Treachery

‘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?’