S. Parris - Treachery

‘I’m afraid that is not quite all, Padre,’ I say, looking apologetic. ‘Your visits to the House of Vesta were in part concerned with the placement of unwanted children with Christian families, am I right?’

Pettifer half rises from his chair and places his hands flat on the table. ‘Sir Francis, I must protest! Such matters should not be discussed with the likes of-’

‘Let him ask his questions, Ambrose,’ Drake says, in that same gentle tone that will brook no argument. ‘I am interested in your answers.’

I take a deep breath. ‘The boy said you sometimes read to him from the Ovid book.’

‘I thought to improve his education, poor creature.’ He slips a finger inside his collar and loosens it away from his throat.

‘And that was why you visited him alone?’

‘ What? ’ He splutters. ‘One might better ask what you were doing in the boy’s chamber?’

‘I was trying to find out who killed Robert Dunne.’

He opens his mouth to speak but blinks at me instead, wrong-footed.

‘You see,’ I continue, leaning forward across the table, ‘Dunne had recently found out a terrible secret about someone on board this ship. Something which, if made public, would destroy that person’s reputation and their chances of sailing with Captain Drake, now or in the future.’

Pettifer runs his tongue around his mouth. Sweat glistens along his upper lip. He shakes his head.

‘I believe,’ I say slowly, ‘that Robert Dunne had found out you did not visit that boy to save him from his sins. In fact, you added to them.’

Silence hangs over the table as Drake stares at Pettifer.

‘That is slander,’ the chaplain says. His voice emerges high-pitched and squeaking. ‘Of the most damnable kind. You had better retract it immediately, sir.’

‘Was the boy part of your pay-off from Mistress Grace?’ I persist. ‘For allowing her to continue the practice of selling the unwanted children got on the girls in her house, before she threw them on the street? I assume you took a cut of the profits, too. Did Dunne know about that? He certainly knew you were well able to pay his blackmail demands.’

He jolts with surprise at this, and frowns. ‘What demands?’

‘Dunne was blackmailing you, wasn’t he? Five gold angels is a lot to lose, and you feared there would be more such letters. You knew he could destroy your standing by telling Captain Drake about your arrangements with the House of Vesta. You were in fear of him.’

‘No — no, you have it all wrong,’ he bleats, flapping his hands. ‘I never paid Dunne any money. He never asked me for any. I don’t know anything about five gold angels.’

I stand up, for better effect, so that I am looking down on him. Drake, Thomas and Sidney watch like spectators at a dog-fight, rapt. ‘You saw the state he was in when he left the House of Vesta that night. Did you know he had been drugged with nutmeg, or did you think he was just drunk? No matter’ — I press on, before he can object — ‘either way, you got him back to the ship and, with help from Thomas Drake, carried him to his cabin. Thomas went to find the Spaniard, to bring Dunne a cure. You were left alone with Dunne, who was as good as helpless, and you saw a chance to silence your tormentor for good. What did you do, press his face into the pillow? He must have been so confused in his senses he did not put up a fight. You crushed the life out of him and left him there. When Jonas looked in, he thought Dunne had passed out from drink and went away again.’

‘No — no, I swear that is a lie!’ Pettifer cries. He is growing flustered, his eyes darting from me to Drake, pleading.

‘Ambrose,’ Drake says, faintly, as if he does not want to believe what he is hearing.

‘But you must have been terrified that Jonas had realised the truth. When nothing was said, you decided to make sure. You went back to Dunne’s cabin on the pretext of praying with him, and strung him up to look like a suicide. Then you locked his room and threw the key overboard, I imagine.’

‘This is pure fabrication. You must believe me, Sir Francis — we know each other, you and I-’

‘The next day,’ I continue, relentless, ‘you saw a chance to link Dunne’s death to the Judas book you believed to be heretical, to deter Captain Drake from having it read. You wrote a verse from Matthew’s Gospel, making it look as if Dunne’s death was somehow a result of the book’s dangerous influence. And implying too that Dunne himself was a traitor. Perhaps he had confessed to you his plans to assassinate Sir Francis on the voyage?’

Pettifer leaps to his feet, his face scarlet. ‘Assassinate — I do not know what you are talking of, sir, but I refute all of it! If you believe for a moment that I could hear of a plot to harm the Captain-General and not tell him of it immediately, you are more lacking in your wits than I first believed. Sir Francis, you know me,’ he says again, wheedling, his eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘Would you hear the lies of a stranger and a foreigner against my word?’ He knits his fingers together as if in prayer, raising them towards Drake.

I push the page from the notebook across the table to Pettifer.

‘If you did not kill Dunne, testify to it by signing this paper.’

‘What right have you-’

‘Will you sign your name here? To attest that what you say is true?’

‘You are trying to trap me,’ he blusters, hesitating. He raises his eyes and looks around the company for support, but finds only stony faces. I dip the quill into the ink and hold it out to him. He glances at Drake, who nods towards the paper. Pettifer takes the quill from me with a look of pure hatred and scrawls his name across the page. ‘And what do you propose to do with this?’ he asks. His voice shakes, but with anger now.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Except compare it. Do you have the letter with the Bible verse, Sir Francis?’

‘Of course.’ Drake looks at me, uncertain.

‘May we see it?’

He nods, and unlocks the cupboard in the corner. He unfolds the Matthew letter and holds it out. I hold up the page Pettifer has just signed beside it. They are the same size. There is an identical water stain across the lower right corner of both. ‘And look, here,’ I say, pointing to the writing. There has been some attempt to disguise the hand in Drake’s letter, but way the double T in ‘Matthew’ is crossed is identical to the double T in ‘Pettifer’: a broad cross stroke that does not quite meet the first T. It would be hard to doubt that these pages, and the writing on them, came from the same source. For further confirmation, we pass them over to Thomas and Sidney, who bend their heads over the papers and lift them after close scrutiny, with a nod of agreement.

‘Did you write that letter, Ambrose?’ It is the quiet sorrow in Drake’s voice that finally undoes Pettifer. He sinks back to his seat and presses his face into his hands.

‘Yes. God forgive me.’ It comes as a muffled whisper. His shoulders are shaking. ‘The letter, yes. But the rest is lies.’

‘The Ovid book?’ Drake says, in that same disappointed tone.

Pettifer looks up. ‘I do not see any book.’

I click my tongue, impatient. ‘The book is in the possession of your friend Mistress Grace at the House of Vesta. But you recognise this endpaper, do you not?’

He nods, miserably. No one speaks; there is only the sound of the ship’s timbers creaking, the water lapping outside, and the chorus of the gulls. After a while, Pettifer seems to gather his thoughts. He lifts his head and addresses himself to Drake. When he speaks, he has almost mastered the tremor in his voice.

‘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.’