Treachery

TWENTY-SIX

I find Sidney in the private dining room with Dom Antonio and his attendants. Two armed men flank the door. Sidney raises his eyebrows in a question; I give a minute shake of my head.

Dom Antonio glances up and his funereal expression brightens a fraction. ‘Ah! And here is our Italian hero. Saviour of women, avenger of wrongs.’

I wave this away, embarrassed. ‘Not a very efficient avenger, I fear. The wrongdoers fled.’

‘Nonetheless, my friend, you saved a young woman’s life. Not many of us can make that claim. Am I not right, Sir Philip?’

Sidney makes a polite noise and looks at me with a stiff smile. I gesture towards the door.

‘Forgive me, Dom Antonio, gentlemen, but may I borrow Sir Philip? I’m afraid it is a matter of urgency.’

The Portuguese holds out his hands in a gesture of surrender. Sidney scrapes his chair back and follows me out, his face eager.

‘Well?’ he says, when we are out of the guards’ hearing.

‘I think I know who the killer is. Come with me.’

‘What are you talking about? Come where?’

I turn to see him standing, hands on hips.

‘You have told me nothing about Savile,’ he hisses. ‘I thought we had all agreed he was the killer? He has as good as confessed — don’t tell me you found his denials plausible? And now what — you have cooked up some new theory?’

‘I don’t believe it was Savile. Neither does Drake. He admitted to plotting Dunne’s death — he would not have said so much if he didn’t think the confession absolved him of the actual murder.’

‘He is a clever man. He thinks he can deceive us by parsing out the truth. And you have apparently fallen for it. Are you trying to make me look a fool, is that it?’

I hear the frustration in his voice. I sigh.

‘It’s not about you, Philip. Savile could not have killed Jonas — Thomas Drake can vouch for his whereabouts all night.’

Sidney’s face falls. ‘Are you sure? Savile is nothing if not cunning, he could have slipped away.’

‘Drake is checking that with his brother. But I have at least discovered where the Judas letter came from.’

‘Really?’ He looks sceptical.

I glance around the entrance hall. A steady press of people are pushing their way through to the tap-room, though some are hovering at the foot of the stairs, perhaps hoping, as Mistress Judith suggested, for a glimpse of Drake.

‘We should not talk here. Come with me and I will explain on the way.’

He gives a theatrical sigh. ‘Oh, very well. Where are we going?’

‘The House of Vesta.’

‘For the love of God — I cannot afford any more visits there.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Besides, it is broad daylight — they won’t be open, will they?’

‘I am hoping I can find what I need nonetheless.’

‘Huh.’ He cracks his knuckles. ‘Promise me no jumping out of windows this time?’

I grin. ‘I will do my best. Another night like that would destroy me.’

‘Nothing could do that, Bruno, you are indestructible. God knows what you are made of, but it is not ordinary flesh and blood, I swear.’

‘We have assumed that whoever sent Drake the Matthew letter left it at the Star to be collected by Gilbert along with the rest of his correspondence,’ I say, when we are outside. ‘Slow down, will you?’ I have trouble keeping up with Sidney’s loping strides even without my current injuries. My body aches in unexpected places and I find myself walking with a limp to compensate. ‘And that was puzzling me, because it meant the killer must have left it the previous evening, before Dunne was murdered. But no one at the Star remembered a letter being delivered that night, and it didn’t come from Jenkes.’

‘But Drake said Gilbert brought that letter to him from the Star along with the others,’ he says, slowing until I have caught up with him.

‘The letter was delivered to him along with the others, that’s why it looked as if it had come from the Star,’ I say. ‘But Gilbert was in a hurry that day, dealing with all the arrangements. He handed the letters over to someone he trusted, someone who was on his way in to see Drake.’

‘And you think that person slipped the letter into the pile as if it had come with the rest?’ His eyes widen. ‘Who was it?’

‘Someone who is a frequent visitor to the House of Vesta, though you wouldn’t think it. But I need proof before I confront him.’

Though he presses me, I will say no more until we reach Looe Street and see the sign of the apothecary.

Sidney clutches my arm. ‘What are you going to do? She will not let us in, you know, not after last time. She will probably call her thugs to make sure we never come back.’

‘I am not calling on her directly,’ I say, pushing open the apothecary’s door.

