‘You did not like your brother?’ said Jack.
‘I never troubled to hide that when he was alive, and I see no reason to hide it even if he has just been the victim of – what should I call it? – a fatal attack. He was an arrogant, self-important fellow. Dishonest, too, for all his airs.’
‘So are plenty of others,’ I said.
‘You do not know the half of it. Ask Henry Tallman here.’
‘I am a doctor of physic, too, although my interest spreads to many other areas. Because of old rivalries and his jealous nature, Dr Case made many aspersions about me. He spoiled my business and damaged my reputation. He put it abroad that I was not qualified to practise astrological physic.’
I was amazed that Tallman would speak this frankly before strangers and within a few yards of the dead man. It was as if he wanted to talk himself into a noose. Unless he believed that, by making a play of being so blunt, he was diverting suspicion from himself. We were interrupted for a moment as our breakfast was brought in by the same lad who had served us at supper last night. He was carrying tankards of ale and had a loaf tucked under one arm, yet he managed to place it all on the table without dropping or spilling anything.
He glanced towards the closed door of the small cabin behind which lay the dead body. Something about his manner showed that he knew who – or what – was in there. This impression was confirmed by a nod from Colin Case in the direction of the potboy. It was hardly surprising that news of Dr Jonathan’s death should be spreading around the ship. If so, the lad seemed to be taking the information with the same equanimity as everyone else. More than equanimity, if one considered that no one had yet attempted to arrange the body more decently or reverently. I wondered what would be the reaction to the death on the part of Thomasina, the brothers’ cousin – except that she was more likely the mistress of one than cousin to both.
As I had this thought, the potboy placed a tankard at my elbow. Something about this individual’s manner and, more specifically, about his hand nudged my memory.
‘Thank you, Thomas,’ said Colin Case.
After he had gone I took a long draught of ale to fortify myself for what I was about to say. I jerked my head in the direction of the steps.
‘I wondered what had happened to Dr Case’s young cousin. She never left the boat, did she? Or he never left the boat, I should say.’
‘Cards on the table, eh?’ said the shipmaster.
‘Yes, cards on the table,’ I said. ‘We must be near the end of the game.’
‘It is not so difficult to guess, I suppose,’ said Colin Case, not even attempting a denial. ‘There is the coincidence of names, Thomas and Thomasina, which is not a coincidence at all, of course. Then there is the fact that both have the same height and build.’
‘And a mole just here,’ I said, indicating a point at the base of the thumb on my right hand.
‘I feel as though I have wandered into a real-life play,’ said Jack Wilson. ‘Young men dressing up as women, identification by means of a mole. What in God’s name is going on?’
‘My late brother had a preference for young men,’ said Colin Case. ‘There is no great shame in that, or at least it did not perturb me greatly. It is common enough among seagoing folk and, I dare say, in the stage-play world. Jonathan has – had – always been that way inclined.’
‘He followed the example of the King in two ways at least,’ said Henry Tallman, speaking with a mixture of amusement and disdain. ‘In his inclination towards youth and in his aversion to smoking.’
‘But Jonathan went further,’ said his brother. ‘He enjoyed sporting with others.’
‘Like encouraging Thomas to dress up as a young woman and taking him – her – to a play at the Middle Temple, a play in which a male plays a girl who disguises herself as a man.’
‘Yes. I thought it was an absurd thing to do. But Thomas agreed or was persuaded to agree, even though it seemed a kind of humiliation to me. And Jonathan actually went to collect the sky-stone rather than to watch a play. I am not sure whether he took Thomas along for colour, to make his presence at the Middle Temple more plausible, or whether he simply enjoyed the danger, the risk . . .’
‘The risk of pretending to be accompanied by his female cousin.’
‘That part at least was no pretence, Mr Revill. Thomas really is his cousin – and therefore he is mine, too. But a very distant one. There is no additional impropriety involved. Or not much impropriety. I believe, though, that Thomas was becoming tired of Jonathan. Not a tear has yet been shed for his death.’
