by S. J. Parris
‘And I challenge you to prove any of it,’ he says, with a self-satisfied smile. If he had been shaken by the accusations the night before, he shows no sign of it now. He carries himself like a man who has already won.
‘Robert Dunne had not seen his wife for four months,’ I say. ‘His landlady will testify that he had not left Plymouth since April. And they were never able to conceive together before.’
Savile looks as if he is formulating another lawyer’s argument to this point, but Drake cuts in.
‘Just give your account, Sir William. And keep it brief.’
Savile hesitates, then turns to me.
‘Very well. I tell you this in confidence,’ he says. ‘Sir Francis has agreed to that. And I tell you only because what you already know looks bad for me. But I did not kill Robert Dunne that night.’ He crosses and uncrosses his legs and stares at his folded hands for a long time, as if deciding where to begin.
‘Martha Dunne wanted to be free of her marriage, it is true. She had suggested an annulment, but her husband would not hear of it,’ he says eventually, looking up. ‘There was no affection involved, of course – the grasping dog was clinging on because he knew she would inherit from her father. Martha could only be rid of him if he died, but she was afraid that people would suspect her if anything happened to him. As you know, a woman who kills her husband is guilty of treason, and would be burned.’ He pauses, rubbing a thumb along his lower lip. ‘She was unwilling to take the risk. But she could not stand the thought of Robert laying hold of her inheritance, so she knew she would be forced to act sooner or later. When he announced his plan to come on this expedition with Sir Francis, she hoped he might meet with an accident at sea. Sadly, he had proved remarkably resilient in the past.’
‘Were you and she already …?’
‘I was fascinated by Martha the first time I met her,’ he says, with emphasis, as if I have called the strength of his feeling into question. ‘We were introduced at court last year when she attended with her husband.’ He gives a wry laugh. ‘She is a formidable woman, Martha. Well, you have spent time with her, you must realise that.’ A distant expression drifts over his face and I see that he is genuinely captivated by the woman. I cannot begin to imagine bedding Martha Dunne; her flintiness shrivels me completely. There is no logic to desire, I suppose. Although the attraction of her father’s money must also have been formidable.
‘So she persuaded you to help her with her difficulty,’ I say, trying to shake the image of Savile and Martha Dunne in the act.
He sucks in his cheeks. ‘I knew I would be at sea with Robert for many months together. There are ample opportunities aboard ship for a man to meet with an accident.’
‘But Dunne was an experienced sailor, and you are not,’ I point out. ‘Was that why you took the nutmeg – so that you could make him disorientated and push him overboard?’
‘I had no plan so clearly devised as that,’ Savile says, examining his nails. ‘In the event, there was a more pressing problem.’
‘She found herself pregnant.’
He gives a barely perceptible nod. ‘I hear it was you who noticed that. Surprisingly sharp eye you have, Bruno – most unmarried men would not be able to spot the signs for another few months. But then, you were a monk, of course – I imagine you and your brothers knocked up countless serving girls down there in Rome, didn’t you?’
‘Naples,’ I say drily. ‘Hundreds of them.’
‘Go on, Sir William,’ Drake says from the window.
‘At first she thought she could keep it a secret,’ Savile says, ‘so that her husband would not learn of it before he set sail. He was the only one in a position to deny the child was his, and if all went well, he would not return to do so. But Martha was very ill with the child in the first weeks, and though she only confided in her maid Agnes, one of the other servants had eyes as sharp as yours in these matters, Bruno. Rumours began among their household in Dartington. Their steward still had some loyalty to his master, for all his faults, and sent word to Robert in Plymouth that his wife may be with child – knowing, of course, that Robert had not seen her for weeks. This steward also told Robert that I had stopped at the house as a guest on my way to Plymouth.’
‘So Robert could be in little doubt as to the father,’ I say. ‘And he tried to blackmail you?’
‘Blackmail?’ He frowns, as if he does not understand.
‘For five gold angels. Did he write you letters threatening to expose you?’
