A Murderous Affair, page 8
I left the hall and went quickly to lodgings above the stable yard at the side of the house, where I found Matthew Jordan in jovial conversation with a giant of a man. Having ascertained he was the man I was looking for, I told him Sir Francis was ready to leave and walked with him to the river stairs. Walsingham, with the aid of a stick, had already reached the garden and was resting against one of the carved stone pillars by the side of the steps. Just as we reached the foot of the stairs, he turned and handed me some papers he had been carrying.
‘This latter gives you official authority to interrogate people in my name. Please use it. You should also know, Master Lovat, that as well as anything your brother feels obliged to recompense you for this service, I will happily add a generous reward of my own, should you resolve this matter satisfactorily.’ I doubted my brother was planning on paying me anything but thought better of mentioning it, in case Walsingham withdrew his offer. ‘I have faith in you, Master Lovat. I know you have grown up on your wits alone and do not live with the complacent illusion of a secure life. I know also that you are not a man to whom trust comes easily. Such men, I have found, are invaluable.’ I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck, startled that this man who I had never met before could pinpoint my state of mind with such accuracy.
‘One other thing. Although I understand your brother’s reluctance to suspect his guests, it is always better we suspect those that are innocent than blindly hold the guilty to our bosoms.’ It was hard to tell if Walsingham was referring specifically to my brother’s friends or merely stating an eternal truth. ‘Please leave no stone unturned.’
He fixed me with a razor sharp gaze, full of intent, and then turned and climbed into the boat with the help of the huge oarsman. Once seated comfortably in the stern he looked up at me with a serious expression on his face.
‘Until three day’s time, Master Lovat. Visit me around midday and I will have lunch for you. We will talk more then. I wish you luck in the meantime.’ With that he signalled to the oarsman and the big man began to row effortlessly Westward.
Feeling shaken by Walsingham’s words, I stood watching until the swirling fog on the river swallowed the boat’s lamp. Had I imagined it, or had Walsingham implied that I had a clear choice between pursuing the truth and finding Don Alphonse’s killer, or alternatively helping my brother construct a cover-up?
I didn’t like the implication of that one bit.
Gradually the splashing of the oars faded. On the far bank I caught occasional glimpses of lights burning brightly in the theatre district but there was only the odd cry of a crazed voice or the sound of a dog barking. On this side of the river, all was silence and darkness – the gentry were clearly asleep, or not yet home. Turning slowly to the house and looking up at the window I could see a dim flickering light but most of it was in darkness – impossible to tell if my brother had watched my exchange with Walsingham from the shadows of the room.
A sudden, biting gust of wind, sweeping in off the river, brought home to me how cold it was and I moved quickly to the shelter of the house. Back in the great hall I found Nesbitt and my brother in earnest conversation, which broke off as I entered the room.
‘Has the dark moor left us?’ my brother said, and then continued as he saw my raised eyebrows. ‘I believe that is the affectionate name Her Majesty reserves for him – when his back is turned, of course.’ He smiled grimly to himself. ‘He may have done great service to this country but he is an old man and he won’t be around much longer. There is a new generation of meet men and it’s time they were allowed to undertake their responsibilities without the interference of these relics of the past.’ It was rare for my brother to express sentiments like that and I took it as an indication of the pressure he was under.
‘As to this mystery, I wouldn’t get too carried away by Walsingham’s assertion of a plot. You said yourself that the link was tenuous. Men like Don Alphonse are always coming to the council with stories of plots and intrigue. It is a shrewd method of gaining favour and influence, not to mention ready money. No, I think we should look much closer to home. I wouldn’t be surprised if this African servant proves to be responsible. God knows what men like that are capable of.’ By ‘men like that’ I assumed that he meant black savages. ‘Find him and bring him here. We’ll soon get the truth out of him.’
