The Silent Woman (31 page)

‘You have a visitor,’ said the man.

‘At this hour?’

‘He waits below and is in some need.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Your father.’

Nicholas told him to calm the rest of the household then he went quickly downstairs with a candle to guide him. Robert Bracewell waited in the dark hallway, leaning against a wall for support. As the flame illumined the old man’s face, Nicholas saw the blood and the bruises. He reached out to support his father and helped him into the nearest room, closing the door behind them and lowering his visitor into a chair. He held the candle closer to examine the injuries more closely.

‘Who did this to you?’ he said.

‘Who do you think?’

‘Gideon Livermore?’

‘Two of his men came to see me this evening,’ said his father. ‘They asked me what I had said to you earlier today. When I told them it was none of their business, they set about me. This was a gentle warning, they said. If I even spoke to you again, they would deal more harshly with me.’

‘Stay here,’ said Nicholas.

He went to the kitchen to fetch a cloth and water. He then bathed his father’s face, wiping away most of the dried blood and exposing the bruises on temples and jaw. One eye was black and shining. Robert Bracewell’s faded apparel had been torn in the scuffle. Nicholas was touched. His father had shown bravery in defying the threat of his assailants. He had ridden through the night to report the attack and to give his son a weapon with which to strike back.

‘I was a witness to Matthew Whetcombe’s first will,’ he said. ‘It left everything to his wife.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘I’ve not made all this effort in order to tell lies.’

‘Was Livermore named in the will?’

‘Only as a minor beneficiary.’

‘The ship was left to Mary?’

‘Ship, house and the bulk of his estate.’

‘Would you swear to that in court, Father?’

‘If they let me live long enough to do so.’

On impulse, Nicholas hugged him with gratitude, but the old man pushed him away. Exhausted as he was, Robert Bracewell still had enough strength to shake with anger.

‘Keep away!’ he snarled. ‘This is all your doing!’

‘I am only trying to help.’

‘And what has your help brought me? The sight of a son I had hoped was dead and a fearsome beating. I did not want either. Go away and leave me alone.’

‘But I can protect you from Livermore.’

Pride flared. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘Of course, of course. Thank you for coming.’

‘I am not here for your benefit, Nick. I came only to help Mary – and to hit back at Gideon Livermore. No man can tell me what I can and cannot say. They may have driven me out of Barnstaple but I am still the master of my house.’

‘You must stay the night here,’ said Nicholas.

‘Never!’

‘But you are in no condition to travel.’

‘If I can ride all the way here, I can make the return journey just as well.’ He got to his feet. ‘It is an effort for me to stay under this roof. Matthew Whetcombe once drove me
out of this house. Its doors are barred against me. I would sooner sleep in the street than lay my head here.’

‘Father – wait!’

‘Stand aside.’

‘One word before you go. That first will …’

‘I have vouched for its contents.’

‘The document itself would be stronger testimony.’

‘Then find it. Matthew surely held on to a copy.’

‘I have searched everywhere in vain.’

‘You have looked in the wrong places.’

‘Which is the right one?’

‘The heart of Matthew Whetcombe.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘He was a merchant,’ said the old man. ‘He thought and felt like a merchant. Put yourself in his position and ask where you would hide a precious document.’ He tried to move to the door. ‘Now, out of my way.’

‘Let me come with you.’

‘No!’

‘But there may be danger.’

‘It is an old acquaintance and I have learnt to face it alone. I would never turn to you. My elder son is no longer alive. He died at sea. You are a poor counterfeit who merely bears his name.’ He walked past Nicholas. ‘I have done my duty to this house and I am free to go.’

‘All that way in the dead of night?’

‘I am needed there.’

‘That is no way for a man to live.’

‘It is my home.’

‘You and that old servant—’

‘Be silent!’

Robert Bracewell’s eyes blazed in the candlelight. Years of hatred and resentment on both sides were suddenly ignited. Father and son faced each other across a chasm of lost kinship and love. There was no hope of reconciliation. They had chosen an appropriate venue for the last time they were ever to see each other. Lying upstairs in the fore-chamber was the woman who had once come between them, and Robert Bracewell could never forgive her for that. But for her, he felt, his son would have married Katherine Hurrell and everything would have worked out much more satisfactorily. Nicholas took a different view of the Hurrell family. They had turned a father whom he respected into a man he loathed.