Savile looks bemused. ‘What a strange question. Of course not. He did what any self-respecting man would do on learning he has been cuckolded. He punched me in the face.’ He rubs the cut on his lip, now pulling tight into a scab.
‘But he was already under the influence of the nutmeg by then, according to those who saw him,’ I say. ‘Why did you give it to him that night? Had he confronted you earlier?’
‘That evening, before the party was due to go ashore, he asked me to take a drink with him in his cabin. I was apprehensive, of course. I took some spiced wine, as a precaution. I thought if I could dose him with nutmeg, he would grow incoherent – that way, if he made any wild claims, I could always claim it was the drink talking.’
‘And he accused you?’
‘At that point he was not unreasonable,’ Savile says. ‘He only told me that he had received this letter and wanted to know if there was truth in it. I said we should discuss it in private, over a drink.’ He flexes his fingers and glances at Drake. ‘I denied everything, of course. I said I had called in at his house looking for him, and had ridden on to Plymouth when I found he was not at home. Told him the steward was probably just trying to make trouble, undermine Martha and assert his own authority in Robert’s absence, the way servants will.’ He gives a lofty wave of the hand, as if we all sympathise with the devious ways of servants. ‘I said it would be pure folly to repeat any such unfounded rumours, especially in the hearing of others – he would only dishonour himself and his wife. He wanted to believe it. He grasped me by the wrists and apologised for having impugned my reputation.’
So that was where the button was torn off, I think.
‘But you had to make sure he didn’t repeat the accusations in public.’
‘Well, you see my predicament, surely,’ Savile says, as if his actions were perfectly sensible to any reasonable person. He stands, crosses to the hearth and turns to face me. ‘He agreed that I was probably right about the steward. He promised to say nothing until he had heard from Martha. But I was not convinced – he was not known as a discreet man and I knew he often confided in the Spaniard, Jonas. I didn’t want my name associated with rumours of that nature. Certainly not in the hearing of anyone in the fleet.’
‘Yes, that might have made the accident you were planning for him seem a little less convincing,’ I say. ‘Especially if you were hoping to marry his widow eventually.’
‘Obviously.’ He appears unabashed. I wonder why he is being so frank with us. Perhaps because he suspects we have guessed all this already.
‘So you decided this accident needed to be brought forward?’
‘Who is telling this story, Bruno – me or you?’ He smiles, flashing his teeth, but there is an edge to his voice. I make a gesture of concession – I want to hear his version to the end.
‘I thought I had contained the problem for the time being, but I knew he would not keep it to himself for long. I intended to follow him that evening. He often went to the House of Vesta, but lately he had been seen meeting strangers in less salubrious parts of town – connected with his gambling debts, I supposed. But that suited me well – a gentleman attacked in a back street would be thought the victim of robbers. If he was found dead like that, it would raise few questions – everyone knew Dunne had creditors after him.’ He shrugs. ‘I thought the nutmeg would make it easier to overpower him.’
‘But it took effect quicker than you expected.’ I indicate his lip.
‘Yes.’ He touch
es the cut, with feeling. ‘That was unforeseen. He went to the Star with the others for a drink first, so I had to go along too. He was already beginning to grow wild by then. He repeated his earlier words, more aggressively this time. I tried to draw him away from the group, afraid they would hear, but he resisted, and lashed out. Fortunately for me, the inn threw him out before he could start a brawl, or draw further attention to the cause of it.’ He spreads his hands wide, as if to say, what else could I do? ‘I followed him to the House of Vesta, thinking I would contrive to meet him on the way out and lead him somewhere more remote. But I never got the chance. When he left, he was accompanied by Padre Pettifer.’
‘The chaplain?’ I stare at him, amazed – the pious padre at a notorious whorehouse? ‘What was he doing there?’
Savile gives me a look that suggests this is a stupid question, but it is Drake who answers.
‘Praying for their souls, I should think.’
Savile laughs. I turn to Drake to see if he is joking, but his expression is perfectly serious.
‘I believe it is part of his charitable work in the town,’ he says. ‘Some of the priests take very seriously the example of Our Lord in spreading the word of God among prostitutes and publicans.’
