Treachery (59 page)

‘I confess I lost the book at the whorehouse, Sir Francis, yes. You know it was my habit to pray with those poor sinners there, as Our Lord did. It seemed to bring some comfort to them. A book like that is costly, so I do not blame a desperate boy for taking it. I had only thought to brighten their lives with stories. Mostly from the Scriptures, of course,’ he adds, hastily, ‘but I believed they might enjoy the classics, too. I’m afraid I was there the night Robert Dunne came in, reeling with drink. When he learned that the whore he favoured had been sent away, he threatened in his anger to become violent. It seemed to me that it would be in everyone’s best interests if I helped him back to the ship. I left him in his cabin to sleep it off, and later I went back to see if he was all right. He had woken, but he seemed unusually troubled and asked if I would pray with him, as I told you. Afterwards, I bade him good night and went to my own quarters. That was the last time I saw him, and I assure you he was very much alive.’ He pauses for breath, and wipes his mouth with his hand. ‘And he never confessed any intention of harm towards you, Sir Francis, or I would have spoken immediately.’

‘No one saw him but you after Jonas looked in and believed he was asleep,’ I say. ‘When you learned I had been to view Dunne’s body, you were very anxious to know if I had been able to tell anything about his death from looking at him.’

‘I only wished to know if the matter could be resolved quickly, like everyone else.’

‘Really? You weren’t afraid that an experienced eye would be able to tell from the body that he had not died by hanging?’

Pettifer does not reply, though he gives me a very unchristian look.

‘Explain the letter, then,’ Thomas Drake says, brusquely. He has no love for the chaplain, but he must weigh this against his dislike of me, and his evident desire that I should be proved wrong.

‘The letter …’ Pettifer lowers his eyes to the table in a show of contrition. ‘I admit that it was an act of folly on my part. When I learned the details of Dunne’s death I was distraught, naturally. But I thought the symbolism too important to ignore. I sincerely believed he had taken his own life, you see, and what I knew from praying with him the night before – well, it was clear that something was weighing on his conscience. It seemed to me that he must have been overcome with remorse, though I swear I did not know for what. He had only talked to me of sin in general, and a fear for his soul.’ He stops and swallows hard. A muscle has begun to twitch under his right eye. ‘A death on board is a bad omen for a voyage, everyone knows. I thought if I could convince you, Sir Francis, that it was connected with the Judas book, you would be fearful enough to abandon the translation. It was wrong, I see that now. But I acted in good faith – I wanted to protect us all from the consequences of dabbling in matters that so clearly violate God’s law.’

‘Whereas indulging your desire for young boys,’ I say, my voice tight, ‘God smiles on that, does He?’

Pettifer rises, his face swollen with rage as he plants himself squarely in front of me, eyes burning. ‘Repeat that slander again, Italian, and I will—’

‘What will you do? Call the Constable? The Sheriff? Or will you just push me off a cliff, like you did with Jonas Solon?’

‘More lies! I never laid a finger on the Spaniard. How do you reason that?’

‘I think you were afraid Jonas had realised Dunne was already dead when he took him the draught. He may have thought he was passed out at first, but given all the speculation, he had time to rethink. He would have known you were alone with Dunne when you returned to the ship. Did he voice his suspicions to you? Did you see your chance to silence him and incriminate him at the same time?’ I pause for breath; Pettifer is staring at me as if he thinks I have lost my wits. He turns to Drake, holding out his hands in appeal.

‘Sir Francis, will you let this man stand here and abuse me in front of you? I have no idea what he is talking about, you must believe me.’

‘You speak Spanish, don’t you? And you have already admitted to one letter – will you deny that you wrote the other, the supposed confession from Jonas?’

Pettifer’s eyes threaten to bulge out of his head. ‘Everything you have said to me from the moment I walked in is the grossest insult, and I will see you pay for it. I should expect no less from a Dominican—’

‘Gentlemen.’ Drake’s voice cuts across us, and immediately we fall silent, like chastened children. He fixes the chaplain with a steady look. ‘Did you see Jonas the night he died, Ambrose?’

‘Of course not,’ Pettifer snaps, then remembers to whom he is talking, and modifies his tone. ‘I was nowhere near the Hoe, Sir Francis.’

‘Where were you, then? And can anyone testify to it?’

Pettifer takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. When he speaks again his voice is calmer. ‘I was at the House of Vesta,’ he says. ‘Mistress Grace will vouch for me.’

