A Rustle of Silk: A new forensic mystery series set in Stuart England (A Gabriel Taverner Mystery)

by Alys Clare

  ‘It wasn’t hard to locate my father,’ he was saying, ‘since back in Venice he was well known, as was his whereabouts. Once in England I made my way to Plymouth, and quite easily slid into his affections. I like to think that some part of his mind recognized his long-lost son, but that is whimsy. It is far more likely that he was always on the lookout for bright, ruthless young men who were not greatly troubled by their conscience. Over the course of a few months I made myself indispensable to him, and soon he was entrusting me with the sort of painstaking, carefully planned tasks he’d previously had to perform for himself.’

  He paused, staring hard at me. ‘You cannot have cared for Jeromy Palfrey,’ he said.

  ‘Not much.’ Why, I wondered, mention Jeromy just then?

  Then I thought perhaps I knew, although the logic escaped me.

  ‘You left the sow’s organs on my doorstep,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Indeed I did. I had been watching your house, and observed what was going on.’ I frowned, questions buzzing in my mind. ‘Jeromy had told Nicolaus that Celia was coming here to stay with you, and, since I had orders to frighten him, I thought the subtlest way to do so would be via his lovely wife.’

  ‘You – the pig’s womb was meant to scare Celia?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But—’

  Then I understood. When Celia had visited me then, she’d been pregnant. The sow’s uterus, ripped open to display the small, pathetic foetuses, had been a warning of the most graphic kind: Do as I say or the same thing will happen to your wife.

  And Quinlie had urgently needed to regain control over Jeromy, since Jeromy had just unearthed his wealthy and powerful employer’s deepest secret.

  ‘What did—’ I began.

  He didn’t let me finish.

  ‘And then there was you.’ The bright-eyed stare fixed on me again. ‘You were beginning to worry me, doctor, because you’re so relentless. As I just implied, I knew about that foolish little girl trying to scare you away with her dog shit and her decapitated blindworm, and I decided to pretend she was getting a little more ruthless. I thought I’d begun to achieve my purpose when I tripped that fine horse of yours, and followed up by knocking you out.’

  I made no comment.

  ‘Then, of course, there were the papers: that file that Quinlie kept and in which he detailed all the payments he’d made over the years to the brothers in Venice, to help towards the high running costs of the Lazaretto islands. They have an eye for the ironic, don’t they? One has to admire them, really, making Nicolaus Quinlie pay for ever more for what he did, in such an appropriate manner. At the same time, a nice little sop to his conscience – if he had one – and an action that actually did some good. He never knew about me, however; they never told him he had a son.’ He paused. ‘They kept his identity a secret from me, too. Perhaps they read my nature better than I imagined, and decided it was too dangerous, for him, for me to know who had fathered me. Anyway, it wasn’t important. Information abounds in a place like Venice, and I’ve always had a talent for extracting secrets. It was relatively easy to find out my mother’s name and learn her fate, and after that I took up the challenge of discovering where she’d come from and why she’d ended up in Venice.’ His expression clouded, and suddenly he looked desolate. ‘I remember my mother very well,’ he said softly. ‘I was four when the plague came and she fell ill. Old enough to be so frightened that I could scarcely draw breath. Old enough to know, as we approached those islands in the lagoon, what lay ahead. Old enough to recognize the terror on my mother’s face when they—’ He broke off.

  For a while there was utter silence. Then he said, ‘It is time for the true fate of Rose Willerton to be known, for she was a courageous, loving, lively woman who paid a very harsh price for the sin of lying with her seducer.’ His eyes met mine, and I thought I knew what he was asking.

  It could be done, I thought. Presumably the Willerton family still existed, and I believed Jarman Hodge capable of finding out who should be approached. Was this why Tobias had been willing to tell his tale? Because, all along, he had hoped for my help?

