by S. J. Parris
‘Most of them,’ she says. ‘Why?’
‘I wondered if you had noticed a man in black, wears his hat pulled low, even inside. I saw him the other night in the tap-room.’
She shrugs, purses her lips as if considering. ‘Can’t say as I recall. Lot of men come and go round here.’ There is a challenge in her gaze as she waits for me to make the next move.
Reluctantly, I draw out a groat and hold it up. ‘Perhaps you could try to recall.’
She eyes the coin. ‘I know the man you mean. Smallpox scars. Bright blue eyes. That the one?’
I nod, slowly, a chill creeping up my neck. She is describing Rowland Jenkes. ‘Did you notice his ears?’
‘What about them?’
‘He doesn’t have any. That’s why he wears the hat.’
‘Well, then, I wouldn’t have noticed, would I?’ She holds a hand out for her payment. I withdraw it slightly.
‘Is he a regular here?’
She shrugs again. ‘He’s been in a few times. Not seen him before the last fortnight, though.’
‘Listen – what’s your name?’
‘Hetty. Sir,’ she adds, making it sound sarcastic.
‘If you see this man again, Hetty, or you can discover anything about him or where he lodges, let me know and there could be more of these.’ I hand over the groat; it vanishes into a fold of her dirty skirts. ‘You’ll find me around the place. I’m staying here.’
‘I know,’ she says, regarding me with the same level stare. I bid her good day, but I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away.
SEVEN
Climbing the rope ladder up to the Elizabeth Bonaventure seems easier this time; the sudden swaying and the knocks against the barnacled wood of the ship take me by surprise less often and my hands are growing hardened to the coarse fibres of the rope. I find I can shin up it quicker than before, and though I still feel giddy at the drop when I glance down from the ship’s rail, I am in no danger of slipping. Thomas Drake is there to welcome us aboard with his usual lack of warmth.
‘My brother is occupied with Captain Carleill at present. I will take you to him when they are finished.’
‘In the meantime,’ Sidney says, with a pleasant smile, ‘perhaps we could look at the cabin where Robert Dunne died? Sir Francis thought it might be useful to see if there is any indication among his belongings as to who could have wished him harm.’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Thomas glances quickly around. He does not seem inclined to oblige. ‘His belongings need to be boxed up for his relatives to take. But I am certain that, if there was anything to be found, we would have seen it. He had very few possessions with him.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Sidney says, still beaming. He seems to have decided that aggressive charm is an effective way to irritate Thomas Drake. It is proving successful so far. ‘The most telling items are often so small as to be overlooked. And of course your brother would have been concerned with the dead man and not in examining his possessions. Fortunately, Doctor Bruno here has just the kind of sharp eye that is suited to this task. I do distinctly remember Sir Francis saying it would be a good idea for Bruno to take a look at Dunne’s cabin.’
Thomas Drake hesitates, weighing up whether to dig in his heels, then appears to relent. ‘I will fetch the key. Wait here.’ He turns abruptly and disappears up the ladder that leads to the captain’s quarters.
‘You enjoy baiting him,’ I observe, leaning on the rail and looking out to sea.
‘He invites it. He makes his dislike of me so clear, I can’t help rising to it. He enjoys the fact that he has some small authority here – it is the only place where he could speak as he does to a man of my estate. Jumped-up little farm boy, riding on his brother’s glory.’
‘He is a captain in his own right, Philip.’ I sigh.
‘Yes, and why is he never on his own ship? He seems to believe he must be all over his brother’s business, as if it will unravel without him. I wonder Sir Francis tolerates it.’
‘I don’t like his manner either, but if you keep antagonising him, he will do his best to make sure you are kept off this voyage. And whose part do you think Sir Francis will take?’
‘Have you noticed how reluctant he is to allow us to look into Dunne’s death?’ Sidney says, ignoring my question. ‘Every time the subject is raised, he makes an objection, though Sir Francis seems keen.’
‘I wouldn’t say keen, exactly—’
‘But Thomas is actively trying to keep us away from it,’ Sidney persists. ‘Do you think he has something to hide?’