Savile snorts again. ‘I doubt that’s the only thing he was—’ He breaks off at a look from Drake and turns back to me. ‘So now, Bruno, you know as much as Sir Francis, and as much as I am able to tell. Because whatever happened to Robert Dunne after he returned to the Elizabeth, it was none of my doing.’ He ends with a shrug, as if challenging me to contradict him.
‘How does that follow?’ I say, angered by his confidence. ‘You have just admitted that you intended to kill Dunne that night.’
He shakes his head. ‘You have sufficient proof to know that I had reason to want him dead. After Sidney burst into Martha’s chamber all puffed up with his own cleverness, I could hardly deny that part of it. So I am cooperating, by telling you the truth.’
‘That is very sharp of you,’ I say. ‘You confess to every accusation but the most significant, then you try to negotiate.’
He clicks his tongue, impatient. ‘I do not deny I would have gained from Dunne’s death. But not if it were taken for suicide – and there is my whole defence. That was self-evidently not in Martha’s interest – she stands to lose everything. So the fact that whoever killed him tried their best to make it look like self-slaughter should be proof enough that it was not me.’
‘But you needed to silence Dunne quickly, before he could tell anyone else about the steward’s letter. Besides, Mistress Dunne stood to gain a great deal once her father died. Perhaps you decided it was expedient to change your plan once more.’
‘You are wandering into the realm of speculation now, Bruno. I do not expect a man like you to understand the concept of honour,’ he adds, curling his lip, ‘but Martha would lose more than her property if the coroner gave a verdict of felo de se. The stain of suicide on her family’s reputation would last a lifetime. I would never have put her in that position. A gentleman would know such things instinctively.’
‘You get a child on another man’s wife and scheme with her to murder him, and you dare talk to me of honour?’ I step forward, jabbing a finger in his face.
‘Keep your voice down, Bruno, there’s a good chap,’ he says, arching an eyebrow.
I catch Drake’s warning glance and bite down my next retort.
‘Well, Sir Francis,’ Savile says, folding his arms, ‘for myself, I am not sure what this has achieved, other than allowing this Catholic to imagine he can take the moral high ground, but I have nothing more to add. Except that I would like you to take your guard away from my chamber. In England a man is innocent until his guilt is proved, as I recall. And since I am not going to be tried for this, my innocence endures indefinitely.’
Drake rises to face Savile, though he does not reply immediately. His quick eyes flicker over Savile’s face as he calculates.
‘God’s blood, man, I have already assured you I will not take flight,’ Savile snaps.
‘It would look like an admission of guilt if you did,’ Drake says mildly. He presses his fingertips together and steeples his hands under his chin. ‘I think the matter might be resolved if you were to return to your cabin aboard the Elizabeth, Sir William,’ he says eventually, with impeccable courtesy. ‘If you are still intending to travel with us, that is. I have hopes of a fair wind soon enough.’
Savile gives him a long look, his eyes suspicious, as if he fears he might be tricked. ‘That is another way of keeping me informally under guard, I suppose.’
‘Not at all. It is a way of demonstrating that I agree with the principle of your presumed innocence.’
‘I would be free to come ashore when I choose?’
‘Of course. Though it would be in your interests to keep a discreet distance from Mistress Dunne until the inquest is concluded.’
Savile falls silent, considering, then nods. ‘And I have your word of honour that neither of you will mention any of this to the coroner or the town authorities?’ There is a note of warning in his voice. He is hinting at the agreement he mentioned earlier; the price of his continued involvement with the fleet is Drake’s silence.
Drake inclines his head, and stands to take his leave. It appears that he considers this price reasonable. I watch Savile, trying not to react to the self-congratulating smile that creeps slowly over his face as he looks at me. There is something in his manner that makes me inclined to believe his account, but this bargain infuriates me nonetheless; Savile wears the complacent expression of a rich man confident that he can buy his way out of any trouble. I clench and unclench my fists, and say nothing. He is right that I have no authority, and Drake appears to consider the matter settled.