‘Let me show you out,’ said Nicholas.

‘I know my own way!’

‘We are very grateful to you for coming.’

The old man looked upwards. ‘I did it for others in this house. They deserved help. You do not.’

He opened the door and lurched out into the hallway. Nicholas went after him with the candle, but his father was already lifting the latch on the front door. Without a backward glance, Robert Bracewell let himself out into the street and tottered away. Nicholas had the feeling that something he had said inflicted a more serious wound on the old man than any collected in the attack.

After bolting the front door, Nicholas went up to the counting-house. He was fully awake now and ready to resume the search for the will. His father had given him a clue that had to be followed up at once, and it took Nicholas back to the chair in which Matthew Whetcombe had transacted his business. Nicholas gazed around the room once more and wondered where he would hide something
of great value. Robert Bracewell told him to look into the heart of the merchant, but the cold and unyielding Matthew Whetcombe had never seemed to possess one. He did not love the wife and child with whom he shared his life. He did not love his family and friends with anything approaching real passion. Could anybody or anything make its way into the heart of such a man?

Nicholas doubted it until his gaze drifted across to the painting. The
Mary
was the merchant’s true pride and joy. It was the summit of his achievement, the hallmark of its excellence. The
Mary
was a symbol of all that Matthew Whetcombe valued most in life. Nicholas got to his feet in excitement. His first thought was that the merchant had kept the document hidden away in a cabin aboard the ship, but that would expose it to all kinds of hazards. Even Matthew Whetcombe would not take such a risk as that. The
Mary
would guard his secret but not when she was afloat. He wanted a safer mooring for his will. It hung on the wall.

Lifting the painting off its hook, Nicholas laid it gently on the table with its face downwards. Strips of thin wood had been nailed across the back of the frame to hold the canvas in place. Additional laths had been tacked into position at the bottom of the frame and he soon saw why. Tucked neatly inside the wooden pouch was a parchment. As he began to tease it out with his fingers, Nicholas heard the door behind him open. Mary Whetcombe was standing there in her nightdress with a lighted candle in her hand.

‘What are you doing in here, Nick?’ she asked.

‘Searching for your salvation.’

‘I heard noises. Someone banging at the door.’

‘All will be explained in a moment.’

Nicholas tugged harder and the document came out of its hiding place. Unfolding it quickly, he held it up to the light before breaking into a quiet laugh of triumph. As his father had told him, the legitimate will of Matthew Whetcombe was a far cry from its putative successor. He passed it to Mary, who put her candle aside so that she could hold the document with both hands. She read it with gathering excitement. When she realised its full import, she let out a cry of utter relief and all but fainted. Nicholas steadied her and helped her into a chair.

‘How on earth did you find it?’ she asked.

‘With great patience.’

‘I cannot thank you enough. This changes everything.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘But this represents Matthew’s true wishes.’

‘That may well be, Mary,’ he said, ‘but we would have to prove that in court. The second will would make this invalid if it were to be upheld. What we have is absolute proof that Gideon Livermore and Barnard Sweete lied to us. This will bears no resemblance at all to the nuncupative version. We must use it wisely to expose them.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘I will show you.’

Early that morning, Nicholas Bracewell rowed out to the
Mary
. Its cargo had now been unloaded and it was awaiting a refit before embarking on another long voyage. A lone sailor had been left on board to keep watch. He was very suspicious when Nicholas tied up his boat and clambered aboard, but the sailor’s manner became deferential when his visitor showed him written proof that he had come on behalf
of Matthew Whetcombe. Nicholas had also brought keys to the private cabin, which was reserved for the owner of the vessel.

Envy fluttered as he stood on deck and took a closer look at the
Mary
. It was very like the ship in which he had served his apprenticeship, though that had been smaller and wholly confined to legitimate trade. It also reminded him of the
Golden Hind
on which he had sailed with Drake. That had been somewhat bigger but shared many of the features of the
Mary
. Both had two sheathings on the hull to strengthen it. They were built in the French style, well fitted out and furnished with good masts, tackle and double sails.

