Marbeck and the Privateers Read Online Free Page A

and went. Since he could hardly do both at once, he decided to watch the river rather than the entrance on the Strand. The Spaniards, he knew, generally used the water to get about rather than the streets, where hostile looks and even threats greeted them. The ambassador’s visit to the Fortune, which had meant a coach ride through the crowded suburbs of Holborn and Clerkenwell, was a rare exception. Perhaps de Tassis had merely wanted to see The Jew of Malta …
    At a sound from behind, he turned to see a boy stagger in bearing a stack of documents. Dropping them on the floor, he looked breathlessly at Marbeck. ‘Master Langton ordered these sent up, sir. They were in the cellar … it’s damp there – look at the mildew.’
    â€˜Langton … is that the steward’s name?’ Marbeck enquired.
    â€˜It is,’ the boy answered. ‘And you’re Blunt?’
    â€˜On occasion,’ he answered, but the jest fell flat.
    â€˜There’s a stair in the turret, along the hallway,’ the boy went on. ‘You can get down to the gardens that way. The boatman will take you where you want – his name’s Miller.’
    â€˜And what’s yours, young man?’ Marbeck enquired in an offhand tone. A pair of spectacles perched on his nose, he decided, might have helped him in his new role.
    â€˜I’m Miller too – Daniel,’ the boy answered. ‘The boatman’s my father …’ He grinned. ‘I’ll fetch and carry for a halfpenny, sir – bring whatever you need. Even, you know …’ He gave a broad wink that would have done justice to a player at the Fortune. ‘Company of a night, if you wish?’
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’ Marbeck assumed a frosty stare. ‘I hope you’re not referring to harlots, boy! I’m a scholar and a man of clean habits – you’d do well to remember that.’
    â€˜Ah … then ’tis I should beg pardon – sir .’ Daniel Miller’s grin disappeared. He hurried out, whereupon Marbeck set about examining the material he had brought. It didn’t take him long to ascertain that it was of no substance: copies of old letters and out-of-date reports, some black with mould. Cecil, he realized, could have ordered any loose papers sent to him merely to give his role more credence. Straightening up, he moved back to the window and sat, musing on the boy’s bold offer to provide women of the streets. The Secretary of State, he knew, would dismiss him in an instant if he learned of it.
    A movement caught his eye from the waterfront: a skiff was pulling in. He saw the boatman ship oars, grasp the post and heave his little craft to the stairs. A slight figure, well dressed and hatted against the sunlight, got up and clambered onto the jetty. He stood there for a moment looking about, then walked up the path towards the house. As he did so he glanced upwards; there was something familiar about him, Marbeck thought … then instinctively, he ducked away from the window.
    Simon Jewkes? With a frown, Marbeck stood up and moved across the room. Jewkes … the merchant with three hands, as he’d heard him described: two to do business with you, while the other rifled your pockets. What on earth could such a man be doing here?
    He decided he had better find out.
    At noon he took dinner in the kitchen with the servants, who paid him little attention. He was an outsider: a bookish fellow with a privileged position, and not one of their station. Daniel Miller avoided his eye, while Langton the steward, though an educated man, remained aloof. But after he had eaten, Marbeck made it his business to bump into him in the hallway. When he asked casually after the visitor who had arrived by boat, however, he was met by a blank stare.
    â€˜No such man has been here,’ Langton said.
    Meeting the other’s watery gaze, Marbeck raised his eyebrows. ‘Your pardon,