S. Parris - Treachery

Jenkes shakes his head and tuts, as if he is disappointed in my efforts. ‘You know very well that is not true, Bruno. Drake would not do anything that would risk Lady Arden’s life. It was a gamble, I’ll admit, but Doughty seemed sure of it.’

‘What about Robert Dunne?’ I say, turning to John Doughty. ‘Was he a gamble too?’

He gives a baffled laugh. ‘Dunne? Yes, I suppose he was. A gamble I lost, in the end, which I should have foreseen. Poor Dunne was cursed by ill luck. Worse even than mine, so it seems.’

‘So what do you get out of this charade?’ If I can at least keep them talking, I give myself time to think. Unfortunately I cannot fathom any way out that will not leave Lady Arden or me, or more likely both of us, dead. ‘You didn’t really believe Drake would come here in person?’

Doughty considers the question. ‘No, I suppose in my heart I did not. But this will do almost as well for now. I will leave her head in the church for him to find.’

Lady Arden makes a frantic noise through her gag. She sinks to the floor, tears streaming down her face. She is so pale I fear she may vomit; with her mouth bound, she would choke immediately.

‘By rights I should leave it on the cliff for the sea birds to peck out her eyes, like he did with my poor brother’s,’ Doughty continues matter-of-factly. ‘See how he likes that. Show him a prelude to his own death.’

‘You really think you will kill Drake one day?’ I ask.

He does not miss the scorn in my voice. His expression hardens as he steps closer.

‘I must believe it,’ he says, through his remaining teeth, and in those words I hear the force of the man’s despair. ‘The only thing that stops me following Robert Dunne’s example is the oath I swore to my brother, that I will see Francis Drake in his grave before I go to mine. That man took everything from me.’ He is so close I can feel his breath on my face. The muzzle of the gun presses against my breastbone. I hear the blood thudding in my ears. ‘My brother, my money, my reputation. My patriotism. Even my fucking teeth,’ he adds, with a sour laugh. ‘And I had good teeth. While he collects land, titles, fame, royal favour, a beautiful young wife.’ He casts a glance at Lady Arden. ‘I would have preferred to have taken his wife, of course — saving your presence, my lady — but Elizabeth Drake is too closely watched. This bitch will have to do. I will take his spoils from him, one by one, until he knows how it feels to lose everything. England will never give me justice, so I must make my own.’

‘Or persuade a desperate man like Robert Dunne to do it for you,’ I say, though I did not miss his reference to ‘Dunne’s example’.

A thin smile. ‘Persuade … yes, it sounds better when you put it like that. Robert Dunne was a despicable coward. You can make a coward do anything if he thinks he will save his own skin. Especially a coward in debt. I settled his debts at the House of Vesta, you know. After that he was my creature.’

‘But he wasn’t, was he?’ I say. ‘He didn’t do what you wanted, in the end.’

‘True.’ He sounds regretful. ‘I thought he was desperate enough to do it for the money. A small dose of monkshood in Drake’s wine would have done it — hardly a problem once they’re out at sea. I even showed Dunne how the poison was distilled. He seemed so willing at first.’ He makes a sharp, wincing motion and clicks his tongue. ‘I should have realised he had that pathetic filial loyalty some men develop towards Drake. In the end his conscience weighed heavier than his fear. He took the coward’s way out.’

So he really believes Dunne killed himself? I recall the letter Drake received the day after Dunne’s death with the verse from Matthew’s gospel, with its reference to Judas’s remorseful suicide.

‘Is that why you sent that letter?’ I ask. ‘So that Drake would think Dunne’s death was connected with the Judas book?’

A small crease appears between his brows; he darts a glance at Jenkes. ‘Which letter?’

‘The one with the Bible verse: Matthew 27 verse 5.’

Doughty only looks more confused; the crease in his forehead deepens. ‘ Matthew? ’

‘Judas went from that place and hanged himself,’ Jenkes says, smoothly.

‘You see? He knows it word for word.’

‘My dear Bruno — I know most of the scriptures word for word. As do you. But why would anyone send such a letter?’ He arches an eyebrow.

‘You tell me. To imply that Dunne hanged himself out of remorse for his treachery, just like Judas? To serve as a warning to Drake, that the Judas Gospel brings nothing but harm?’ I suggest. ‘Or simply to frighten him. To show him once again that you know everything that touches him, even on his ship.’

Doughty lets out a bark of laughter. ‘Frighten him? It would take more than a letter with a line of scripture to frighten El Draco.’

‘Really? What would it take — a letter threatening the curse of the Devil? No, that did not work. One telling him you are watching his wife, perhaps?’

John Doughty looks abashed, but only briefly. ‘I was not quite myself when I sent those. Prison can turn a man’s wits, you know. But I never sent him any Bible verse.’

‘No more did I,’ Jenkes says, with a shrug. ‘The others, yes, via the girl to you and this lady here. But no verses.’

‘We are wasting time,’ Doughty says, impatient. ‘The ship sails on the evening tide and we must be on it, or risk being found by the hue and cry. What does it matter who sent the letter?’

‘It matters,’ I begin, ‘because …’ But I find I cannot answer the question. All along we have believed that the letter was sent either by Dunne’s killer, or someone who knew his identity and wanted to toy with Drake. The other letters had led me to assume that they were connected with the first one. But the recent discoveries about Savile and Martha Dunne have thrown all those theories into confusion.

‘Do you know who killed Robert Dunne?’ I ask. ‘Indulge me — it is not as if I can tell anyone now. Satisfy my curiosity.’

‘Is that your last request, Bruno?’ Jenkes cocks his head to one side, but Doughty holds a hand up to silence him, still frowning at me.

‘Does Francis Drake truly believe Dunne did not kill himself?’ He shakes his head, looking perplexed. ‘I knew there was an inquest, but I thought that was the widow’s doing, it was to be expected. Who would want Dunne dead?’ He appears disconcerted.

‘Other than you?’ I say.

‘He was no use to me dead. Not yet, at least. Not until he had served his purpose. Dunne knew I had marked him for his part in the jury that falsely convicted my brother. But as I told you, he was a coward. I convinced him that by killing Drake for me, he had a chance to save himself and his women.’ He lets out a sharp laugh. ‘I even promised him a share of the price on Drake’s head. I thought that would swing the balance.’

‘The twenty thousand ducats,’ I murmur. ‘You meant to claim that from Spain?’

‘Of course.’ He says this in a clipped, businesslike tone. ‘But I suspected Dunne was not such a fool as to believe I would let him live. I had supposed he decided it was better to damn his soul with suicide than with murder.’ He purses his lips and his brow creases again. ‘But you seriously think someone else killed him?’ He glances at Jenkes. ‘Someone who guessed what he planned and wanted to save Drake, I suppose?’ He smacks a fist into his palm. ‘So he must have confessed his purpose to someone else on board. Who?’

Now it is the book dealer’s turn to look impatient. ‘What does it matter? The man is dead and it has nothing to do with us. Enough talking — it is time to go.’