Fear No More

blood.”

Master Drew was thoughtful. There was, in fact, only one clean wound. One small incision which would lead the blade directly into the heart. Master Drew had seen such wounds before and they were usually made by a swift thrust of a rapier-a gentleman’s weapon-and not the weapon favoured by cutthroats, footpads, and brigands of the London back streets.

“Did this young man have his own servant?”

“He did, sir,” replied Joseph with a tone of disapproval. “He brought with him from Ireland an outlandish sort of fellow who speaks a gentleman’s English, though accented and interspersed with his gibberish Irish tongue. In fact, he was the one who spotted the footpads that attacked Master Hatton, causing them to run off, before he brought his body into the house.”

Master Drew was surprised at this new intelligence.

“What is the man’s name?”

“He tells us that he is called Broder Power, from some town called Waterford.”

“Ask him to join me here.”

The footman looked as though he would raise an objection and then, meeting Master Drew’s steely gaze, inclined his head for a moment and went off to fulfil his task.

Master Drew took the opportunity of the servant’s absence to make a quick search of the bedroom. There was a small walnut writing bureau. Obviously Master Hatton had neither inclination nor time for letter writing for the interior showed no sign of recent usage.

There were clothes in the closet that spoke of good taste and quality. Henry Hatton certainly did not want for money to buy the best that master tailors could offer. He ruffled through the silks and satins. One cloak caused him to pause; it was a dark blue satin cloak that had a collar edged with pure white fur and black flecks and even the edging was of the same. Master Drew frowned. He recognised the fur as taken from one of the weasel family, prized for its tail of pure white fur and black tip. He grimaced and then closed the closet door.

An intricately worked walnut dresser contained articles of a toilet nature, with bottles of scents and fragrances that again spoke of good taste. Some drawers were filled with stockings and undergarments, all of good quality. He was about to turn away when he saw some something bright under some of the silk clothing. It was a small silver locket on a chain of similar metal. He took it out-inscribed on the silver was a shield and a motto. The shield displayed two bulls’ heads divided by a chevron from a third bull’s head. Master Drew knew the motto as French, as he had a little knowledge of the language. “Le plus heureux” — The most happy. He opened the locket.

There was room for two miniature portraits inside. The one on the left-hand side had been removed, but clumsily so, leaving tiny splinters of the wood base on which it had been painted.

The second portrait, on the right side, was still there. It was the features of the young man who currently lay dead on the bed before him.

Taking the locket in one hand, Master Drew went to the bedside and peered down. There was no doubt of it. This was a miniature of the young man who had met his end by a single thrust of a blade. The constable shook his head, closed the locket, pausing briefly to look at the arms again, and then, hearing a step outside the door, he placed it down on the side table.

There was a tap on the door and he bade the person who knocked enter.

Joseph, the footman, came in, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early twenties, with dark hair, fair skin, and the build and manner of a soldier rather than a servant.

“This is Broder Power, Master Drew,” said the liveried footman, indicating his distaste with a grimace.

“Then you may wait outside, Joseph,” Master Drew replied.

The footman hesitated and then shrugged and removed himself.

The young man who entered glanced at the body on the bed and his hand moved to touch his forehead. Then he realised Master Drew was watching and caught himself.

“I am not interested in your religion, Master Power,” the constable said immediately, realising that the man was about to make the sign of the Cross. “Though, out of curiosity, was your late master a Papist?”

“He was not, a dhuine usal … I mean, Your Honour. But no finer heretical gentleman have I served.”

Master Drew smiled.

“Then I would choose my words more carefully while you are in England at this time.”

Broder Power nodded quickly.

“It is hard to be indifferent in the presence of the dead, Your Honour.”

“I have a few questions for you. How long have you served Master Hatton?”

“Just over one year.”

“And you are from Ireland?”

“Master Hatton had an estate outside the city of Waterford, where I come from. I served in my lord the Earl of Clancarthy’s troops and after Lord Montjoy defeated us at Kinsale…” He shrugged. “Well, I was taken prisoner, but Master Hatton gave me my freedom if I served him faithfully.”

“Then you are a soldier, not a house servant?”

“A Dhia na bhfeart, a dhuine usail, it is so. Master Hatton hired me to guard his person but I have failed in that.”

“Why did he need a bodyguard?”

“He said he had enemies in high places and wanted to be sure that he had protection against an assassin’s knife.”

“Why were you not with him this evening?”

“He ordered it so.”

“Why did he come to London?”

“He told me that he had to fulfill that to which he was born.”

“When did he tell you this?”

“Two weeks ago. A messenger came to him in Waterford. I know not what news he brought. But Master Hatton said that we must sail to England forthwith and it took us time to get ship and sail to London. We arrived scarcely two days ago.”

Master Drew changed subject abruptly. “He used to wear a signet ring, I am told.”

“He did, a dhuine usail. I saw it many times.”

“Yet he is not wearing it now.”

Power took a step towards the bed and stared.

“By the powers, he is not.”

“Do you know what happened to it?”

“He was wearing it when he left here this afternoon.”

“And his sword?”

“I think the footpads fled with that. Also, he used to wear a Venetian stiletto on his left side. As I recall, he was not wearing that when I found the body.”

“Before we come to that, cast your memory back. What was on that signet ring? Can you recall its emblem?”

“Oh, that I can, a dhuine usail. I used to laugh at it, for Master Hatton was a young man of action and I would have thought he would have had some emblem depicting that. A fighting animal or bird-an eagle, a raven, a lion, or even a bull. No, the emblem he wore was that of a pelican.”

Master Drew let out a soft breath.

“A pelican, say you?”

“A white pearl pelican set against a ruby stone.”

“And his sword? Was there anything that distinguished it?”

“It was of fine workmanship. There were roses worked around the handle-guard and some Latin inscription on the blade. I can’t recall exactly what it was.”

“Tell me of the events of today. How was it that Master Hatton, being so afeared of assassination, told you to remain here and went abroad alone?”

Broder Power rubbed his jaw with his hand.