‘Tired enough to put an end to him?’
‘You are very eager to find a murderer, Mr Revill.’
I do not know that I was very eager but suddenly I grew very irritated. Or simply tired. Tired of the whole thing. Tired of having been inveigled with Jack Wilson on to the Argo and carried away, if not out to sea then at least as far as Gravesend. Tired of having been taken from our fellows and our livelihoods at the Globe. Tired of being confined aboard a boat for what seemed like weeks rather than a couple of nights, and in company I wouldn’t have chosen. Tired, above all, of involvement in the violent murder of a physician who had a taste for dressed-up young men and who was about to trade a mysterious sky-stone, an object he had possibly acquired illegally and which might (or might not) be linked to his abrupt death. It was this irritation that caused me to say, ‘What about your other passenger, your hidden passenger, the person down in the hold? Couldn’t he have had a part in all this?’
Colin Case glanced at Henry Tallman. It was the occultist who answered me with the same phrase as the shipmaster. ‘Cards on the table?’
I nodded. So did Jack.
‘The person you are talking about is also called Nicholas – Nicholas Tallman. My brother, but dearer to me than Jonathan is or was to Colin here. For reasons that you can probably guess at, gentlemen, Nicholas needs to leave our country for a while, and perhaps leave for ever. I can assure you that he is not part of any plot or treason, but these are dark days for everyone who adheres to the old religion, the innocent as well as the guilty.’
‘You are such an adherent?’ said Jack.
‘No longer. I tell you I am interested in more arcane matters,’ said the occultist, swathing himself in a cloud of tobacco smoke. ‘But a brother is a brother. I arranged with Colin here that he should transport Nicholas to France. Nicholas was instructed to keep quiet in the hold until we were well clear of land, but he is a restless spirit and told me that he had encountered you. He also said that you had listened to him with, ah, deaf ears. For which I thank you.’
‘Was your brother aware that you were ferrying a priest to France?’ said Jack to Colin Case, nodding his head in the direction of the corpse behind the door.
‘Oh, no. He would not have been so understanding, not at all. In fact, knowing Jonathan, he might well have told the authorities, not so much to prove that he is a loyal citizen but out of malice.’
‘So neither one of you had a reason to love Jonathan Case,’ I said. ‘Not you, the ship’s master, nor you, Mr Tallman.’
‘And cousin Thomas and Nicholas the priest can be added to the roll,’ said Jack.
‘Let us fetch them in here,’ said Colin. ‘You can confront them and us with your suspicions. Perhaps one of us will confess. Isn’t that how things should be done at the end of the game?’
While the shipmaster was out gathering up the other suspects, Henry Tallman turned his attention to the loaf brought in by Thomas. He sawed the bread into sections using the knife that Colin Case had given back to him. True, he dabbed a little ale on the blade before wiping it on his sleeve to remove the marks of blood. His own blood, if we were to believe him. But I rejected the proffered chunk of bread, as did Jack. We sat in silence waiting for the captain’s return.
I would have welcomed the chance to discuss this peculiar situation with Jack, but it seemed somehow out of place in front of one of the individuals who might have killed Dr
Case. There were at least four of them: the priest Nicholas Tallman, who feared exposure, the young man Thomas, who was said to be weary or even humiliated by his link with the physician, the occultist Henry Tallman, who bore a grudge (and might have wanted the sky-stone for himself – although, if so, why hadn’t he simply taken it after disposing of Case?), and the shipmaster Colin, whose distaste for his brother was not far from hatred.
Colin Case returned with Thomas and Nicholas. The young man was blushing, although that could have been the result of the fresh morning air. Nicholas was no longer wrapped up in his cloak and hood but dressed in a sailor’s jacket and slops. Wisely, he was adopting a disguise. His skin was pallid, as if he had spent his whole life shut up in small spaces. The Tallman brothers nodded at each other. There was no likeness between them. Henry was tall and gaunt, Nicholas was short and round in the face. Everyone sat down on the benches. The shipmaster opened proceedings without ceremony.