Sidney gives a loud snort. Pettifer glares at him.

‘Seems half my crew was there that night,’ Drake says, sounding tired.

‘Did you walk there and back alone?’ Thomas asks the chaplain.

‘Yes.’ He eyes the floor and his voice grows quieter. ‘I prefer not to be seen entering the place. They let me in a side door. You understand – though the Lord knows my conscience is clear, I think it best not to give others the opportunity for gossip.’

‘And you went directly back to the ship?’ Thomas persists.

Pettifer hesitates. ‘Actually, I stopped by the church to pray first.’

‘What time was this?’ Drake asks. There is a sharpness to his tone that suggests he is growing impatient with Pettifer.

‘I don’t know,’ Pettifer says, looking uncomfortable. ‘It was already near dark. I didn’t stay long.’

‘Can anyone vouch for this, Ambrose? Did others see you at church?’

‘The sexton was still there, I’m sure he would remember. But when I reached the quayside to take a boat back to the
Elizabeth
, I ran into your secretary, Sir Francis. He was returning at the same time.’

Drake frowns. ‘Gilbert? That was late for him to be ashore. Did he say where he’d been?’

Pettifer looks blank. ‘No. And I didn’t ask. I believe we would all have more peace if everyone minded his own business more often.’ He spears me with a glare.

‘Not when two of my men have died,’ Drake says. There is a new hardness in his voice. He gathers up the letters without looking at Pettifer. ‘I think you had better stay aboard the ship for now, Ambrose, until these allegations have been proved true or false.’

‘Sir Francis, you cannot possibly think—’

Drake holds a hand up for silence. ‘I will reserve judgement until I hear this boy’s testimony. It should be a simple matter to tell whether or not he is lying for gain. Bruno, I want you and Sir Philip to fetch the boy and bring him to the Mayor’s house. Let’s keep this away from that muttering rabble at the Star. Take Sir Philip’s armed men – if your suppositions are correct, the Grace woman may be keen to prevent you.’

‘I would feel better if I were armed myself, Sir Francis,’ I say. ‘I lost my knife to Doughty and Jenkes last night and I am not in the best state to fight without one.’

‘Was the weapon valuable?’

‘Not greatly, in itself. But it had value for me. It was all I had of my old life.’

He nods, understanding. Then he crosses to the locked cupboard in the corner of the cabin. While he rattles his keys and rummages inside, Pettifer’s eyes bore into me with a look of such fierce hatred that I know I have made an enemy for life, regardless of whether he is innocent or guilty. I look away, but the force of his stare continues to burn me. If I were a more superstitious man, I would fear I was being cursed.

‘Here,’ Drake says, returning with a weapon laid across his open palms. He draws it from its sheath to reveal a dagger of burnished steel, its blade tapering to a point as fine as the nib of a quill. The metal is dark and has only a dull gleam, but on closer inspection this is because the surface is mottled with patterns like the grain of wood. The grip is wrapped with bronze thread and the pommel and guard embellished with decorations of vines and flowers. It is an exquisite piece of work.

‘Damascus steel,’ Drake says, pleased by my look of amazement. ‘We took it from an officer on a Spanish ship off Nicaragua. Beautiful, isn’t it? Valuable, too. The patterning on the blade is unique. Damascus steel beats anything that comes out of Toledo. They say you can drop a hair across the edge and it will be cut cleanly in two. I have never tried that trick, but you are welcome to experiment. Go on, take it.’ He holds the knife out, pommel towards me.

‘I cannot keep this, Sir Francis – it must be worth a fortune,’ I say, weighing it in my hand. It is so light and perfectly balanced it seems to slice the air with a sigh as I curve my arm. I notice Pettifer takes a step back.

‘The debt I owe you is greater,’ Drake says. ‘As for this business …’ He waves a hand around the cabin to encompass Pettifer, me, the letters, and shakes his head as if in despair. ‘We had best move quickly. Ambrose, you will wait here with Thomas until we have some answers.’

‘Sir Francis,’ Pettifer says, in a small voice, as Drake reaches for the latch. ‘May I speak to you in private? There is one thing I need to explain, away from these mad accusations.’

Drake nods at me and Sidney to let us know we are dismissed, and closes the door behind us.

‘Drake should have his cabin searched,’ Sidney says, in a low voice, as we wait on the lower deck. ‘It may be that he kept the blackmail demand from Dunne somewhere.’