Like the
Golden Hind,
this vessel also had top-gallant sails for the main and fore masts, an unusual addition to the standard rig in a middling craft but one that gave them vital extra speed. The
Mary
had eighteen cast pieces, most of them demi-culverins, long-range nine-pound cannon. Nicholas suspected that the crew would also have arquebuses, calivers, pistols and fire-bombs to support their heavy guns, as well as an array of pikes, swords, bows and arrows. Sir Francis Drake would have been proud to command the
Mary
. She was a floating arsenal and ideal for privateering.

He took direction from the sailor then went below to find the cabin. When he let himself in, he found it small but well appointed. It had a low berth against the wall, a table and chair secured to the floor and some cupboards for storage. A lantern swung gently overhead. Nicholas felt another surge of envy. Like the merchant, he, too, would have kept a private cabin aboard and sailed in the
Mary
whenever he could. A love of the sea infused them both.

A porthole looked out on the river and showed him the
looming shadow of the Long Bridge. The plash of oars made him look in the other direction and he saw exactly what he had hoped. Gideon Livermore was being rowed out towards the ship by a brawny figure. He had stayed overnight in the town and been roused early by the servant whom he paid to keep an eye on activities in the Whetcombe household. Nicholas had told Mary to let it be known that they had found out that the document they sought was on board the
Mary
. The news spread quickly through the house and reached its intended destination. Livermore was closing in for the kill.

Nicholas used one of the keys he had brought to unlock a cupboard and take out a sheaf of papers. He waited until he heard the two men come aboard then he pretended to study the papers with great interest. It was not long before the door was flung open. Gideon Livermore regarded him with open hostility. His companion was a thickset man with a broken nose. Nicholas suspected that the latter might well have fired the crossbow bolt at him.

‘Where is it?’ demanded Livermore.

‘What?’

‘The will.’

‘You have it, sir. It is lodged with the lawyer.’

‘I speak of the first will. There in your hand.’

‘This is no longer valid.’

‘I wish to see it.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, thrusting the papers inside his jerkin. ‘You merely wish to destroy it.’

Gideon Livermore wasted no more time. He stood aside and his companion came charging in with a raised club in his hand. His brute strength was no match for the other’s agility.
As the man rushed at him, Nicholas dodged the blow, caught the thick wrist and swung the man against the oak bulwark with a terrifying thud. He collapsed in a heap on the floor and would take no further part in the proceedings.

Nicholas pulled Livermore into the cabin.

‘I have the message you sent to Adam Lamparde,’ he said. ‘Murder a girl, you told him. He obeyed. Now he lies dead himself. Your letter will send you to the gallows.’

Gideon Livermore went puce with fury. He would not let this intruder ruin all his well-laid plans. A knife came out from his belt and he jabbed it at Nicholas. The book holder moved swiftly but the blade sliced open his hand and blood spurted. He closed with Livermore and they grappled in the confined space, banging against the walls and tripping over the inert body on the floor.

Hearing the commotion, the watch on deck came running down to the cabin, but Nicholas ordered him to stand clear. The sailor would be a valuable witness to a fight between a crazed merchant and an unarmed man. Livermore was powerful and the thought of what he stood to lose gave him even greater energy. Nicholas was finding him hard to master. He needed more room to manoeuvre. Twisting Livermore off balance, he released his hold and pushed. The merchant stumbled back and gave Nicholas a precious moment to rush back up on deck.

Gideon Livermore came panting after him. They were in view of the quay now and there were other witnesses on the bridge, but that did not stop the merchant. All his plans could founder on this one man. As long as Nicholas Bracewell was alive, Livermore would never inherit the estate and seize Mary Whetcombe as an agreeable part of the booty. Most of
all, he would never take over the
Mary
herself. That was his dream. Gideon Livermore was a pirate trying to lay hold of a pirate ship. It was a fitting place in which to decide his fate.