‘As you know, my brother is dead. The circumstances suggest that it might be murder, and our two player friends are keen to see that justice is done. Accordingly, the four of us are gathered here as the most likely suspects. Have you any question you wish to put to us, Mr Revill, Mr Wilson?’
There was more than a tinge of mockery in his voice. What was going on here? Why was there not more concern in Colin Case’s manner? He might not be sorry, might even be glad, that his brother was dead, but, surely, he should be showing a little concern for himself as a suspect? I could have said this but instead kept silent. Fortunately, Jack spoke up.
‘There was a disturbance last night. I heard voices raised overhead. This was long after everyone had gone to bed.’
‘I heard it, too,’ I said.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Henry Tallman. ‘I was tucked up snug. Slept well after my altercation with Jonathan.’
‘I was down in the hold among the rats and the wine casks,’ said Nicholas Tallman. ‘I am not certain I heard anything, although the ship did give a jar at one point.’
‘I was in the fo’c’s’le,’ said Thomas. ‘I have nothing to do with any of this. I’ve done nothing.’
These were the first words I’d heard him speak, apart from the brief exchange on deck the day before. I retrieved from a pocket the length of thread I had found snagged around the complex lock of the cabinet.
‘I do not know where you were last night,’ I said, finding my voice, ‘but you have done one thing at least. While you were playing the woman’s part during that first night when Jack and I first boarded the Argo, you went to the cabinet and opened it, or tried to. Dr Jonathan realized the dial had moved around by a single number at supper last night, but he must have overlooked this little piece of evidence, this coil of taffeta. No one else is wearing or has worn anything of this bright scarlet material. No one except Thomasina on the night of the play.’
Thomas hung his head. His face went a brighter red, almost the colour of the thread I now held up. I felt my own face heating up. I did not like the exposure of this young man but, by now, I was a fierce hound for truth and justice. What did it matter that no one cared for Dr Jonathan Case, in fact that everyone positively disliked if not hated him? He had been murdered and someone had to be held accountable.
‘Yes,’ he said, keeping his head down and speaking scarcely above a whisper. ‘I admit I got the key from . . . from cousin Jonathan . . . when he was sleeping and that I opened that cabinet there. I meant to take the sky-stone. I knew it was important, valuable. It was the reason we went to the Middle Temple, to collect it. Cousin Jonathan was full of talk about how he was going to sell it in France and make a handsome profit.’
‘You meant to steal it?’ said Colin Case. He looked stern, but his voice was surprisingly gentle.
‘I . . . I don’t know. Perhaps. I thought if I had the sky-stone I could use it against cousin Jonathan. He said it was powerful, that it had magic properties. I wanted to escape from him. I had become afraid of him, and the more afraid I was the more he liked toying with me. He was kind in the beginning but not later . . .’
‘Anyway, you did not take the stone,’ said Henry Tallman. ‘You couldn’t have done, because it was still there last night at supper.’
‘I took it out and looked at it in the candlelight and thought that it was a strange object, almost beautiful,’ said Thomas, his tone getting firmer. ‘I could not take it. I wrapped it up again and put it back in the cabinet and turned the lock and replaced the keys. I had nothing to do with what happened afterwards. I cannot say how cousin Jonathan died or who did it. I was sleeping in the fo’c’s’le, as I said. I did no murder.’
I believed him, not because he looked abject but because I found it hard to associate this willowy, blushing youth with the furious assault on Jonathan Case. I wondered how he managed among the rough mariners in the fo’c’s’le and remembered that the shipmaster had also been lodging there. Cousin Colin would have kept an eye on him. If he needed an eye kept. I thought of one or two of the boy players in the London acting companies and how, even though younger than Thomas, they had the power to wind some susceptible older players around their fingers.
There was a pause before we looked to the shipmaster for his account of last night. He was the last to speak.