‘For the love of God,’ I say, turning back to him. ‘You can’t possibly think Drake’s own brother would—’
Sidney digs me sharply in the ribs and I see the man in question approaching us.
‘Follow me, then,’ he says, looking from one to the other of us with narrowed eyes before leading the way towards the officers’ quarters. He climbs a ladder to the deck below the captain’s cabin and stops in front of a low door, which he unlocks with a key taken from inside his doublet. He turns to us, one hand resting on the latch.
‘See that you treat everything with respect,’ he says, raising a finger in warning. ‘Sir Francis will have to account to the family for all Dunne’s effects.’
Beside me, I can feel Sidney bristling at the implication.
‘Rest assured we will leave everything just as we find it,’ I say, in a soothing voice, laying a restraining hand on Sidney’s arm.
Thomas regards us for a moment, then nods and opens the door to reveal a small cabin much like the one Sidney and I shared aboard the Leicester. Sidney elbows past him to enter; I mutter an apology as I squeeze in behind. The smell hits us like a fist.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ Sidney says, pressing his sleeve over his mouth and nose. The room is thick with the stench of urine and vomit, intensified by the damp.
‘I wish you joy of your labour,’ Thomas says, through his sleeve. He stands in the doorway, blocking the light. The ceiling beams are low enough that Sidney is forced to stoop; I can stand upright, but only just. If I breathe through my mouth, the air is almost bearable.
‘There is no room for a man to hang in here,’ I remark, stating the obvious. Even if Robert Dunne was my height, he could barely have swung from one of the rafters without his feet scraping the floor. ‘Where was the rope fastened?’
‘There.’ Thomas Drake indicates an iron hook fixed into the ceiling for hanging a lantern. I reach up, take hold of it with both hands and lift my feet off the floor.
‘It would hold a man, but there is no room for the body to drop,’ I say, indicating the height from floor to ceiling. ‘At best he would have strangled slowly as his own weight pulled the noose tight.’
‘Exactly. And the face did not have the appearance of strangulation, as my brother told you.’
‘Was he a heavy man?’ I ask.
Thomas Drake tilts his head and appraises me. ‘Of a height with you, I would say, though much stockier. He had broad shoulders, and something of a paunch.’
‘He would have been solid, then. Not easy to lift.’ I look up at the hook again.
‘If the killer meant it to look as if he took his own life, hanging seems a curiously elaborate charade,’ Sidney says. ‘Why not choose something more subtle, like poison?’
I turn slowly and look at him, eyes wide.
He presses his sleeve back to his face with a quizzical look, but I am suddenly aware of the presence of Thomas Drake and reply with a minute shake of my head.
Thomas is no fool; he senses that there is an unspoken conversation being kept from him here, and it only serves to increase his distrust. He takes a step further into the small room and folds his arms.
‘Go about your business, then.’
‘I can’t see a thing in this gloom. Do you mean to stand in the doorway the whole time, blocking what little light there is?’ Sidney draws himself up to face Thomas, forgetting the restrictions of the cabin and hitting his head
on the ceiling. ‘Shit! Do they build these for dwarves?’
‘They build them for sailors, who know how to accommodate themselves to the confines of a ship,’ Thomas says drily. He unfolds his arms, then appears at a loss what to do with them, so crosses them again. ‘Do you suppose I would leave the two of you here to rifle through the man’s possessions unsupervised?’
Even in the poor light of the cabin, I see the anger constricting Sidney’s face. The battle of wills at play here is almost audible in the silence that follows. Thomas seems to realise he has mis-spoken; his eyes grow uncertain and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but Sidney takes one stride across the cabin and stands with his face barely an inch away from Thomas’s. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and controlled.
‘Let me remind you, Thomas Drake, that I am a knight of the realm and Master of the Queen’s Ordnance. You will forgive me’ – he gives a charming little laugh – ‘but I thought you were implying that I was likely to steal a dead man’s belongings? Is this your assessment of me, or my friend?’
Thomas does not back away, but his self-assurance wavers.
‘Of course, that was not my meaning, Sir Philip,’ he says, lowering his eyes. ‘I must beg your pardon, but I have been at sea enough to know that the best of men can be tempted by a trinket that can be slipped inside a sleeve or a jacket. It is our responsibility to protect Dunne’s possessions for his family,’ he adds.
