‘All right, send him in.’
She opened the door again. ‘Theo, the Green Man will see you now.’ She gestured for him to enter as she stepped out.
Green Man stifled a chortle when the ‘young man’ appeared. He was well into his thirties and looked as if he’d crammed a lot of living into those years. Leathery skin and blunt nails suggested a lot of outdoor work, probably shifting heavy materials of some kind. There wasn’t much to love about the man’s face, but he had a vitality to him and the kind of thick hair that Green Man would have envied even before his card turned. Theo’s mutation had done something to his right leg, though exactly what was hidden under flared trousers that brushed the floor.
Green Man gestured to the only other chair in the room and Theo moved towards it awkwardly, swinging one leg forward and letting its weight drag the rest of him after. He gave a happy sigh as he flopped down into the leather.
‘I understand your grandmother used to work for the Palace.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But not recently?’
‘Nah, but she used to talk to me about it.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, when you put out the word to find out about that royal cunt – pardon my French.’
‘No pardon required in this case.’
‘Right. So I remember me nan used to work there and so I popped over and asked her about the old days.’ He leaned forward. ‘And she tells me that back in ’48, the Princess had this baby, right.’
Green Man nodded. ‘Yes, that sounds familiar. A stillborn boy as I recall. Terrible tragedy.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Except me nan says all them stories were lies. The baby was alive. She saw him.’
It was Green Man’s turn to lean forward. ‘But why pretend the child was dead? It makes no sense.’
Theo nodded, looking pleased. ‘That’s exactly what I said, boss. Anyway, she tells me that there was something up with the baby, and that’s why they got rid of him.’
‘Something up?’
‘Yeah, with his skin. It wasn’t right. She said it weren’t normal.’
On the outside, he appeared as calm as ever, but inside his thoughts were whirling. It could just be a skin condition, but what if it’s more? What if there was a joker prince? And what if they’d had him disposed of? The implications were staggering. If they’d killed a royal baby for the sake of appearances, it would send shockwaves around the world, and that was before the Green Man had arranged a very special revenge strike. And even that is nothing compared to what could happen if the child is still alive!
Before the change, his cheeks would have flushed with excitement, fuelled by a thundering heart. But Green Man never blushed, his features and his heart immovable.
‘Would your grandmother mind if I paid her a visit?’
‘Nah, she loves a good chat.’ Theo passed over a crumpled piece of paper. ‘That’s her address.’
Green Man took it, committed the details to memory, and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Thank you, Theo. Now tell me, is there anything I can do for you?’
The man looked down, embarrassed. ‘There is this one thing …’ Green Man sat back, knowing this game well. Theo was trying to seem coy, but he’d come here with this request in mind. ‘There’s this foreman. We call him, well, it don’t matter … I want some help with him.’
‘He’s causing you some trouble?’
‘Yeah. He’s always giving me the worst jobs and then pushing me about when nobody’s looking. I take it on the chin, y’know? But sometimes he blames me for stuff and they dock my pay, and I can’t have that. Money’s tight.’
‘Would you like us to have a word with this chap on your behalf?’
‘That’d be great. Nothing heavy, I just want to be able to do my shift in peace.’
‘Send me a rota with his times on it and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thanks, boss.’
Green Man stood and shook his hand. ‘Thank you, Theo.’
Alan spoke softly into his phone. ‘I’m sorry, Sebastian. Truly. I’m so sorry I had to cancel our lunch yesterday – I was looking forward to it. And I apologize for not getting home last night, but. Given the King’s gaffe, resentments have sparked throughout the city. Now there are multiple forces moving against Henry …’
As Turing said the words, Richard shifted beneath the covers, his hand tracing small, wicked circles in very distracting regions. Forces moving? Richard mouthed, and Turing shook his head, firmly, only to be further ignored. He took a quick, steadying breath and continued.
