Together, we bow to the ladies.
‘We will join you in the entrance hall shortly,’ Lady Drake says. ‘I think we should make the most of the fine weather and walk along the Hoe while we can, do you not agree, Sir Philip?’ She looks at him from under her lashes, her hands folded demurely together.
‘As you wish, my lady,’ Sidney says, bowing again. Drake seems satisfied; these are the kind of proper, courtly manners his new wife expects, and he is pleased to have found an escort of sufficient quality to flatter her with the appropriate deference. Only I see the look in Sidney’s eyes. I hope Drake will not have cause to regret it.
The armed guard follows Drake and his precious bag down the stairs. I cannot help peering along the corridors and over my shoulder, alert to the slightest movement. If that book should fall into the wrong hands before I have a chance to look at it, I could never forgive myself, and it seems that someone here in Plymouth – more than one person, perhaps – wants it as much as I do. Even enough to kill for it, I have no doubt.
The sky is clearer over the harbour when we emerge on to the quayside, all of us walking together to see Drake and his brother into the boat that will row them back out to the Elizabeth Bonaventure. Patches of blue appear between banks of cloud, reflected in the water like fragments of coloured glass. The fishing boats rock gently at their moorings, accompanied by the constant slap of sailcloth and halyards in the breeze and the clanking of iron fixings. While Thomas Drake seeks out their oarsmen and Sir Francis bids farewell to his wife, I draw Sidney aside.
‘Can it be him?’
He looks at me. ‘Rowland Jenkes? I don’t see that it can be anyone else.’
I rub at the stubble along my jaw, remembering the book dealer I had encountered in Oxford, the man who had been nailed to a post for sedition and cut off his own ears to escape, who now made a living importing forbidden Catholic literature and would not hesitate to kill anyone who stood in his way. ‘We know he disappeared from Oxford before he could be caught. He had contacts with all the Catholic exiles in Paris and the French seminaries. If there were rumours of this book going missing from the Vatican library, they would reach Jenkes’s ears in no time. So to speak.’
Sidney grins, though his face quickly turns serious. ‘Does that mean he is in Plymouth, then?’
I shrug. ‘It sounds as if someone here is after that manuscript, and Robert Dunne was involved in some way. The two men Dunne was seen meeting – Jenkes could be one of them. Were they using him to steal the manuscript, do you think?’
‘Your man in black last night. Is it Jenkes?’
‘It could be. I was sure I had seen him before. We will have to watch our backs – if it is, he will want to revenge himself for Oxford.’
Sidney frowns. ‘In any case, that still makes no sense of Dunne’s death. Drake says no stranger would have been able to board the ship without the watchmen alerting the officers. He could only have been killed by someone on the Elizabeth – someone working with Jenkes, perhaps?’
‘But if Dunne was working for Jenkes—’
We are interrupted by a call from Drake; he and Thomas are already seated in the rowing boat, their armed escort poised at the prow, his eyes scanning the water.
‘I will send a boat for you later this afternoon,’ Drake calls. ‘Meanwhile, the ladies will be glad of your company.’
I raise my hand in a half-wave, half-salute, though I cannot keep my eyes from the leather satchel he clutches to his chest. For all their charms, I would gladly abandon the ladies to the mercies of the port for a few hours alone with that manuscript. Only one woman ever had the power to distract me from a book as important as the one I watch recede into the glittering distance, as the rowing boat pulls slowly out towards the harbour wall, and she is long gone.
‘You would rather be out to sea with the men, I think?’ Lady Arden’s voice startles me back to the present. I turn and she is beside me, disconcertingly close, a sly smile hovering over her lips.
‘Not at all,’ I say, attempting to mirror it. She laughs; a bright, unforced sound, and begins walking away from the quayside. I fall into step beside her.
‘You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings, you know. It is a wretched business, being a woman – you men always regard our company as inferior to that of your own sex, because you think we have no opinions worth hearing on politics or navigation or war or any of the topics you value. Until the night draws on and you have taken a few glasses of wine – only then do you find you can tolerate our presence.’
‘And have you?’
‘Have I what?’ She cocks her head to look at me.
‘Opinions worth hearing on politics and war?’
‘Oh, hundreds. And I shall tell you them all as we walk, before you have a chance to dismiss me as another flighty girl.’ She slips her hand through my arm.
‘I look forward to hearing them, my lady,’ I say, aware of the light pressure of her fingers on my sleeve. ‘I think any man who tried to dismiss you would do so at his peril.’
‘You learn quickly.’ She laughs again, and squeezes my arm tighter. ‘So – did you read the book?’
‘Which book?’ I am not sure how much Drake has told his wife about the manuscript. I do not want to be the one to alarm her.
Lady Arden gives me the sort of look a nurse would give a child. ‘Oh, come. The book Sir Francis thinks someone wants to steal from him. Lizzie guesses he must plan to sell it because he needs more money for the voyage. We are speculating that Sir Philip wants to buy it and that you are to make sure he gets a fair price.’
‘Do I look like a book dealer to you?’
‘Not a dealer. A scholar.’ She pauses, looks me up and down. ‘Or you did this morning. Before you fell in the water. Now you look more like …’ She considers Sidney’s clothes.
‘A dressed-up monkey?’
‘Like Sir Philip, I was going to say.’ She giggles. ‘Although perhaps there is not a great deal of difference.’
‘Well, I will consider that a compliment. And I did not fall in, by the way. I jumped, on purpose. Just to be clear.’
She smiles again. ‘Of course.’
As if to confirm the story, a chorus of shrill voices calls out from behind us. I turn to see the little boy I dragged out of the harbour that morning running up to me, barefoot, holding out what looks like a handful of leaves between his cupped hands. The larger boy, his brother, hangs back, sheepish, with a group of children of a similar age. When the small boy draws closer, I see that he is presenting me with a collection of strawberries.
‘For you, master.’ He proffers them, his face hopeful. A thin trail of snot runs from one nostril to his lip, but he can’t wipe it with his hands full, so he twists his tongue up to try and lick it away. I look at him and am struck by the thought that this child almost didn’t live to see the afternoon. His hair is still stiff with salt.
‘Thank you,’ I say, crouching to his height and making a basket of my hands for the fruit. ‘What is your name?’
‘Sam.’ He puffs his chest out and looks expectantly from me to the strawberries.
I sense that I am expected to sample his gift, so I rub the dirt off one and put it in my mouth. They are bullet-hard and not yet sweet, but I make a show of relishing it.
‘Sam, I think these are the best strawberries I have tasted in England.’
The child looks delighted. He wipes his nose on his sleeve