S. Parris - Treachery

‘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.’

I shrug. ‘I have been useful to him. But I fear his regard will diminish very quickly, if we cannot find sufficient evidence against Pettifer.’

Sidney sucks in his breath through his teeth. ‘It is infuriating — everything you said back there fits, everything points to the chaplain. It is just a matter of proving it.’

‘That is what we said about Savile.’ In truth, I have begun to admit a sliver of doubt over confronting Pettifer so publicly with such stark accusations.

‘The boy’s testimony will be good enough, won’t it?’ He sounds as if he wants reassurance.

‘He will be afraid, though. He may feel it is in his best interest to hold his tongue.’

Sidney’s armed escorts are broad-shouldered, solid young men with rough, good-natured faces. They clatter up to us, looking hastily assembled and a little awkward; they had not expected to be called upon this evening and there is a faint smell of the ale-house about them, though they all seem sufficiently alert and clear-eyed to do their job. Just the sight of them, big and confident, surrounding us with their bright liveried tunics and swords at their belts, would be enough to deter all but the most determined assailant, I think, as we set out together up the hill towards the House of Vesta. Groups of bystanders part before us, pointing and muttering. I am not used to feeling so conspicuous, though there is a curious satisfaction in being taken for a man of status.

When we reach the apothecary’s shop, I motion for Sidney and the guards to stay outside, but I leave the door open so they can be seen. The little man is standing on a stool taking an inventory of his shelves when I enter; his expectant look withers immediately when he recognises me.

‘Oh. It is you,’ he says.

‘Where is the boy? I need to see him urgently.’

Pengilly curls his lip in disgust. ‘I thought I made myself clear to you. In any case, he is not here.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘What business is it of yours?’

‘My friends would like to know,’ I say, gesturing to the open door. He catches sight of the men, who grin at him but stand so their swords are visible. He swallows.