Martin Marbeck 01 Marbeck and the Double-Dealer by John Pilkington

Author:John Pilkington [Pilkington, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

Ottone had taken his own life; at least that was Prout’s first thought. But Marbeck knew that he hadn’t.

‘It looks utterly wrong,’ he insisted. ‘No one could have made a cut like that – not even a skilled rapier-and-dagger man like Ottone. It was done from behind – by the same person, I expect, who laid him on the bed and placed the knife in his hand. It’s murder.’ He thought for a moment. ‘By the hand of someone he knew, I’d say – the killer locked the door when he left.’

Prout glowered at him. They were standing in Gracious Street, outside the fencing hall. On his orders, the soldiers had remained inside, but for the moment the messenger seemed at a loss. He looked more shaken than Marbeck had ever seen him. Then it struck him: Prout simply looked old. Finally, he said: ‘I’ll make my report. But now we’ll get rid of the body and clear up, before the constables of Bridge Ward get to hear about it. Whether suicide or murder, there’d be an inquest, and we don’t want that.’ He shrugged. ‘Ottone will just have to disappear.’

‘I’d like to ask something of you, Prout,’ Marbeck said.

The other gave him a bleak look.

‘Someone should tell Ottone’s wife. Will you let me do it? Master Secretary would agree, I’m certain.’

He expected resistance, but instead the messenger seemed relieved. ‘Go to her, then,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Margaret – English, not Italian. But have a story ready. She won’t be able to claim the body, or even see it . . .’ He broke off, finding his own words distasteful. He was a devout man. With a nod, Marbeck left him.

He walked along Fenchurch Street to Allhallows, then turned into Mark Lane, with the Tower looming over the rooftops. It was not yet late, and people were about. Having been directed to the house of the fencing master, he knocked. Soon the door was flung open, and an anxious face appeared.

‘Mistress Ottone?’ Marbeck bent his head; she was small and barely reached his shoulder. ‘I’m John Sands, a friend of your husband. I have some news. Might I come in?’

At once Margaret Ottone’s hand went to her mouth. ‘What’s become of him?’ she demanded. ‘There was another here, asking questions. Tell me, quickly.’

‘I will,’ Marbeck said. ‘But indoors, if you please.’

She hesitated, then turned about. He followed her inside, closing the door. He was in a comfortable, well-appointed room. On the wall was a crucifix, and beside it a splendid sword: silver-hilted and chased with gold. A prize, perhaps; too good for use in the fencing hall.

‘He’s left me, hasn’t he?’ she said at once, her face taut. ‘I knew he would; indeed, it’s as if he had done so already!’

She stood facing him, hands clasped. She wore a black gown with a high neck, her hair pinned up and covered. She was younger than Marbeck had expected – a good deal younger than her husband. He regarded her calmly; just now, feelings were a hindrance that must be set aside.

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