Robert was clearly fixed on the idea that the black servant, Cassangoe, would make a convenient scapegoat and deflect his own responsibility in the matter. I knew how these things worked and that if we weren’t careful it would soon become a stone-cold fact that Cassangoe was guilty. It seemed a little early to be so certain.
‘Nevertheless brother, Sir Francis was insistent that I should also include your dinner guests in my investigation. I don’t think we should jump to conclusions just yet. What about Simon Turney and the other three men who left with Don Alphonse?’
‘Well there unfortunately Sir Francis is out of luck. Turney is due to sail on the morrow. He’ll already be aboard ship preparing to depart. I’m afraid you won’t have time to speak to him.’ So my brother had cleverly offered up to Walsingham the one person who was practically already out of the picture. ‘Anyway, it is a ridiculous suggestion that he could be involved. The man is above suspicion.’
‘But he is captaining a fleet?’
‘As are hundreds of other men.’
‘What about those he left with? Are they are above suspicion?’
‘I wouldn’t concern yourself with them. The servant – he is the man to concentrate on.’
‘But brother, Sir Francis insisted …’
‘Enough! There’s a reason why I suggested you to Walsingham for this task and it wasn’t so that you can become one of his damned snoopers. Walsingham may be unavoidably involved in this matter but you will remember at all times that this house comes first. I’m quite convinced that no one present last night was involved. Why should they be? Don Alphonse left this house a good while before he was murdered. Your job is to prove this to be the case. Not amuse yourself by playing at being a spy.’
‘So you want me to effect a cover up? Brush things neatly under the Turkish carpet? Is that it?’ I raised my chin towards him, challenging him to pick up the bait, but sensing my anger he continued in a more reasonable tone.
‘You have to understand John, Sir Francis Walsingham, despite his great abilities, does not have our family’s welfare uppermost in his mind.’ In particular, your own welfare, I thought unkindly. ‘It is not a ‘cover-up’; I have no idea who murdered Don Alphonse any more than you do. There is simply no need to stir up any unnecessary aggravation. We have to make sure that the family comes out of this matter without the slightest stain on its character. Besides you work for me, not Walsingham. Remember that.’
‘Well, that’s quite clear then,’ I said, failing to hide a note of sarcasm. It was anything but clear. Robert and Walsingham seemed to have quite different ideas about how I was to proceed and what my aims were. However, I saw little point in arguing. Robert already seemed severely rattled by the business and I would only aggravate him further. I was acutely aware that I depended on him for everything and falling out with him could only hurt me. I couldn’t help thinking, though, that his protestations of ignorance had a hollow ring to them. What was so important to him about his dinner guests that he was determined to protect them at all costs?
‘What’s Nesbitt’s role to be? Will he be dogging my every move? Making sure I preserve the family honour?’
‘Not if you do what I tell you to. Nesbitt has been a good servant to this family. You would do well to learn from him. I want you to report to him in my absence.’ I scowled but his mind was clearly made up. ‘You can stay here tonight. There should be plenty of rooms in the servant’s quarters. In the morning I want you to find this man Cassangoe and bring him here. You can take Matthew Jordan with you. He’ll row you where you need to go and help bring the man back if he resists. I should imagine he will be easy to identify.’ With this dismissive remark, my brother departed to his bedchamber and Nesbitt to wherever it was he slept.
I stood obstinately for a moment and then pulled a chair up close to the grate. I stoked some life back into the fire and then helped myself to what was left in the wine decanter, all the time pondering the mess I was in.
Chapter 8
‘If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts: but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.’
(Sir Francis Bacon)
The dissonant bells of St Cement Danes awoke me suddenly from a troubled sleep, notwithstanding the fact that my sleeping arrangements had been more comfortable than Robert intended. Rather than taking up his offer of a dreary servant’s bed, I had carried on drinking by the warm fire until the decanter was empty and the house was quiet. Then I had crept quietly into one of the staterooms on the other side of the courtyard, which I knew was always empty. It was called the King’s Chamber and rumour had it that Henry VII had slept in the huge bed, as a guest of the old bishop who had been in residence. Alas, I hadn’t slept like a king, my mind swirling with conspiracies.
