope you are not too fatigued by this evening.’ He withdraws from the chest the leather satchel containing the book.