‘Let us go, Doctor Bruno,’ the Captain-General says, gesturing towards the door. As he reaches it, I turn back to Savile.
‘And what about Jonas Solon?’
Savile looks startled. ‘What about him?’
‘You said you feared Dunne would confide in him about the steward’s letter and the pregnancy.’
‘I feared Dunne telling anyone,’ Savile says, defensive. ‘I only mentioned the Spaniard because I knew they were friends.’ There is alarm in his eyes.
‘I think you suspected that Dunne had already told Jonas,’ I say, warming to the idea. ‘Was that why you had to silence him too? Did he accuse you?’
Savile flicks his head as if trying to shake off a persistent fly. ‘No, and no. The Spaniard never spoke a word to me about the business. I have no idea if Dunne confided in him, but I certainly never laid a finger on Jonas. It’s impossible.’
‘Not at all. You speak Spanish,’ I say, in the same defiant tone. From the corner of my eye, I catch Drake’s expression. With every word, I am undoing his neat arrangement with Savile. ‘When I was speaking to Jonas in the rowing boat, you understood our conversation.’
‘I understand a little,’ Savile says, with a shrug. ‘What has that to do with anything?’
I glance at Drake. He gives a short nod.
‘You wrote a letter to Captain Drake, purporting to be from Jonas. Explaining his absence.’
‘I did no such thing,’ Savile snaps, colour rising in his cheeks. ‘I understand Spanish, but not well enough to write it. But in any case, I have a better defence.’
‘Let us hear it, then.’
‘I was nowhere near Jonas the night he died. I was at the House of Vesta all evening. A number of people can testify to that.’
I am tempted to repeat my point about honour, but I bite my tongue; where he puts his cock is none of my business. I am only interested in whether he is trying to negotiate his way out of two murders. ‘You had to walk there and back from the quayside,’ I say. ‘You could have gone via the Hoe and found him up there.’
‘Perhaps I could, if I had been alone,’ Savile says, in a smooth voice. ‘But I walked to the House of Vesta and back in company. I wa
s not on my own all evening.’
‘Will your companion swear to that?’ I ask, growing more aggressive as I feel my conviction wavering.
‘Oh, I should think so,’ he says, cheerfully. ‘Sir Francis could ask him. My companion was Thomas Drake.’
‘Thomas?’ Drake looks startled, then shakes his head. ‘But Thomas does not go to the House of Vesta. He would not.’
‘That may be what he tells you.’ There is a vindictive gleam in his eye. ‘Go and ask him.’ He spreads his hands wide again. ‘There you have it – I cannot write a word of Spanish, and I was in company the whole evening when Jonas fell over the cliff, or was pushed, or whatever it may be. So you and Sidney will have to go back to your room and cook up another half-baked theory, Bruno. And now,’ he adds, ‘if you don’t mind, gentlemen, I should like to finish this letter to my lawyer.’
Outside the room, Drake exchanges a few words with the armed guard, who nods and slips quietly away. The Captain-General’s face is tight with anger, though I cannot tell if it is directed at me. I wait for him to speak.
‘Do you believe him?’ he says, in a low voice, when we are far enough away from Savile’s door. ‘About Dunne, I mean?’
I look at him. I had been expecting a reprimand for my hasty accusations about Jonas; he was obviously embarrassed by Savile’s revelation about his brother.
‘I think I do.’ I speak slowly; my judgement only really begins to crystallise as I form the sentence. ‘I don’t doubt he can be a very persuasive liar. But he was thrown by my question about the blackmail – that seemed to me an honest response. He didn’t know what I was talking about.’
Drake nods. We reach the end of the passage in silence.
‘And you, Sir Francis?’ I ask, emboldened. ‘Do you believe him?’
‘I am inclined to accept his version,’ he says, carefully. That is not the same thing, I think, but I say nothing. ‘Though I will have to speak to my brother now.’ His jaw tenses again.
‘I’m sorry – I did not realise Thomas would be dragged into it,’ I begin, but he waves the apology aside.