‘I doubt it. Whatever else he may be, Pettifer is a clever man.’ I clench my jaw. ‘I’m sure he would not have held on to anything that could incriminate him. My fear is that there will be nothing but the boy’s testimony against him. And how will that look – an uneducated apprentice accusing a well-respected parson of sodomy?’

‘Surely girls can be found who will testify against Mistress Grace, at least?’

I think of the girl Sara in the slums, her mind and body eaten away by the pox. ‘There are witnesses, but I’m not sure how much credibility they’d have.’

‘Huh. From what I’ve seen, you’d be lucky if you found a man of authority in this town willing to bring Mistress Grace before a judge,’ Sidney says, with a sniff. ‘Her trade is too much to their advantage. Pray God the boy’s testimony will be sufficient, because—’ He breaks off when he sees Gilbert Crosse hovering on the main deck, a leather portfolio clutched to his breast.

‘Is everything all right, Sir Philip?’ Gilbert hops from foot to foot and chews his lip in that way that makes him look like a schoolboy. ‘Have you two been with Sir Francis? I came up just now to ask him to sign these letters but I heard voices so I thought it best not to interrupt. I know he has so much to worry about at the moment.’ He ducks his head and offers a sheepish smile.

‘I’m sure he will be out soon,’ I say, feigning not to notice his fishing for news. Sidney has adopted a policy of ignoring him altogether. Gilbert’s faux-humble manner grates on him. I wonder how long the young cartographer hung about outside Drake’s cabin, and how much he might have overheard.

‘Ah, here he is,’ Gilbert says, holding out his folder as Drake appears from the quarterdeck. ‘I have made fair copies of those letters, Sir Francis – do you want to sign them now?’

Drake stops and regards him with a strange expression, as if trying to remember what he is for. ‘Later, Gilbert. I must go ashore now and see my wife. Leave them in my cabin – you will find my brother there.’

‘It’s just that I too am going ashore, to church,’ he persists, still fidgeting, ‘and I thought if they were signed and sealed I could take them to the messenger and have them on the road tonight. Else they will have to wait until the morning.’

Drake sighs. ‘Then let them wait. I must not delay this evening. Go and call one of the men to row us, would you? And tell Captain Fenner I will be gone until later tonight. I leave him in charge.’

‘If I might beg you to wait while I fetch my cloak and bag, perhaps I could come with you now, to save taking another boat?’ Gilbert says, with hopeful eyes.

Drake hesitates. ‘No, this boat will be full. I will send it back for you.’

Gilbert looks disappointed, but he nods without complaint and scurries away to his tasks.

‘No word of these suspicions must escape to anyone for the time being,’ Drake whispers, once we are in the boat. ‘Until we have some verification. These crimes Pettifer is accused of would be monstrous in any man, but in a priest …’ He shakes his head. ‘If the men see corruption in those who have spiritual authority over them, what example do they have? There would be chaos. A ship’s chaplain’s job is to put the fear of God into the crew.’

‘I thought it was to console?’ Sidney says.

‘At sea, the fear comes first,’ Drake replies, grim-faced.

A messenger is sent for Sidney’s armed men to join us at the quayside. Drake goes on ahead to the Mayor’s house with his own bodyservants. I feel a faint flutter of nerves as I watch him go, and find my eyes darting along the busy wharves, scouring the crowds for anyone who might be watching us too closely, keeping his head down or his hands inside his cloak. Mistress Grace’s tart warning comes back to me; she will not allow her enterprise to be threatened without a fight. The hulls of the fishing boats crack together as they rock on the swell; their owners stack up pots and untangle nets ready for the night’s work. On the quayside, the fishwomen have gone home for the day, but there are others with wide baskets slung across their hips, selling strawberries or pies to anyone disembarking. The street whores will not come out in force until dusk, but already a few hopeful early arrivals loiter on corners where the steep cobbled streets open on to the quay, their painted faces garish in the flat light. A couple try to catch our eye; I turn away. We cannot afford to be distracted. Sidney keeps a hand on the pommel of his sword; he too scans the faces that pass by, alert for any sign of trouble.

‘That weapon he gave you is worth a king’s ransom, you know,’ he remarks, after a while, stealing an envious glance at the dagger now strapped to my side. It is larger than my old knife and harder to conceal, though it does look more imposing. ‘He obviously regards you highly.’