I have always liked the atmosphere of an apothecary’s shop: the sharp, bitter vegetable scents hanging in the air, the steam from the distilling apparatus misting the windows, the neat array of bottles and jars of curiosities ranged along the shelves, the knowledgeable air of the apothecaries themselves, who in some rare instances could be as experienced and well informed as a physician about the workings of the human body, but were more often affable fraudsters, selling garden herbs and sugar-water with extravagant claims of long life and immunity from disease. On entering this one, though, I am reminded of my experiences in Canterbury the summer before, and shudder. Sidney glances at me, and closes the door behind him.

The apothecary, a small, clean-shaven man with anxious eyes and receding hair, is busy at his ware-bench, shredding leaves into a white marble mortar with quick, slender fingers.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, acknowledging us with a nod, still intent on his task. When he has finished he looks up and stares without restraint at my appearance. ‘By heaven, sir — I hardly know where to begin!’ I detect a gleam in his eye as he comes out from behind his counter to examine me more closely; he smells good business here. ‘A salve for those burns, I think — they do not look too severe, but often surface burns can be the most painful. And a tincture of arnica for the bruises. I see by the way you are standing that you have a pain in your side — ribs or muscles? I can make you up a poultice for either-’

I hold my hand up to stop him. ‘I was looking for your boy.’

His expression hardens. ‘What boy?’

‘Toby. Your apprentice.’

‘There’s no Toby here.’ His face is guarded now, his eager salesman’s patter dropped.

‘Whatever he calls himself, then. I will not detain him long — I only wish to speak to him.’

His glance flickers over his shoulder towards the back room, where someone can be heard moving around. ‘Whatever your business with him, you can go about it when his day’s work’s done,’ he says. His tone is firm but his eyes are still nervous; I wonder if he knows or suspects what Toby gets up to at the house next door and wants to make sure it is kept far from his own premises.

I am thinking of a convincing argument when Toby himself appears from the door to the back room, wearing an apron made of sacking and wiping his hands on a cloth. He flinches when he sees me and seems frozen, unsure whether to turn and run or pretend he does not know me.

‘Hello, Toby,’ I say, smiling.

He stammers something, giving his employer a frightened look.

‘I won’t keep you from your work,’ I say, as gently as I can. ‘I just had a quick question. It’s about Ovid.’

His face is already flushed from the steam of the distilling apparatus in the back; now his colour deepens from his neck to his hairline as he opens his mouth to speak and finds no words.

‘I wonder, my good fellow,’ Sidney says, in his best aristocratic voice, stepping forward to address the apothecary, ‘I have long searched for some remedy that would counter the effects of too much wine. If any man could find me some such compound, I would owe him my eternal gratitude.’ He taps the purse at his belt lightly. ‘Would you know of any such thing?’ He follows this up with a dazzling smile and the apothecary finds his attention torn. He makes a fierce gesture to the boy, who beckons me towards a door at the side of the shop.

While Sidney charms the apothecary, I follow Toby through into the passage that runs along the side of the building. The sun does not penetrate here, between the houses, but I recognise this alley as the one that leads to the courtyard and the entrance to the House of Vesta behind the apothecary’s. The boy seems to read my fears, for he glances towards the end of the passage and bends his head to talk, as if this will make him harder to see.

‘We must make haste,’ he whispers. ‘I shall have such a beating for this already. My master fears for his reputation, see. He probably thinks …’ He gives me a meaningful look and leaves the sentence unfinished. I decide to come straight to the point.

‘That book you have in your chamber, the one you said a gentleman gave you.’

His whole body tenses. ‘What of it?’

‘I need it.’

‘Why?’

‘It might help me to catch a murderer.’

His eyes grow wide, but he shakes his head. ‘I don’t have it.’

Disappointment drops like a stone in my gut. ‘You sold it?’

‘Of course not.’ He looks briefly affronted, then lowers his gaze. ‘Mistress Grace found it. She didn’t believe it was a gift.’

‘Toby, no one believes that.’

He squirms his shoulders, then raises his eyes to give me an accusing stare. ‘Did you tell her?’

‘No, I swear. She and I did not have much time for conversation after I had to flee your room.’

‘Keep your voice down!’ He looks around, but the alley is empty. He points at my injuries. ‘I heard you jumped out a window. Did you get a beating? I am sorry for it. I’ve seen men leave the House with worse, mind.’