Venturing downstairs through the layers of the grand house, my mood rapidly darkened on espying Nesbitt hunched over the table in the large kitchen parlour. In front of him lay a large helping of eggs fried with breadcrumbs. He was tearing strips off a small round Manchet loaf before dipping each one fastidiously into the scrambled mixture. I stood watching him distastefully for a moment, reflecting that this finicky way of eating endeared me to him even less. Noticing me, he leant forward across the table and offered me the basket with the bread rolls in. I obstinately refused to accept one.
‘Where’s my brother?’ On the way down through the house, I had looked in at my brother’s dining room but it had been empty.
‘Good morrow to you too, Master Lovat,’ Nesbitt paused whilst bringing a dripping strip of bread slowly to his mouth. ‘His Lordship has already left for Court.’
‘What already? The Queen must be an early riser.’
‘Her Majesty is certainly not one to idle time away, that’s for certain.’ The tone of his voice suggested that I could take a leaf out of her book. I didn’t bother mentioning that it was still dark outside.
‘You’re acquainted with Her Majesty’s daily habits are you Nesbitt?’ It was hard to keep the annoyance I felt out of my voice that my brother had left before speaking to me. What made it worse was being chided by this complacent crook-back, who clearly felt more at home in this house than I did. Nesbitt must have heard the irritation in my voice but simply looked sanctimonious. He continued eating in his pernickety manner, and didn’t deign to answer.
I sat down and took a roll from the basket. The soft white bread was still warm and smelt delicious. It also tasted distinctly different from the coarse rye bread, common amongst most households. Bread, like everything else in my brother’s house, was a symbol of his social status but it only served to remind me of the childhood I had enjoyed and the privileges I had lost since my father died.
Chewing idly, I studied Nesbitt across the table. He had been in my brother’s service for only a few years, employed at the same time that I had come to London, and I often felt resentment towards him and the position he held at my brother’s side. It wasn’t beyond a flight of fantasy that his position should be mine. That morning, though, it dawned on me that I knew next to nothing about this deliberate, dour man, with his impassive face, who was adept at giving nothing away.
After swilling the bread down with some small beer, I felt impelled to speak.
‘Where is everyone Nesbitt? The emptiness of this place is starting to give me the creeps.’
‘Her Ladyship has gone to the country estate and taken a good part of the household with her. I believe it was decided quite suddenly yesterday afternoon. Knowing the delicate nature of her Ladyship, I presume that his Lordship wanted her to be as cosseted as possible from any likely scandal resulting from this unfortunate business with the Portuguese gentleman.’ I didn’t recognise the Anne of a ‘delicate nature’. The Anne I had known had been hardy and adventurous and wouldn’t have needed packing off to the country as soon as danger reared its head. It galled me to hear him speaking of her like that.
‘You were here the night of the dinner weren’t you? ‘
‘Naturally. I was in attendance on your brother as always.’
‘Good party was it? Stuffed duck followed by frog blancmange, blanched almonds and custard?’
‘I believe his Lordship lays on one of the finest banquets in London.’
‘I’ll wager he does.’ I brooded over my bread and beer. ‘You know, Nesbitt, there’s something that’s been puzzling me. If Don Alphonse was a regular visitor to this house, you must have seen him and, if so, you surely recognised him on the riverbank and yet you never mentioned it. I can understand you not wanting the Rotherhithe Watch to get wind of it. What I don’t understand is why my brother needed me to be there at all. I never met the man and had nothing to do with the business. Surely you could have identified him without me.’
‘You had better ask his Lordship about that, Master John. All I know is that he wanted you there and I fetched you. Although I recognised the man, I felt it was better to let your brother inform you who he was. But, as it happened, you already recognised the man, did you not? Something that you failed to let on yourself. So perhaps it is best if neither of us reproaches the other in the matter. Quid pro quo?’