‘Yes, there was a disturbance,’ said Colin Case. ‘I was called to the poop deck in the early hours of the morning. The boat moored next to us was drifting with the incoming tide. It was poorly manned and worse secured. Fortunately, a direct collision was averted. Our watch shouted loud enough to alert the mariners on the other vessel, and they fended themselves off with their staves. In fact, the two vessels touched only fleetingly.’
I was baffled. What had all this to do with the death of Jonathan Case? Had someone from the other boat leaped on to the Argo and disposed of the physician? The shipmaster seemed to be relishing this particular story, just as he’d enjoyed instructing us in the mysteries of the whipstaff.
He now instructed us to follow him outside once more. So Jack and I, together with the Tallman brothers and Thomas, went back on deck. We climbed the ladder to the poop – by now I was growing quite familiar with these marine terms – and made our way to the overhang of the stern. Above us was a furled aftersail and to one side the housing that offered a little shelter for the helmsman and also gave access to the ladder down to the great cabin and, beneath that, the hold. There was no helmsman on the poop deck since the boat was not under way.
We went to the bulwark at the far end. We were right above the spot where Dr Jonathan Case still lay. Beyond was the eastward stretch of the river, with a cluster of boats either moored tight against the wharf or standing slightly out from it if, like the Argo, their draughts were not shallow enough. The closest boat was the herring buss, which had put in rather clumsily on the previous day. I recalled the curses that had flown to and fro like musket balls.
If one forgot the dead body downstairs, the day looked to be set fair despite that red-streaked sunrise. Men were carrying cargo on and off the boats. There was a general bustle as preparations were made to sail with the tide. On the Argo, though, business was suspended. I noticed the mariners looking curiously at the captain and his little party up on the poop. No one questioned what he was doing (or not doing). It struck me that a shipmaster was an absolute monarch in his little kingdom.
Colin Case indicated the herring buss, one of the vessels readying to depart. In fact, about to cast off.
‘I am acquainted with the master of that boat,’ he said. ‘He has a bad name on the river. He drinks like one of the fish in his catch. He runs a sloppy vessel. It isn’t surprising that we have twice had to fend off the Draco.’
‘The Draco?’ said Henry Tallman.
‘A foolish name for a fishing boat. And her master is a foolish man. If you want to catch a murderer, Mr Revill, then you had better hurry to lay hold of him before the Draco departs. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say that you should apprehend the vessel herself
.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Nor did I until I had a closer look at the cabin where my brother lies dead. I examined his corpse also. The wound in his back was a large one, wasn’t it?’
Thomas turned away at this point as if he was about to be sick. Perhaps the realization of the death of his erstwhile friend, his protector, was only just sinking in. Colin put a steadying hand on the young man’s shoulder.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A great tear in the flesh.’
‘It would have taken a deal more than my little knife to cause that,’ said Henry Tallman.
‘The instrument that killed him was much larger than a mere knife. But its . . . appearance in the shipmaster’s cabin was the merest chance. A thousand-to-one chance. No, ten-thousand-to-one. If only my brother had not opened the casement to get rid of the smell of pipe smoke . . . Yes, he might have survived if the window had remained shut. But he left it open as he prepared for bed.’
‘What in God’s name happened?’ I said.
‘It would have been like threading a needle. A fine operation, requiring a sharp eye and a steady hand. Except that this needle was being threaded on the waters of the Thames and there was no eye or hand involved.’
‘Are you losing your mind, Colin?’ said Henry Tallman. ‘Why all this talk of needles and eyes and hands?’
‘There is your murder weapon,’ said the shipmaster. ‘Behold.’
As one we turned to watch the herring buss, the Draco, swing away from the Gravesend wharf, eased off by the staves of the herring fishers and turning with the tide. The boat sat much lower in the water than the Argo so that we peered down on to her deck with its canvas-covered hoops. A couple of the mariners glanced up and raised their fists at us, half salute, half insult. The end of the bowsprit was itself surmounted with an extension that glinted in the sun. The bowsprit was made of stout wood, but its tip was sheathed in metal.
And then I realized what Colin Case was talking about. Or thought I did.
The Sacred Stone Page 35