‘They didn’t touch me. Listen,’ I say, leaning in, ‘if you no longer have the book, do you at least have the page you tore from it?’ He hesitates, long enough for me to take it as an affirmative. ‘The page you tore out because it had an inscription to its owner, yes? Or else he had written his own name in it. You have kept it, haven’t you?’

He looks at his feet again and gives one guilty nod. ‘I liked the picture.’ His colour deepens.

‘Toby,’ I say, making my voice as gentle as I can, ‘I really need that page. I can’t explain fully but it could be vital evidence.’

‘Then you will know his name, and he will accuse me of stealing it,’ the boy says, miserably.

‘I know his name already,’ I say quietly. His mouth falls open. ‘And he won’t dare accuse you of anything,’ I continue. ‘He will be too busy defending himself.’

He shakes his head again. ‘Mistress Grace has threatened to throw me on the street already for thieving from a customer.’

‘If you get me that page, I will tell Mistress Grace that I gave you the book. Without that page, she can’t prove it was not mine to give. But if she finds it, she has all the proof she needs against you.’

He looks doubtful.

‘They cut off your hands for stealing,’ I add casually. His gaze shifts to his blistered fingers with their chewed nails then back to me, terror in his eyes. ‘Though for an item of that value, it would probably be hanging.’

‘All right, I will get it,’ he says, so soft I can barely hear him. ‘But I can’t go yet — you’ll have to wait till I finish for the day.’

‘I need it now. Besides, what if she shows him the book and he confirms that you stole it from him before I have a chance to speak to her?’

His face creases with the weight of his dilemma. ‘But my master won’t allow …’ He points to the shop.

‘My friend is keeping your master busy spending good money in there,’ I say. ‘It will only take you a few moments to run upstairs. Hurry now.’

He hesitates, then scuttles along the alley to the far end and disappears around the corner.

Minutes pass, and after five I begin to worry: perhaps he has forgotten where he hid the page, or perhaps the madam has caught him. I glance back to the door into the apothecary’s; the boy’s master will come out if we don’t return soon, wondering why I have dragged his apprentice away from his work for so long and fearing what depraved scenes he may discover in the alley. At least I can rely on Sidney to keep him talking. He is probably inventing an entire textbook’s worth of maladies.

My relief on hearing footsteps from the end of the alleyway is shortlived when I realise they are accompanied by a woman’s voice, followed by a man’s muttered response. I dive back inside the shop, where the apothecary and Sidney raise their heads together from the scrutiny of some greenish powder and look at me as if I am interrupting something intimate.

‘Where is my apprentice?’ the apothecary demands, as if I might have buried him in the alley.

‘I think he had to go and relieve himself,’ I say pleasantly. He scowls.

‘You were saying?’ Sidney indicates the substance laid out on a square of waxed paper on the ware-bench.

But we never hear the apothecary’s exposition of whatever miracle cure he is offering, because the front door opens and Mistress Grace enters, plucking off her gloves, borne along on wafts of lavender perfume, her bearing as haughty and composed as any court lady. Over one arm she carries a velvet pouch on a slim gold chain, and in her hands a woven basket. She raises her carefully plucked brows in surprise on seeing us.

‘Well, if it isn’t our friends …’ She twirls her fingers in a searching gesture. ‘I’m sorry, I have forgotten your name.’

‘I think you know my name, mistress,’ I say, unsmiling. She allows her sharp gaze to travel up and down me.

‘You do not look well, sir. Perhaps the rigours of Plymouth life do not agree with you.’ She turns to Sidney with an elegant curtsey. ‘Good day, Sir Philip. I trust you are in better health.’ Her face is impassive, but there is no doubt that she is mocking him. Nonetheless, the apothecary stares and stands up a little straighter, realising he is in the presence of a knight. Perhaps he is wishing he had thought to charge more.

‘I am glad to have seen you again, mistress,’ I say, matching her smoothness. ‘I wanted to ask you about a friend of yours. Master John Doughty.’

She turns pale under her paint but maintains her composure. ‘You are mistaken, sir — I do not know anyone of that name.’

‘Really? That is curious — he distinctly said he knew you. Perhaps you knew him by a different name. In any case, he is wanted for murder, so it is as well you are not acquainted. His close friends and associates would certainly be questioned, under suspicion of hiding him, or helping him escape.’ I smile through my teeth.