  As if he read my thoughts, he said gently, ‘I cannot do it myself, doctor. I killed the man who begat me, and, even assuming you don’t repeat my confession – in which case it would only be your word against mine – Nicolaus Quinlie’s missing papers will condemn me.’ He knew I would ask, and he supplied the answer before I did so. ‘The papers demonstrate the link between Quinlie and the brothers in Venice. Were anyone to follow that link and set out for Venice, it would not take them very long to pick up the end of the thread that leads to me.’ Before I could protest, for it seemed unlikely, he said firmly, ‘Doctor, I followed the trail the other way. Armed with no more than my wits, kept in deliberate ignorance about my origins by the brothers who raised me, I managed to uncover the whole tragic tale. I do not rate my own intelligence so highly as to think no other man could do the same.’

  He had paused by the window and was once again staring out. ‘So, doctor. Will you do what I ask?’ He spun round, the hazel eyes searching mine.

  I nodded.

  Briefly he closed his eyes, and I heard him mutter something. I didn’t think it was a prayer. ‘Then all my hard work and the long, long road that led to this moment have been worthwhile,’ he said quietly. His face twisted in an ironic smile. ‘I have done well, haven’t I? Both my real father and the fathers who raised me would be proud of what I managed to find out, don’t you think?’

  I hadn’t expected to find him pathetic, but just then I did.

  I think even Tobias Willerton had noticed now that it was a while since I’d said more than a word. I’d tried to carry on talking, not wanting him to realize I had something else on my mind, but I’d found it hard.

  I keep a small and very sharp knife in a sheath attached to a leather cuff round my left forearm, just above the wrist. It’s like a scalpel. The device was taught to me by one of the rougher sailors I once knew.

  I couldn’t think when I’d ever been more glad of it.

  While the priest had been speaking, I had worked the blade out of its sheath and now its thin wooden handle rested in my palm. I edged it along till it was held securely between my thumb and forefinger. Then I began to saw through the rope that bound me. I also sawed into my own flesh, but the sharp pain was less of a worry than the blood dripping on to the floor. If Tobias Willerton should notice it …

  There was the sound of hurried footsteps outside and, after a cursory knock, Sallie came bursting into the room, talking even as she did so. ‘Mistress Celia took up some refreshments for her guest and said she didn’t need me so I went off to see Dorcas, but I saw Flynn in the yard and knew you were back, doctor, and I thought I’d ask if you want anything, as I – Oh!’

  The priest had spun round to face her, sweeping out the folds of his cloak to hide me. ‘The cakes were delicious,’ he began, his tone smooth and soothing. ‘We enjoyed them very much.’

  ‘But – but what’s going on?’ Sallie spluttered.

  The distraction gave me precious time, and at last the rope gave way. Hastily I cut the ropes on my right wrist, then leapt up and threw myself at Tobias Willerton.

  He saw, or perhaps sensed, the assault. He seemed to flick his long, lean body like a whip, out of my grasp, and then he was off.

  Sallie screamed, several times.

  ‘Look after Celia!’ I shouted. ‘She’s in her room!’

  Then I thundered after him. Along the gallery, down the stairs, across the hall, pausing for a heartbeat to pick up my sword. Out into the open air, the warm sunshine of a sweet May day.

  Tobias must have heard the heavy beat of my footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder and tripped on his long robe, but recovered his footing and raced on.

  There was a flash of flying black, and Flynn threw himself on Tobias. He is a big, heavy dog. Tobias had no chance.

  I pulled Flynn away, patting his heaving sides, praising him, c
alming him.

  Before Tobias could get up, I was on him. I stood over him, the point of my sword at his throat.

  ‘I understand why you murdered Quinlie,’ I panted, fighting for breath, ‘but did Gelyan have to die?’

  His eyes narrowed. Then he said, ‘Ah. The girl.’

  ‘The girl,’ I agreed. ‘And I imagine we can add Pieter Sparre to your list of victims. Dartmouth warehouseman,’ I added tersely. I was not going to be a party to his game of feigned ignorance.

  ‘The Dartmouth fool was too inquisitive by half,’ he said. ‘As for the girl – I didn’t expect anyone to be there. I was trying to recover the papers, which of course was what I came back for today. They’re well hidden,’ he remarked with a wry smile.

  ‘They are.’ I’d put them in my doctor’s bag. ‘Gelyan saw you, I imagine.’

  ‘She did.’

