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.