Treachery by S. J. Parris Read Free Book Online Page B

breaks off, as if thinking better of whatever he had been about to say. So this accounts for the subdued atmosphere among the men.
    ‘The how is more difficult,’ Drake says, and his brother reaches a hand out.
    ‘Francis—’
    ‘They may as well know the truth of it, Thomas, since we can go neither forward nor back until the business is resolved.’ He pours himself another drink and passes the decanter up the table.
    ‘Dunne was found hanged in his quarters,’ Drake continues. ‘You may imagine how this has affected the crew. They talk of omens, a curse on the voyage, God’s punishment. Sailors read the world as a book of prophecies, Doctor Bruno,’ he adds, turning to me, ‘and on every page they find evidence that the Fates are set against them. So a death such as this on board, before we have even cast off …’
    ‘Self-slaughter, then?’ Knollys interrupts, nodding sadly.
    ‘So it appeared. A crudely fashioned noose fastened to a ceiling hook.’
    ‘But you do not believe it.’ I finish the thought for him.
    Drake gives me a sharp look. ‘What makes you say that?’
    ‘I read it in your face, sir.’
    He considers me for a moment without speaking, as if trying to read me in return. ‘Interesting,’ he says, eventually. ‘Robert Dunne was a solid man. An experienced sailor.’
    ‘He was a deeply troubled man, Francis, we all know that,’ Knollys says.
    ‘He had heavy debts, certainly,’ Drake agrees, ‘but this voyage was supposed to remedy that. It would make no sense to die by his own hand before we set sail.’
    ‘A man may lose faith in himself,’ Sidney says.
    ‘In himself, perhaps, but not in his God. Dunne was devout, in the way of seafaring men. He would have regarded it as a grievous sin.’ Drake pauses, holding up a warning finger, and lowers his voice. ‘But here is my problem. I have allowed the men to believe his death was self-slaughter, as far as I can. They may talk of inviting curses and Dunne’s unburied soul plaguing the ship, but I had rather that for the present than any speculation on the alternative.’
    ‘You think someone killed him?’ Sidney’s eyes are so wide his brows threaten to disappear. Drake motions for him to keep his voice down.
    ‘I am certain of it. He did not have the face of a hanged man.’
    ‘So he was strung up after death, to look like suicide?’ I murmur. ‘How many people know of your suspicions?’
    ‘The only ones who saw the body were the man who found him, Jonas Solon, and my brother Thomas, who I sent for immediately. I also called the ship’s chaplain to ask his advice. He offered to say a prayer over the body, though he said there was little he could do for a suicide in terms of ritual.’
    ‘But no one else thought the body looked unusual? For a suicide by hanging, I mean?’
    ‘If they did, they said nothing. I only voiced my disquiet to Thomas in private later and he said he had thought the same.’ Drake takes a mouthful of wine. The strain of anxiety is plain in his face, though he is doing his best to conceal it.
    ‘Dunne did not show the signs of strangulation, though it was evident he had been hanging by the neck for some time,’ Thomas says, keeping his voice low. ‘The eyes were bloodshot and there was bruising around his nose and mouth. But he did not have the swollen features you would expect from choking.’
    ‘My first thought was to have him buried at sea that same day, to spare him the indignity of a suicide’s burial,’ Drake continues. ‘But Padre Pettifer, the chaplain, and my brother here talked me out of it – though the death happened aboard my ship, we are still in English waters and it would be folly to disregard the legal procedures. Besides, we could hardly keep it a secret. So I had him rowed ashore and handed over to the coroner. A messenger was dispatched to his wife the same day – Dunne was a Devon man, his family seat no more than a day’s ride away. The inquest will be held in three