‘Pity you didn’t take more care to protect his person while he was still alive,’ Sidney says, stepping back. ‘Well, Thomas, I am not one of those men corrupted by trinkets and nor is my friend Bruno. Your brother said he was content for us to examine Dunne’s cabin in case we can shed some light on his death. Which is all but impossible with you filling the doorway.’
Thomas appears to weigh up his choices, and eventually takes a step back, out of the cabin.
‘It’s still damned near dark in here,’ Sidney protests. ‘Could you see about a lantern?’
‘I am not your chambermaid, Sir Philip.’ Thomas’s voice is tight, but after a moment, he adds, ‘I will see if one can be found.’ He hesitates, watching us, then turns and moves away from the door. Sidney immediately closes it behind him.
‘I can’t see a thing now,’ I say, barking my shin on what I take to be a wooden chest on the floor.
‘We’re supposed to be doing this discreetly,’ Sidney says. ‘Drake doesn’t want the whole ship to see us going through the dead man’s cabin. What would they make of that? Though Thomas has already drawn more attention than necessary, all that fuss just now. And now what do you say about him?’ He jerks his thumb towards the door. ‘I tell you, Bruno – he does not want us looking into this business. Why is that, do you suppose? Come now, you are the philosopher.’
‘I think he takes exception to the way you speak to him,’ I say. ‘And he regards us as outsiders. I do not think it any proof he is involved.’
‘How should I speak to him, then?’ Sidney’s voice rises, indignant. ‘When he will not show me the proper deference, and speaks to me as if I am some pampered child under his feet?’
I keep my face neutral. ‘But the question of deference is a thorny one at sea, is it not? The distinctions of class mean less than the degrees of authority aboard ship, it seems. That was the problem with the Doughty brothers, as I understand it. Thomas Drake evidently believes he outranks you here, and if you want his brother to take you to the New World, you will have to swallow it for now. But you cannot possibly imagine he would jeopardise his brother’s voyage by killing a fellow officer? What possible reason could he have?’
‘Perhaps he had a grudge against Dunne. Or perhaps he knew something about him—’ His speculation is interrupted by a timid knock at the cabin door. Sidney throws it open to reveal Drake’s young clerk, Gilbert, holding a lantern and a tinder-box.
‘Captain Drake asked me to bring this,’ he ventures, proffering the items. ‘Captain Thomas Drake, I should say.’ Sidney nods and takes them with curt thanks, and is about to close the door again when Gilbert steps forward, clearing his throat. ‘Pardon me,’ he begins, then threads his fingers together and hesitates. ‘May I ask what you are looking for?’
‘No,’ Sidney says, putting his hand to the latch. I motion to him to be quiet and move out of the shadows to see Gilbert more clearly. Without his eye-glasses he is obliged to squint, which gives him a permanent frown. He has the pallor of a man who spends his life bent over books, not wind-lashed on the deck of a ship. Again, I find myself curious about his presence here.
‘I knew Robert Dunne well from court,’ says Sidney, relenting. ‘Sir Francis asked me to pack up his belongings for his widow, who is due to arrive any day. So, if you wouldn’t mind …’
‘Yes, of course,’ Gilbert says, though he doesn’t move. His narrowed eyes flit around the walls of the cabin. ‘Poor woman. An awful tragedy to bear. That a man should die in the sin of self-slaughter. Although …’ He hesitates, dangling the bait.
Beside me, I hear Sidney tut with impatience. I lay a hand on his arm. Gilbert Crosse evidently wants to share his thoughts.
‘Although what?’ I ask, with an encouraging smile.
He glances back at the deck before taking a step closer.
‘I cannot help wondering if Sir Francis entertains some doubts on that score,’ he says, in a confidential tone.
‘Really?’ I keep my expression unmoving. ‘Has he said as much?’
‘Not to me.’ Gilbert shakes his head. ‘But he seems uneasy. He has been asking subtle questions about who was on the watch that night, who was the last to speak to Dunne, that sort of thing.’
‘I expect he wanted to ascertain his state of mind,’ I say.