‘… I’m going to be here all night, I’m afraid, working with some of the MI5 chaps. Just put the telly on, maybe that baking show you like? That’ll give you something pleasant to fall asleep to. Yes, yes – tomorrow, lunch, I promise. Why don’t you make us reservations somewhere nice? Or I can do it – no, of course I don’t mind. I’ll go online right now and set it up; I’ll text you the details in the morning. But make sure you get some sleep; you’ll be an absolute bear at lunch if you haven’t had your rest.’
Roar! Richard mouthed, making claws out of his fingers.
Shut up! Alan mouthed back. Could you say that to your king-to-be? Apparently, because Richard was laughing now, silently, thank all the gods. Laughing and gesturing to Alan to hang up. Hang up!
‘I really have to get back to work now. Sleep well, husband.’ He hesitated, and then added, ‘I love you.’ The truth was, Alan had never really been comfortable saying that sort of thing out loud, but Sebastian needed to hear those words every day. He’d even made Alan put in their wedding vows that they were not to let a day go by without saying, I love you.
He’d be lost without Sebastian. Alan just didn’t see why he couldn’t have Richard too. When vast amounts of property – actual kingdoms – were involved, then certainly it mattered who was spending time in whose bed, and what children resulted from it. But once you stopped worrying about which man had sired which baby, there was no good reason for cleaving only unto one other. Monogamy wasn’t logical; the heart wanted what it wanted.
All right, maybe his heart wasn’t the driving force here. Alan hung up the phone, finally, and reached for Richard, his dick already hardening – only to have the Prince slip away, laughing out loud.
‘Oh no, no, my lovely metal man. I want more from you tonight. You’re the smartest man in the world, and I – I should be king. How can we take the throne from my brother?’
It was a difficult problem. The simplest method, of course, would be to kill Henry. Turing had ordered his share of deaths as a member of the Silver Helix, but killing a king carried tremendous risk. Was Richard truly willing to take that step, to commit fratricide? There was little love lost between the brothers, but murder was surely extreme. Could Turing condone such a thing, assist with it, if Richard asked it of him?
Thankfully, he hadn’t asked it. Not yet. And there might be other options than murder. A sufficiently large scandal would force Henry from the throne. They had seen it with Edward VIII, after all: the country could not abide divorcée Wallis Simpson as queen, and so Edward had abdicated. There was precedent. The problem would be creating the scandal, as quickly as possible. Henry was still new to his throne, uncertain of his place. It would be far harder to unseat him once his buttocks were firmly planted on that royal seat.
‘Let me think about it, Dickie. There may be a way.’
Richard seemed ready to protest, to press for more – but then he subsided. He had, after all, seen Alan work on other problems before; he had some small understanding of the process. He murmured only, ‘Soon, Alan. Calculate quickly.’ And then he was sliding down the bed, disappearing under the covers. For a little while, Alan stopped thinking at all.
‘Bobbin,’ Constance began. They’d let the staff go home early and were closing up.
‘What is it?’ he replied. His smile was warm and kind. The patches of colour on his face – faded now – were as familia
r to her as the constellation of freckles on her arms. Those freckles hadn’t been there when she was younger – age had left them in its passing. And age had left the gold rimming his eyes, eyes that crinkled even when he wasn’t smiling.
‘I need to tell you a few things,’ she began. She drew the curtains across the front windows and went around the room shutting the atelier down for the evening. ‘You should sit down,’ she said.
‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘But, do you want to go out to dinner tonight? I know you’re fond of the pies at Barley Swine.’
‘No.’ She sat down in one of the grey velvet, Danish-style armchairs arranged around the low catwalk where they often showed their pieces. He pulled one of the chairs around and faced her.
A queasy feeling settled in her stomach. Suddenly, it seemed like a terrible idea to tell him, but she knew she couldn’t keep her secret any longer.
‘What is it?’ Bobbin asked. ‘Something awful?’ He laughed and leaned forward. ‘Don’t be afraid. I don’t scare easily.’
It suddenly felt very warm and Constance peeled her cardigan off.