I regarded Nesbitt warily. I had to admit I didn’t fancy sparring with his solid and measured intelligence. He was right that I had tried to score points off him by not revealing I’d seen Don Alphonse at the procession, but it was also obvious that my brother had used me as a substitute for Nesbitt when it came to dealing with Walsingham. So far I could only come up with negative reasons for his doing that, none of which sat easily in my mind.
‘Is Matthew Jordan waiting for me?’
‘You’ll find him by the river gate preparing a boat.’
‘Good,’ I said, finishing my breakfast and pushing my wooden stool back. ‘First I want to take another look at the body.’ For a moment, I thought Nesbitt was going to tag along but he seemed to think better of it.
‘It’s in the cellar. His Lordship expects you here this evening with the black servant. He said to remind you of his wishes.’ I felt my irritation rising again but bit my tongue.
‘In that case, let’s hope I can find him.’ Despite my brother’s wishful thinking, I thought it unlikely the African, Cassangoe, would be easy to find. True, there were a smattering of black servants kept in some of the better houses in London, exotic additions brought back from overseas adventures, but if he had murdered Don Alphonse, it seemed unreasonable to expect him to wait around politely for me to take him into custody. The best I could hope for was to find Don Alphonse’s port office and see what turned up.
Narrow stones stairs wound down to the cellar from a passageway adjacent to the kitchen. I am not someone that takes great delight in mooning over dead bodies, especially not battered ones that have been pickled in the Thames, but I had an ulterior motive that morning, which was to relieve the Portuguese gentleman of his fine leather boots. I had already decided they would make a good substitute for the pair that had mysteriously gone missing the previous day.
Down in the dank bowels of the house, lit only by a dim light coming from a small window at the height of the ceiling, I was dismayed to find that my scheme would be thwarted. Don Alphonse had been stripped of all his clothes and now lay on the cellar floor with just a thin muslin sheet preserving what was left of his dignity. There was no sign of his clothes. It occurred to me to exit forthwith but some strange fascination drew me to the corpse. I gently lifted the sheet and pulled it away from the body.
If anything, Don Alphonse looked even worse now than he had done a day earlier. The sallow skin of the face had turned a pallid grey colour and had sunk in against the cheekbones. The empty eye socket had become puckered and there was evidence of more bruising around the forehead and scalp. The handsome, proud features were now just a memory. Further down, the livid cuts and bruises of the day before had dulled into muted greys and blues that had no place on a human body. There was barely an inch that had escaped the battering.
I bent forward to examine the neck closely. The mark there was distinctive by its uniformity compared with the rest of the injuries but what was interesting was how clearly it sat underneath the later, more random injuries. There was no doubt that Don Alphonse had been strangled first and then battered.
The sight suddenly became too much. I felt nausea rising as I hastily replaced the sheet, but not before a further glance down the prostrate body had drawn my attention to an interesting detail.
Back in the parlour, I asked Nesbitt what had happened to the clothes in a forlorn hope that I might still get my hands on the boots.
‘Burnt on his Lordship’s orders. He didn’t want the risk of disease spreading.’
So much for that idea.
* * *
At the bottom of the river stairs, I found Matthew bobbing up and down in a small rowing boat. He was rubbing his hands together for warmth and watching the traffic going up and down the river. On seeing me, he gave me a big, gap-toothed grin and offered me a hand into the boat.
‘Highly Master, I hear I’m to have the pleasure of ferryin’ you about town.’ He rubbed his nose and winked at me conspiratorially. ‘The utmost privy work, so I’ve been told.’
‘Ah, my brother has had words has he?’
‘That’s the rub of it. Called in first thing, I was, and told most surely that if I was to give away so much as a whistle, I would find myself at the wrong end of the lash.’ We both laughed at this, but, knowing the occasional severity of my brother’s justice, it was rather a hollow gesture.
