S. Parris - Treachery

‘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.’

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.

‘I have just left him,’ I say, half-turning. ‘I think he intends to return to the ship soon. Do you want me to take them up to him?’

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ he says, edging past me. ‘You look as if you have had enough exertions.’ He nods to my bruises. ‘I am glad to see you safe,’ he adds, lowering his voice. ‘There was a lot of talk among the men last night about what was going on with all the small boats around St Nicholas Island. I didn’t pick up the details — just enough to know that Lady Drake was in danger and you were helping Sir Francis. Was it connected with Robert Dunne or Jonas? Is there a threat to the fleet?’ He looks at me expectantly, blinking behind his glasses.

I smile. ‘Lady Drake was never in any danger, I assure you. Nor is the fleet. I had better let you take your letters up.’

‘Yes.’ He sighs. ‘I ought really to put every letter into his hands myself. I would be the one blamed if any correspondence went missing. Can you imagine? Give you good day, Doctor Bruno.’

He is past me and almost at the turn in the stairs when a thought occurs to me.

‘Gilbert!’ I hurry up after him until we are level. ‘Do you always give Sir Francis his letters directly, or would you sometimes ask others to take them in to his cabin, if they are on their way there?’

He frowns. ‘Almost always I make sure I put them into his hands, but there are occasions, of course — if I am in a hurry, and some trusted person is on his way in to see the Captain-General, I might ask him to pass them on. Why?’ He sounds defensive, as if he fears I might accuse him of failing in his duty.

‘The day Robert Dunne was found dead,’ I say, lowering my voice, ‘did you ask anyone to take Captain Drake’s letters in to him?’

He screws up his face. ‘I’m not sure I recall — everyone was in such a state that day. I came ashore early to find the coroner, and I remember I collected some letters for Captain Drake at the Star as usual. But I didn’t return to the ship until much later.’

‘Try to recall, if you can. Captain Drake received an unusual letter that day. I wonder if it was among those you picked up from the Star?’

‘I’m afraid I didn’t look at them in any detail,’ he says, biting his lip. ‘But — wait — I came back to the ship just before dinner. I was on my way up to the captain’s cabin when I bumped into — yes, it’s coming back to me now! You’re right — I did entrust the letters to someone else that day.’

‘And who was that?’

He murmurs a name. I nod, understanding, as a number of pieces seem to fall into place.

I find Sidney in the private dining room with Dom Antonio and his attendants. Two armed men flank the door. Sidney raises his eyebrows in a question; I give a minute shake of my head.

Dom Antonio glances up and his funereal expression brightens a fraction. ‘Ah! And here is our Italian hero. Saviour of women, avenger of wrongs.’

I wave this away, embarrassed. ‘Not a very efficient avenger, I fear. The wrongdoers fled.’

‘Nonetheless, my friend, you saved a young woman’s life. Not many of us can make that claim. Am I not right, Sir Philip?’

Sidney makes a polite noise and looks at me with a stiff smile. I gesture towards the door.

‘Forgive me, Dom Antonio, gentlemen, but may I borrow Sir Philip? I’m afraid it is a matter of urgency.’

The Portuguese holds out his hands in a gesture of surrender. Sidney scrapes his chair back and follows me out, his face eager.

‘Well?’ he says, when we are out of the guards’ hearing.

‘I think I know who the killer is. Come with me.’

‘What are you talking about? Come where ?’

I turn to see him standing, hands on hips.

‘You have told me nothing about Savile,’ he hisses. ‘I thought we had all agreed he was the killer? He has as good as confessed — don’t tell me you found his denials plausible? And now what — you have cooked up some new theory?’

‘I don’t believe it was Savile. Neither does Drake. He admitted to plotting Dunne’s death — he would not have said so much if he didn’t think the confession absolved him of the actual murder.’

‘He is a clever man. He thinks he can deceive us by parsing out the truth. And you have apparently fallen for it. Are you trying to make me look a fool, is that it?’

I hear the frustration in his voice. I sigh.

‘It’s not about you, Philip. Savile could not have killed Jonas — Thomas Drake can vouch for his whereabouts all night.’

Sidney’s face falls. ‘Are you sure? Savile is nothing if not cunning, he could have slipped away.’