  I waited, but it seemed that was all he had to say on the matter.

  ‘And Jeromy?’ I went on. ‘Quinlie wanted him dead, but did you have to do it with such savagery?’

  He stared up at me for what seemed like several heartbeats. I thought I saw something in his eyes … could it have been compassion?

  Quietly he said, ‘But I didn’t kill Jeromy.’

  And then I thought I understood.

  If he dies, I thought swiftly, if Tobias dies here and now, nobody will ever know what he just said. If he were to be brought to trial, and could somehow prove it was the truth, then—

  I discovered that I couldn’t even begin to think about that.

  I put my full weight on the end of my sword and drove it into his throat. He gave a gasp, and a great surge of blood flowed out.

  His eyes clouded and I watched as his spirit fled.

  The man was a killer. He murdered poor lost Gelyan, he murdered Pieter Sparre, he tortured and killed Quinlie in the most barbaric way. For all that he claimed he didn’t want to hurt us, he’d very possibly been about to murder my sister, me and probably my housekeeper too.

  And the death I’d just given him had the mercy of speed. Had I done what I should and delivered him up, bound and captive, to the law, then his fate would have been far, far worse. He would have been found guilty of murder: of Gelyan Thorn, Pieter Sparre and Nicolaus Quinlie. Quinlie had been his employer, and that made him Tobias’s superior. As if all that wasn’t enough, he’d also taken on the guise of a Jesuit priest, and even now he wore the black robe and carried the rosary at his belt. He would have suffered the terrible death of hanging, drawing and quartering, with a vicious, jeering, mocking crowd watching his every agonized spasm.

  No. He was better off dead by a swift sword thrust to the throat, performed by a man who knew what he was doing.

  I withdrew my sword and wiped it on the grass. I stood looking down at Tobias Willerton.

  Rationalize it as best I could, just then the fact that I’d pushed a blade through a man’s throat and dispatched him was troubling me.

  But I knew I’d get over it.

  SEVENTEEN

  I buried Tobias Willerton behind the midden. Although I was desperate to get back to Celia – I only had his word for it that the sleeping draught would do no permanent harm – the most pressing need was to get the body out of sight. It wasn’t long ago that Tock had laboriously moved the last of the content of the muck heap onto the vegetable beds, and the ground was still quite soft. I dug a hole as fast as I could, put the body into it and covered it over, then shifted a great stack of early prunings on top of it in the hope that I would thus disguise the evidence of newly turned earth.

  If anyone from my household saw me and guessed what I was doing, they had the good sense not to say so.

  He had probably planned a careful escape, I reflected as I completed my task. Once he had achieved his mission and killed his father, then found and destroyed those incriminating Lazaretto papers that might have led the way back to him, had he worked out the route to some out-of-the-way little port from which he would take ship back to Venice? It seemed likely.

  But something was troubling me about that conclusion. There had been an expression in his eyes, just before I killed him. There was – I thought about it. There was resignation in it.

  Perhaps killing Nicolaus Quinlie was what had really mattered. That deed done, and by such an appropriately brutal method, maybe the son whom Quinlie hadn’t even known about hadn’t really cared much what happened to him …

  Finished at last, I washed my hands and forearms under the yard pump. My left wrist was still bleeding freely, and now encrusted with soil and half-congealed bits of scab. Having sluiced the wound thoroughly, I went inside and through to the library to find my bag and patch myself up. Then I went upstairs.

  Sallie was crouching and cooing over Celia, whose eyelids were fluttering. I went to kneel beside her, one hand on my sister’s forehead. I turned to my housekeeper. ‘Sallie, please fetch some water, as cold as possible, and something sweet to eat.’ She nodded and hurried away.

  I sat down on the bed, one hand still on Celia’s forehead, the fingers of my other hand on her wrist to feel her heartbeat. She felt quite cool and her pulse was steady but slow. Do not concern yourself for her, he had said. She is unharmed; merely deeply asleep.

  I said a silent and fervent prayer that he was right, and that she would recover and be restored to herself.

  Presently her eyes opened properly. She looked up, saw me and frowned. ‘Your face is dirty,’ she observed.