She looks towards the street window, where the shadow of her broad-shouldered bodyservant can be seen loitering outside, cleaning his ear with his finger.

‘It is indeed fortunate, then, that I do not associate with people of that sort,’ she says sweetly, and turns to the apothecary as if to show that the subject is closed and I am of no further interest.

He holds out to her a selection of packets wrapped in paper. ‘Here you are, Mistress Grace — common rue, mugwort and pennyroyal. I was a bit short on the rue this week but I can make it up when the next batch comes in. I will adjust your account, of course.’

‘Those are all abortifacients, are they not?’ I pick up a jar from the ware-bench and sniff it. The apothecary gives me a hard look.

‘They are herbs with a variety of medicinal purposes, sir, for those with the knowledge to use them,’ he says.

‘But principally known for prompting miscarriage,’ I say. ‘Though not always successfully, from what I hear. Of course there are other ways of dealing with unwanted children.’

Mistress Grace gives no sign of having heard this; she is engaged in checking her packages, weighing them in her hand before opening each one, lifting it to her nose and delicately sniffing the contents. Each time she pauses after smelling them and her eyes wander, unfocused, to the shelves on the wall as if she is deep in contemplation, while the little apothecary twists his hands and fidgets behind his bench, nervously awaiting her verdict. It would be a foolish man who tried to cheat her, I reflect. Sidney gives me a warning look.

The door to the alleyway opens at that moment and Toby reappears, breathless. He freezes in the doorway at the sight of Mistress Grace and looks wildly from me to his master.

‘Where’ve you been?’ the little man says, though I suspect his show of anger is more for Mistress Grace’s benefit. ‘Empty your bowels in your own time, boy, not mine. And it would make everyone’s life easier if you didn’t have strange men coming in this shop asking after you.’ He glares at me and Mistress Grace finally turns around with a sweet smile.

‘Pengilly, I find I could use more nutmeg,’ she says to the apothecary. I snort, but she ignores it. ‘I’m sure you have some in the back you could look for.’

He takes the hint, and with a small bow, leaves us alone in the shop. Mistress Grace places her packets carefully in the basket, shifting its weight on her arm.

‘Gentlemen,’ she says, still smiling, ‘I fear you did not receive the best of our hospitality on your first visit to my house. Especially you, sir.’ She tilts her head towards me with a look of sympathy. ‘I feel we should make it up to you. Come and take a drink with us this evening, as my guests.’ She looks up from under her lashes and her eyes glitter in a way that must once have been devastating.

‘I have seen how you treat your guests, madam,’ I say, avoiding her eye. ‘I would rather not repeat the experience.’

She lays a white hand on my arm. ‘That was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I should be glad to speak to you. But I would ask you not to bother this boy while he is at his work. Master Pengilly and I have an agreement. And this boy talks too much nonsense as it is.’ Her eyes flit again to the tall shape of her servant outside the door. Toby flinches as surely as if she had struck him.

‘I thank you, mistress,’ Sidney says, before I can reply, ‘but we dine with Captain Drake this evening so I fear we must refuse your invitation.’

‘I would gladly talk with you though, mistress,’ I say, ‘if you would give me a minute of your time without the company of your friend outside.’ I nod to the door. ‘I am unarmed,’ I add, holding up my hands to show her the absence of any weapon at my belt.

‘That’s what you said last time,’ she says tartly.

‘Fortunate that I lied, then. Since I was almost attacked by your friend John Doughty.’

She laughs. ‘I have no friend of that name, as I said. You were very drunk that night, sir. I fear you were imagining things.’

We stare at one another for a moment longer. She makes a point of turning away first.

‘Do you have that nutmeg, Pengilly?’ she calls. ‘I am ready to leave now.’

I plant myself in front of her, blocking her way to the door.

‘How much do you get for them? The babies,’ I ask, riled by her supercilious stare. ‘Sir Francis Drake thought he had reformed that practice, but you found a way round it, didn’t you? You and your collaborator. Did you fear Robert Dunne would try to stop you, was that it?’

For the first time, her composure is disturbed; she falters, looking to the street door, then to the back room of the shop. I glance at Toby; he is cowering by the door to the alley, trying to make himself invisible. I notice his right hand is balled into a fist.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about, sir,’ she says, pulling herself up with a little shake of her shoulders. ‘But it sounds like malicious slander, which in this country is punishable by law.’