‘A long time ago,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘there were three of us friends.’
The memory was crisp and clean. It seemed as if the older she got the easier her youth was to recall.
‘Glory and I had another best mate when we was – were – growin’ up. Her name was Frances. She became famous, but not like Glory and me. She became famous because she was married to Reggie Kray.’
‘One of the Kray brothers?’ A shocked and slightly thrilled expression bloomed on his face. ‘The gangsters who ran the East End? Those Krays?’
Constance nodded. ‘What most people don’t know is that his brother, Ronnie, was an ace. He was also barking mad, and that made him having such a power worse. There’s not much to be done about an ace who is insane. Or even one a bit touched. And Ronnie wasn’t just a little touched.’
Constance rolled up her left sleeve. It had been almost fifty years, but the scars still hadn’t disappeared. They’d turned a silvery white, as if spider webs had been carved in her flesh, but they were still deep, the skin puckering around them. She held her arm out where he could see it. He let out a low whistle and reached to touch her, but she shrank away. The memory of what had created those scars, a terrible phantom pain, flared.
‘See, Ronnie’s ace was in his touch,’ she continued, rolling her sleeve back down quickly, fastening the button at the cuff. ‘If he thought about it, he could slice someone open all razor-like.’ It made her stomach flip again just to talk about it. She tried to make it sound matter-of-fact, but her voice betrayed her.
‘You might have told me that Ronnie Kray had taken it upon himself to carve you up,’ Bobbin said, reaching out to take her hand. She pulled it away. ‘There was no reason not to tell me. You can tell me anything.’
She cocked her head to one side, considering him. She knew him so well, yet she couldn’t be certain how he would react. There was only one thing to do and it was to get across this heavy ground as lightly as possible.
‘Bobbin, I killed Ronnie Kray. Well, Glory and I did.’
He stared at her, shocked. Well, what did you expect? she thought. Silence stretched out between them. It felt as if she was looking at him from the wrong end of a telescope.
‘But … Reggie Kray went to prison for killing Ronnie,’ he said at last. She stopped feeling as if he was moving away from her. At least he was still talking.
‘I know,’ she replied with a sigh of relief. ‘It wasn’t an easy thing to sort out.’
His face scrunched up. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘How did it happen?’
‘I was trying to get away from them and Glory was trying to help me.’ The memories of killing Ronnie rose up with terrible freshness.
‘Ronnie found us. He tried to kill us. Sliced Glory’s flowers clean off. Tried to cut me up again.’ She remembered Glory’s slippery blood on the floor smelling like copper mixed with the scent of her shorn flowers.
Constance pulled her shears out of her pocket. They were her special ones. ‘I used these,’ she said, holding them out flat on her palm.
He gazed at them as if they were going to bite, then he looked back up at her. ‘Why do ya still have those?’
The shears teetered and she closed her hand around them and then slid them back into her pocket. ‘Because … because I didn’t want to forget. Didn’t want to take anything for granted.’
‘You were just about a girl, how could you cover up something like that?’ he asked, frowning. ‘How did it get pinned on Reggie?’
This was where it was going to get tricky. She knew she had to tell him, but she was loath to. Maybe if he just had part of it now – the worst part – maybe the other … that could be put off.
‘It was Mick who helped us,’ she replied smoothly. ‘See, he and Glory, well, they’d always been sweet on one another …’
Bobbin waved his hand. ‘Yes, yes, everyone knew about that.’
She laughed. Bobbin had never been one for scandals.
‘Mick knew a lot of people. A lot of people who were interested in him … like MI7.’
Bobbin burst out laughing. ‘Mick Jagger? In MI7? Were they completely daft?’
‘It was a different time, Bobbin. They were trying to recruit people. Mick was famous. They wanted a sort of counter-culture face while they were recruiting.’
‘Seriously?’ Wonder bloomed on his face. ‘Mick Jagger.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, we all know he isn’t part of MI7 … unless … Is he? No, and how would you know anyway?’ He chuckled.