  ‘Yes. I’ll go and wash properly in a while. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.’

  Her frown deepened. ‘There was a man here …’ Then memory came galloping back. ‘Gabe, he’s a priest, and he’s on the run! I brought him up here to my own quarters, because I didn’t want anyone to know about him, and I fetched food and drink for him, and then – and then …’ She stared up at me in confusion. ‘I must have fallen asleep! How very odd!’

  ‘It’s a warm day,’ I said soothingly. ‘And, from the smell of what’s left in the jug out there in your anteroom, I’d say you mixed the wine with a good slug of brandy.’

  She nodded. ‘Oh, dear, what must he have thought of me? I wonder if—’ She broke off. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘He asked me to thank you.’ I sought the words he’d used. ‘He said I was to tender his sincere and heartfelt apologies to you when you woke up.’

  ‘His apologies?’

  My mind raced to come up with a credible explanation but my sister beat me to it. ‘Oh, for leaving without saying goodbye, I suppose.’ Her face fell and she looked anxious. ‘Oh, that poor man! I don’t imagine he dares stay in any one place for long. How terrible it must be to live the life of a fugitive. We must pray for him, Gabe. I know he’s a – I know what he is,’ she amended carefully, ‘but, all the same, he’s a brave man.’

  There was no doubt about that. ‘We’ll keep him in our prayers, yes, of course.’ I took hold of her hand. ‘Now, here’s Sallie with food and water for you. Sit up, and let’s see you tuck it away.’

  I rode over to Fernycombe early the next morning.

  I had barely slept, worrying all night about how I would go about it; what means I could employ to find out what I needed to know. The one thing I could not do was ask outright.

  As I set off up the track, I had decided on a course of action. I just hoped it was the right one.

  My mother was outside and came to greet me as I dismounted and handed Hal’s reins to a stable lad. ‘Father and I were only just talking about you,’ she said as we embraced and I kissed her soft cheek. ‘Well, you and Celia, really.’ She looked over her shoulder as if for lurking eavesdroppers and lowered her voice. ‘Are they now convinced that this terrible assassin who murdered that Nicolaus Quinlie was the same man who killed poor Jeromy?’

  ‘It seems likely that’s what will be concluded,’ I said carefully. I didn’t want to tell my mother lies.

  ‘Oh, goo
d,’ she breathed, leading me through the grand new porch and into the cool hall. My parents had been having quite a lot of work done to the old house, and now, at last, it appeared it was complete. The Gillards who had built the first dwelling however many centuries ago – in 1150, according to family tradition – would surely not recognize the place, what with its spacious new wing and the entrance moved around to the south. My parents, however, seemed to be delighted. My mother was, at least, and that was probably all that mattered to my father.

  ‘Celia will be able to put it all behind her and settle down to whatever the future holds,’ my mother was saying as she poured a mug of ale for me, ‘which is what we all want, I’m sure. She won’t have a fine house to live in now, I know, but—’

  ‘She can live with me for now.’

  ‘Yes, dear Gabriel, that’s all very fine and generous, but she’ll marry again, I’m quite sure, and there will be grandchildren.’ She shot me a sharp look. It was a perpetual disappointment to her that so far neither her two sons nor her daughter had provided a new baby for the ancient family crib. ‘You won’t want a gang of little ones at Rosewyke unless they are your own,’ she added pointedly.

  ‘We’ll see, Mother,’ I said mildly. Before she could continue, I said, ‘The ale was very welcome, thank you, and well up to your usual standard. Now, is Father about?’

  My mother took my empty mug and strode over to the big sink. ‘Out in the yard,’ she said. She sent me another look, one that said clearly, You haven’t heard the last of this, and turned away.

  My father was coming back from the orchard. He’d been talking to Nathaniel – I saw my elder brother’s unmistakable figure striding away – and now, seeing me, his face broke into a smile. I went to meet him.

  We covered the usual ground – how was Celia, it’d be good to put this wretched business behind us – and then he said, eyeing me shrewdly, ‘Just a social call, is it?’

  ‘Not entirely.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Father, I need to ask you about Grandfather Oldreive’s ironmongery collection.’