‘Accuse me before the Sheriff, then,’ I say. ‘I will repeat it for his benefit. And the Mayor, and anyone you care to name.’

She gives a low, tinkling laugh, tinged with pity. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary. I fear you would not find them sympathetic, however.’

‘Oh, that’s right — you believe you have them all by the balls,’ I say, taking a step towards her. ‘We could take the matter to the Star Chamber, if you prefer. We might find an impartial judge there.’

‘The Star Chamber would not concern themselves with provincial matters such as this,’ she says, but the laughter sounds forced this time.

‘They would concern themselves with the murder of a gentleman,’ I say, folding my arms.

‘I fear you must be confused, sir. No gentleman has been murdered on or near my premises, nor any other sort of man.’

‘One may have been murdered at your behest, by someone close to you. Someone who also had a vested interest in silencing him.’

‘I think you have said enough, sir. Pengilly!’

The apothecary appears instantly from the back room; he has evidently been skulking just out of sight, eavesdropping.

‘Ah, good,’ Sidney says, rubbing his hands cheerfully to dispel the atmosphere. ‘We should be on our way too — I will take the dandelion infusion and whatever you said the other thing was, for stomach ache. And the salve for my friend. How much?’

He lays his coins out on the ware-bench. While the apothecary’s attention is held by the glint of silver, I cross the room to Toby, who looks stricken.

‘Goodbye,’ I say, holding out my hand for him to shake. He stares at it, then understanding dawns and he grasps it tight. I palm the wad of paper between my fingers. ‘Take care of yourself now, and work hard for your master,’ I say, nodding to the apothecary, who looks up briefly and snorts. Toby’s eyes are full of panicked questions; I answer with a brief shake of my head. Mistress Grace is watching us. I realise that, for now, she does not know whether I have any proof for my accusations; if I mention the book, I lose that advantage. I have no choice but to break my promise to Toby.

‘And you be sure to take care of yourself too, Doctor Bruno,’ she says, with an icy smile. ‘The streets of Plymouth can be dangerous for foreigners.’ With a last piercing glance at me, she sweeps out.

The apothecary pushes Toby towards the room at the back and points a finger at me. ‘Your friend here is a good customer, so I’ll hold my tongue this time. But if you want the boy in future, master, you find him outside my shop. I’m a God-fearing man. You hear?’

God-fearing enough to make your living selling quack remedies for pox and miscarriage to prostitutes, I almost say, but I too hold my tongue. Instead I incline my head to show my remorse, and take my leave.

‘You bloody fool,’ Sidney says, when we are outside the shop. His right hand grips the hilt of his sword; we scan the street in both directions for any sign of Mistress Grace and her muscled servant. ‘You think you can accuse a woman like that of murder to her face? If you’re right, she’ll want to cut out your tongue before you can repeat it to anyone. We’ll be lucky if we make it back to the Star in one piece. Especially now that only one of us is armed.’ He casts another furtive glance behind him and quickens his pace.

‘That’s not my fault. And we are not going back to the Star — we’re going to the Elizabeth. At least, I am,’ I say, limping after him. ‘I need to get there before she has a chance to send a message out. I don’t want our man forewarned.’

‘Come on, then,’ he says, as we hurry towards the quayside, keeping well away from the mouths of alleys and side streets where anyone might be lurking. ‘Make your grand revelation. Though I think I have guessed,’ he adds, eagerly. He seems to have forgotten his earlier pique at being robbed of his prize in Savile.

‘Why does a man kill?’ I say.

He falls back to walk beside me. ‘Money? Jealousy? Revenge? Power?’

‘All of those. Or to silence someone who knows a secret about him. Something that could destroy his position and his prospects.’

‘Stop your games now and tell me.’

I pull him into a doorway, checking to see that no one is following us, and unfold the paper Toby pressed into my hand. There is an engraving of the nymph Daphne metamorphosing into a tree, her young breasts peeking boldly through the leaves — I see why poor Toby wanted to keep the picture — but it is the name inscribed in ink at the top of the page that interests me. I feel my chest expand with relief. It would have been better to have the whole book, but this will serve. Sidney stares at it without speaking, then whistles softly and nods, as if conceding victory.