‘Perhaps. Or it may be that he does not take Dunne’s death for what it appeared to be.’ He plucks at the cloth of his sleeve. ‘And I wish I knew for certain because, you see …’ He bites his lip, and his gaze flickers over his shoulder.
‘What is it, Gilbert?’ I prompt gently. It seems that he wants to unburden himself but is afraid of saying too much. ‘Because what?’
‘I know someone is not telling the truth. In answer to Captain Drake’s questions.’
‘Really?’ Sidney bounces forward, suddenly interested. ‘Who?’
There is a pause, heavy with anticipation, while Gilbert twists his hands together and debates whether to say more.
‘I was out on deck that night before Robert Dunne died,’ he says. ‘I saw them come back.’
‘What were you doing?’ Sidney asks, so brusquely that Gilbert jumps as if stung.
‘I was – taking measurements,’ he mumbles. Sidney glances at me. I can tell he has taken a dislike to Gilbert, but I am inclined to hear him out; someone who is so eager to voice his suspicions to strangers may have something useful to impart. Or else his eagerness might be worth noting in itself.
‘I thought it was raining that night?’ Sidney says.
Gilbert blushes and looks flustered. ‘Later. Before midnight it was quite clear still. I just like to practise taking readings with my astrolabe. It’s much harder to use when the ship is in motion and the wind is strong, and I am not experienced at sea, so I want to be prepared.’
‘You have a mariner’s astrolabe?’ I look at him with new admiration. These instruments, designed for calculating latitude out at sea from the stars, are rare and expensive. I find myself wondering what kind of clerk this young man is. ‘So do you navigate as well as copy Captain Drake’s letters?’
He squirms and looks at his shoes. ‘Oh, I just help with the calculations, that’s all.’
‘Go on with your story, if it is worth hearing,’ Sidney says, impatient.
Gilbert stammers an apology and continues. ‘Padre Pettifer, the chaplain, had brought Dunne back to the ship. Even in the dark, I could see he was hopelessly drunk. He could barely stand – the priest was holding him up. Thomas Drake helped Pettifer take Dunne to his cabin. Padre Pettifer stayed with him for a while,
and after he left I saw the Spaniard Jonas knock on the door and go in. He was carrying one of his potions.’
‘What potions?’ Sidney says.
‘Jonas has some skill with herbs, they say.’ Gilbert glances between us, his eyes anxious. ‘He can make up a draught to cure seasickness or the effects of ale. I have not tried them myself. It all smacks a bit too much of the village wise woman for my liking, and I am a man of science.’
He draws himself up. Sidney snorts.
‘So Jonas took a draught of something to Dunne that night?’ I ask, with a sharp look at Sidney.
‘I suppose he must have,’ Gilbert says. ‘The thing is – I heard Jonas tell Captain Drake that he only looked in on Dunne, saw he was passed out and left again, taking his remedy with him.’ He drops his voice to an urgent whisper. ‘But that is not the truth.’
‘You mean, Jonas stayed there longer?’
Gilbert bites his lip and nods. ‘I was on deck for at least a half-hour more, until the rain came on, and I did not see the Spaniard come out before I returned to my quarters. It was only the next day, when they said Dunne had hanged himself, that I thought of it …’ His voice tails off and he stares at his feet.
‘So, you are saying …?’ I prompt.
He shakes his head quickly. ‘Nothing. I meant only that Jonas might know something of Dunne’s state of mind that night. Perhaps they had some conversation.’
‘Have you told Sir Francis that you believe Jonas is lying?’
He looks at me in alarm. ‘Oh no – I may have been mistaken. And I would not want to sow doubts in Captain Drake’s mind if he has none.’ He chews at the quick of his thumbnail. ‘I just wondered if perhaps he had voiced any doubts to you?’
Now we come to it. Beneath all the awkward fidgeting, this young man is sharper than he looks; he is fishing for gossip. The question is, why?
‘To us? No – we have only just arrived,’ I say.
‘He is hardly likely to confide any such doubts to us if he has said nothing to his own crew,’ Sidney agrees.
Gilbert looks chastened. ‘Of course. I meant no offence.’
