Peter Tremayne - An Ensuing Evil and Others

Master Drew pulled a cynical face. “A good profit in that, Doctor Tate. However, I’ll not gainsay your right.”

The physician swooped up the pearl and held it up to the light. The smile on his face suddenly deepened into a frown, and he placed the pearl between his teeth and bit sharply. There was a crack, and the physician let out a howl of rage. “Paste, by my troth!”

Master Drew walked over and examined the other pieces of jewelry scattered nearby. There were some crushed paste jewels on the floor. A small leather purse also lay there with a few coins in it. He took out the coins.

“Well, paste jewels or no, he was not entirely destitute. There is over a shilling here, which will pay for a funeral if we cannot find his relatives. And here, good physician, three new pennies for your fee.” He grinned sourly. “I wager that the three pennies are closer to the value of your service than ever that pearl, had it been real, would have been.”

“Ah, how is a poor physician to make a decent living among the impoverished derelicts along this riverbank, Master Constable? Answer me that, damme! Answer me that!” The physician, clutching his coins, left the room.

Master Drew gazed down at the shrouded body of the young man and shook his head sadly.

An educated young man who could recite lines from popular theatrical entertainment but who used cheap paste jewelry. Surely this was a curious matter? He turned and began to search the room methodically. The clothes were many and varied, and while giving an appearance of rich apparel, on closer inspection were actually quite cheap in quality and often hastily sewn.

He noticed that there were some papers strewn around the room, and bending to pick them up, he saw a larger pile on the floor under the bed. He drew these out and examined them. It was a text of the play The Life of Henry V by Will Shakespeare. The lines of Henry V had been underlined here and there.

“Well, well, Master Keeling,” the constable murmured thoughtfully. “This sheds a little light in the darkness, does it not?”

He gathered up the script and turned out of the room, closing the door. There was nothing more he could do there.

The innkeeper was awaiting him at the bottom of the stair. He appeared anxious. “The physician says the gentleman do be dead now, Master Constable. Did he identify his assailant?”

“Indeed he is, Master Penhallow. Some words with you about your gentleman guest.” Master Drew frowned suddenly, and an idle thought occurred to him. “Pentecost, is that your first name, you say?”

“That it be,” agreed the man, somewhat defensively.

“Your parents being no doubt pious souls?”

“Not more so than anyone else.” He was defiant, but then he realized what was in the constable’s mind. “Pentecost be a good Cornish name; the name of my mothers family. Pen ty cos means ‘dwellers in the chief house in the wood.’”

Master Drew found the explanation amusing. “Well now, Master Pentecost Penhallow, how long has Master Keeling been residing here?”

“One, nay two months.”

“Do you know what profession he followed?”

“Profession? He be a gentleman. What else should he do? You’ve seen his clothes and jewels?”

“Is that what he told you? That he was a gentleman?”

The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Suddenly a dark-haired woman appeared from a shadowy corner of the tavern. Twenty years ago, she must have looked much like the young girl whom he had encountered on the landing, thought Master Drew. She began to speak rapidly to him in a language that Master Drew did not understand. It sounded a little like Welsh, but he guessed that it was Cornish.

“Wait a moment, good woman,” protested Master Drew. “What is it you say?”

“Meea navidna cowza Sawsneck,” replied the woman in resignation.

“Taw sy!” snapped her husband, turning with an apologetic smile to the constable. “Forgive my wife, sir. She be from Kerrier, and while she has some understanding at her of English, she does not be speaking it.”

“So, what does Mistress Penhallow say?”

“She complains about the late hours Master Keeling did keep, that’s all.”

“Was he late abroad last night?”

“He was.”

“When did you last see him alive?”

“At midday, but my wife saw him when he came in last night.”

He turned and shot a rapid series of questions at his wife in Cornish.

“She says that he came in with his friend, another gentleman, about midnight. They were a little the worst for drink.”

The woman interrupted and repeated a word that sounded like tervans .

“What is she saying?” demanded Master Drew.

“That they were arguing, strongly.”

“Who was this man, this friend?”

There was another exchange in Cornish, and then Master Pen-hallow said, “My wife says that he was a young man that often used to drink with Master Keeling. Another gentleman by name of Cavendish.”

A satisfied smile spread over Master Drews face. “Master Hal Cavendish? Was that his name?”

“That do be the name, Master Constable. A fine gentleman, I am sure. Have you heard tell of him?”

“That I have. You say that the two came here last night, drunk and arguing? Is it known when Master Cavendish left Master Keeling’s room?”

“It was not by the time that my wife and I retired.”

“Where were you when Master Keeling came in that you did not see him?”

“I was out… on business.”

“On business?”

The man hesitated, with a swift glance at his wife, as if to ensure that she didn’t understand; then he drew the constable to one side. “You know how it be, good master.” He lowered his voice ingratiatingly. “A few shillings can be made from cock fights-”

“Kessynsy!” sneered his wife.

“You were gambling, is that it?” Master Drew guessed the meaning of her accusation.

“I was, master. I confess I was.”

“So you did not return until late? Was all quiet then?… I mean, you heard nothing of this argument overheard by your goodwife?”

“All was quiet. The place was in darkness.”

“And when was this?”

“About the middle watch. I heard the night crier up on the bridge.”

London Bridge stood but a few yards away. Master Drew computed that was between three and four o’clock. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And did your daughter notice anything before she went to bed?”

Master Penhallow’s brows drew together. “My daughter?”

“The girl that I met on the landing; I presume that she is your daughter? After all, she addressed me in your Cornish jargon.”

A look of irritation crossed the man’s face. “I do be apologizing for that, master. I know ‘tis thought offensive to address one such as yourself in our poor gibberish. I will speak harshly to Tamsyn.”

Master Drew stared disapprovingly at Pentecost Penhallow, for he heard no genuine regret in his voice.

What was it Norden had written? And as they are among themselves litigious so seem they yet to retain a kind of concealed envy against the English who they affect with a desire of revenge for their fathers’ sakes by whom their fathers received their repulse . He would have to beware of Penhallow’s feigned obsequiousness. The man resented him for all his deferential speech, and Master Drew put it down to this national antipathy.

“Is that her name? Tamsyn?” he asked.

“Tamsyn Penhallow, if it please you, good master.”

“Did she notice anything unusual last night.”

“Nay, that she did not.”

“How do you know?”

“Why, wouldn’t she be telling me so?”