‘I called Mick after Glory and I, well, after. Glory was hurt badly. I thought he could get us out of the country. The Stones were going on tour … He called MI7 to make a deal with them. They would help cover up the murder, help us get out of the country and he would join them.’
‘Well, obviously, that didn’t happen.’ Bobbin looked perplexed. He rubbed his palms on his trousers and left little rips from his needle protrusions.
‘We worked things out with them and I got to stay here and Glory went on to the States with Mick.’
‘And you got to stay …’ His tone was thoughtful.
She smiled. He was taking it remarkably well.
‘And then you started making clothes for Her Majesty. Do I have the right of it?’
‘Yes!’
‘And you were working for MI7 then, weren’t you?’ he asked. ‘Making clothes … For MI7.’
‘Yes.’ She wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
‘MI7 is for aces. They let Mick get away because they had you. That was the deal you made.’ She recoiled from the expression on his face.
‘I … I … It was the only thing to do! Glory got to be safe. She had Mick to take care of her. Reg went to jail. And all because I went to work for them.’
‘So, you’re an ace, then.’ He said it with a flat voice.
‘Yes,’ she replied shakily. ‘My clothes …’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I should have known. Should’ve realized. You making her clothes all the time. Henry wanting you to make his clothes. Being so intent on it. Must be an awfully powerful ace.’
‘No,’ she said softly, shaking her head.
‘Don’t lie to me,’ he snapped back. ‘You been lying enough.’
‘I haven’t been lying! I couldn’t tell anyone!’ That he would think she’d been lying to him wounded her.
‘You’re an ace. Working a shop full of jokers. Working with me for forty years and ya never told me. Never told me we were alike. Both of us infected. And working for MI7 …’ He shook his head. When he looked at her again, it was with disgust.
‘What exactly would you have had me do?’ she asked. She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice. She had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. She’d saved all of them and protected the Queen for decades. He had no right to judge her.
‘You had forty years to tell me the t
ruth!’ he yelled. ‘I thought I knew you!’
‘Well, I’ve told you now.’ It sounded weak even to her ears.
‘Because you had to.’ It was an accusation.
‘No,’ she said, reaching out to him. He recoiled. ‘Because I wanted to. Because …’
‘I don’t care,’ he said, suddenly weary, slumping in his chair. ‘You hid yourself from me. You pretended to be something you’re not. I don’t know who you are. I’m not certain I want to know you.’
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m me. You know me.’
‘No, Constance, I don’t. You’ve killed a man – one that needed killing – but even so. And you’ve been working for MI7, as dirty an organization as there is. And you’re an ace. How pathetic you must have thought I was with my needled hands and piebald face.’
She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hip. ‘I’ve never thought ya were anything other than a fine man, Bobbin, and well you know it.’
He looked up at her and shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he said, with a hitch in his voice that was almost worse than when he was angry. ‘If ya had thought I was a fine man, ya woulda told me.’
It felt as if she’d been hit in the chest with a rounders ball. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice high and jittery. She took a step towards him, but he backed away. The pain in her chest grew. She wondered if she was having a heart attack.
‘Bobbin,’ she said, her voice cracking now. ‘Bobbin …’
But he’d already spun on his heel and was striding out of the door far faster than his usual gait. A cold burst of wind blew through the door as it swung shut.
He’d left his hat and jacket behind. She stared at the closed door with fear. It was just as she’d expected. She’d lost him. Staggering to a chair, she sat down, doubled over, and hugged her chest.
It hurt worse than anything she could have imagined, but she knew with sudden clarity it wasn’t a heart attack at all. This was what it felt like when your heart was broken.
And then she started crying.
The man sat nervously with his face to the wall, exactly as he’d been instructed. She watched him from a crow, but stood around a corner. Other crows were waiting to peck him to death if he attempted to run around and look her in the face. But she doubted it. The goddess had used hundreds like him over the years.
Three Kings Page 7
