death?’ says Lady Arden, scorn in her voice.
‘There are many kinds of death, my lady,’ he replies. ‘Who knows what demons Robert Dunne was fleeing from.’
‘Did you know him well?’ I ask.
He shoots me a sharp glance. ‘Not well, no. He had lands in Devon, as do I. We had conversed on nautical matters a number of times, so I was pleased to discover I had been given the cabin next to his aboard the Elizabeth . I had thought we would have more time to talk during the long months at sea, but alas …’ He spreads his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
‘Did you speak to him the night he died?’ I lean forward, perhaps too eagerly. Savile frowns.
‘I think, gentlemen,’ Drake cuts in, ‘that the memory of our late comrade is not honoured by discussion of his death in this way. Especially over dinner.’ He smiles pleasantly but I catch the same warning tone in his voice that I noticed the day before. Savile meets his eye briefly and gives a curt nod of agreement.
The rest of the meal passes in ship talk, but the shadow of Dunne’s mysterious death hovers at the edges of the conversation, the subject we are all consciously avoiding. Whenever Drake talks about being able to set sail, I am conscious that he means when he has identified Dunne’s killer. It would seem that Savile and the women are still under the impression that Dunne hanged himself. If Savile had the cabin next door, Drake must have asked him about any unusual disturbance the night of Dunne’s death – and if he has not, perhaps it is because he has doubts about confiding in Savile. I could not blame him; there is something unconvincing about the man’s bluff bonhomie. I tell myself I should discuss this with Drake before I blunder in asking questions; then remember that I have sworn not to get involved in this business.
Further down the table, Sidney is regaling Drake and his wife with anecdotes of court life. Drake looks politely bored; his wife, by contrast, is hanging on Sidney’s every word, laughing with delight as if on cue, her eyes fixed on his. If that were my wife, I think, I would keep her well away from Sidney; at this rate, he will be writing her sonnets by supper. I watch Drake: his broad, tanned face, his big red hands that dwarf the wine glass he clasps between them. I don’t suppose she has a lot of sonnets from that quarter. When I look up, Lady Arden flashes me a knowing smile, as if she is following my thoughts.
As the servants are clearing the board, Drake leans in to whisper something to his wife and together they stand, excusing themselves as Drake announces he must now attend to his wife’s comfort and will see us later back on board. Savile’s moustache twitches with a smirk at Drake’s choice of words.
‘And who will attend to your comfort, Lady Arden?’ Savile says, from the side of his mouth, with a slight leer. ‘I am sure I could oblige.’
‘How gallant, Sir William,’ she says, with icy courtesy. ‘I’m afraid as a widow I must fend for myself. Now, if you will forgive me, gentlemen, I think I will retire to my room for a while. The emotion of discussing nautical charts at such length has quite worn me out.’ She smiles sweetly around the table and pushes her chair back.
The rest of us rise to our feet as the ladies and Drake take their leave and I turn to find Thomas Drake at my shoulder.
‘Sir Francis attends you and Sir Philip upstairs, in his wife’s chamber,’ he murmurs. ‘He wishes to speak with you in private.’
Padre Pettifer is just leaving, but he turns and catches my eye as Thomas is speaking. I am certain he has overheard. Again, I sense a hostility in the way he looks at me.
‘Rich as Croesus, that one, since the old man died,’ Savile mutters to me, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He leans in with a wolfish grin. ‘Ah, no need to pretend. I saw how you looked at her. We’re all trying, believe me. Who wouldn’t want a
‘There are many kinds of death, my lady,’ he replies. ‘Who knows what demons Robert Dunne was fleeing from.’
‘Did you know him well?’ I ask.
He shoots me a sharp glance. ‘Not well, no. He had lands in Devon, as do I. We had conversed on nautical matters a number of times, so I was pleased to discover I had been given the cabin next to his aboard the Elizabeth . I had thought we would have more time to talk during the long months at sea, but alas …’ He spreads his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
‘Did you speak to him the night he died?’ I lean forward, perhaps too eagerly. Savile frowns.
‘I think, gentlemen,’ Drake cuts in, ‘that the memory of our late comrade is not honoured by discussion of his death in this way. Especially over dinner.’ He smiles pleasantly but I catch the same warning tone in his voice that I noticed the day before. Savile meets his eye briefly and gives a curt nod of agreement.
The rest of the meal passes in ship talk, but the shadow of Dunne’s mysterious death hovers at the edges of the conversation, the subject we are all consciously avoiding. Whenever Drake talks about being able to set sail, I am conscious that he means when he has identified Dunne’s killer. It would seem that Savile and the women are still under the impression that Dunne hanged himself. If Savile had the cabin next door, Drake must have asked him about any unusual disturbance the night of Dunne’s death – and if he has not, perhaps it is because he has doubts about confiding in Savile. I could not blame him; there is something unconvincing about the man’s bluff bonhomie. I tell myself I should discuss this with Drake before I blunder in asking questions; then remember that I have sworn not to get involved in this business.
Further down the table, Sidney is regaling Drake and his wife with anecdotes of court life. Drake looks politely bored; his wife, by contrast, is hanging on Sidney’s every word, laughing with delight as if on cue, her eyes fixed on his. If that were my wife, I think, I would keep her well away from Sidney; at this rate, he will be writing her sonnets by supper. I watch Drake: his broad, tanned face, his big red hands that dwarf the wine glass he clasps between them. I don’t suppose she has a lot of sonnets from that quarter. When I look up, Lady Arden flashes me a knowing smile, as if she is following my thoughts.
As the servants are clearing the board, Drake leans in to whisper something to his wife and together they stand, excusing themselves as Drake announces he must now attend to his wife’s comfort and will see us later back on board. Savile’s moustache twitches with a smirk at Drake’s choice of words.
‘And who will attend to your comfort, Lady Arden?’ Savile says, from the side of his mouth, with a slight leer. ‘I am sure I could oblige.’
‘How gallant, Sir William,’ she says, with icy courtesy. ‘I’m afraid as a widow I must fend for myself. Now, if you will forgive me, gentlemen, I think I will retire to my room for a while. The emotion of discussing nautical charts at such length has quite worn me out.’ She smiles sweetly around the table and pushes her chair back.
The rest of us rise to our feet as the ladies and Drake take their leave and I turn to find Thomas Drake at my shoulder.
‘Sir Francis attends you and Sir Philip upstairs, in his wife’s chamber,’ he murmurs. ‘He wishes to speak with you in private.’
Padre Pettifer is just leaving, but he turns and catches my eye as Thomas is speaking. I am certain he has overheard. Again, I sense a hostility in the way he looks at me.
‘Rich as Croesus, that one, since the old man died,’ Savile mutters to me, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He leans in with a wolfish grin. ‘Ah, no need to pretend. I saw how you looked at her. We’re all trying, believe me. Who wouldn’t want a