The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy

by Alexandra Walsh

  Perdita held the ring out to Hannah.

  “Open it,” she said. “It’s your ring, you should be the first to see what it has been hiding for centuries.”

  Hannah’s eyes were wide but her hands were steady as she took the jewel and the steel scribe that Perdita proffered. She bit her lip in concentration as she slid open the golden cover at the base of the cavity.

  “Gently,” murmured Piper, leaning so far forward on her seat, Perdita thought she might topple on to the floor at any moment.

  “Oh,” whispered Hannah. “It’s beautiful.”

  Handing the ring back to Perdita, Piper moved in closer and the twins gazed on the portrait. It depicted a young woman in a Tudor headdress with her red hair showing across the front. Her eyes were blue and she had a sweet, innocent expression. The most fascinating detail, however, was the image of the silver locket that she wore around her neck. Above her head, were the initials CH and at the base was engraved the phrase: Semper Sorores.

  “The second ruby ring,” breathed Perdita. “Oh Granny, I wish you were here to see this.”

  “Take it,” said Hannah, her voice croaky but firm.

  “Hannah, this has been in your family for years,” said Piper. “You don’t want to make a hasty decision now that you might regret later.”

  “Take it,” she repeated. “Ever since I received the letter I’ve been uneasy and when your Alistair Mackensie contacted me, too, it freaked me out.”

  “We’ll pay you,” said Perdita.

  “OK,” said Hannah, chewing her lip. “How much?”

  “Name your price,” said Piper and Perdita winced. Hannah would sense their desperation in this comment and might change her mind. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and in a voice ringing with defiance said, “£5000 and it’s yours.”

  Perdita exchanged a glance with Piper — they had been prepared to go far higher.

  “Done,” said Perdita, “but we will need you to sign a receipt to say it’s legally ours.”

  “Anything, just get it away from me,” said Hannah. “I’ll find some paper and write you a letter saying I sold it to you willingly and you paid for it, all legal and above board.”

  Piper pulled out her tablet and logged into her bank account.

  “Give me your bank details and I’ll transfer the money now,” she said.

  The transaction was complete within ten minutes, although Hannah was in such a state she did not notice that Piper had added an extra zero to the end of her requested £5000. She had shown Perdita the amount before sending it and she had nodded. Both still felt they had secured the ring at a reasonable price.

  Perdita scribbled her and Alistair’s contact details on a piece of paper.

  “If anyone else contacts you or you’re worried about anything connected to the ring, call us immediately,” she said. “We’ll collect you from wherever you might be and take you to a place of safety.”

  “Who are you people?” she muttered, echoing her question from earlier.

  “No one special,” said Perdita.

  Hannah gave her an appraising look and glanced at the phone numbers Perdita had written down. She keyed one in and Perdita’s phone rang.

  “Just checking,” she said, then a stern expression flooded her face. “Now, please leave.”

  “Thank you, Hannah, and good luck with the Reiki,” said Perdita.

  “Goodbye,” called Piper and they stepped out into the cold winter morning as Hannah slammed the door behind them.

  Aware Hannah was watching from the window, Perdita linked arms with Piper and walked down the narrow lane.

  “Don’t react until we’re out of sight,” she whispered but their faces were wreathed in delighted grins. The moment they had rounded the corner and could no longer be seen from the cottage, Piper leapt into the air in excitement, then turned a cartwheel.

  “We’ve done it, Perds,” she exclaimed. “We’ve found the second ring!”

  Kit and Callum were parked at the end of the lane, laughing at Piper’s antic.

  “It’s good news then?” called Kit but as Perdita opened her mouth to answer, Kit’s phone rang.

  “Hey Dad,” he began, pulling a face, then his comical expression fell, “they’re here…” He beckoned Perdita and Piper over, putting Alastair on speaker phone.

  “Do you have the ring?” Alistair’s voice was urgent.

  “Yes, we…”

  “Hide them both somewhere about your person and don’t give them up to anyone.”

  “What…?”

  “There is no time to explain,” he snapped. “You are in great danger. A SWAT team with orders to kill you on sight is an hour away from Hannah White’s cottage…”

  But before he could say any more, the line went dead.

  “Drive,” said Kit, throwing open the car doors for Perdita and Piper to scramble into the back, while he leapt into the front. Callum was already gunning the engine and they were barely inside when he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sent up a huge spray of mud as he roared the car out of the lane.

  “Cal, stop!” screamed Piper.

  A black van had skidded to halt, blocking their only exit. Callum stamped on the brakes, missing the other vehicle by millimetres. Ten men, clad from head to foot in black, their faces covered, guns aloft, leapt out of the van, shouting instructions to each other, filling the air with the sound of threats and violence as they surrounded the car.

  Perdita, Piper, Kit and Callum exchanged panicked looks, then the four doors of the car were wrenched open simultaneously.

  Perdita shouted, “No!”

  She fought with all her might as two strong arms reached inside, intent on dragging her out. Piper was swearing and punching her assailant and in the front, Kit and Callum were doing the same, then a sweet smell filled the car and the man grappling with Perdita caught hold of her hair and tipped her head backwards. Screaming and shouting, struggling against his terrible grasp, Perdita felt a cloth being pushed over face. Writhing and twisting, she clawed at the man’s hands but she knew it was too late. Even as she fought, her limbs were growing heavy and no longer responding as blackness descended and she knew no more.

  Chapter Three

  Perdita’s head was pounding as she clawed her way back to consciousness. Despite her best efforts, her brain was sluggish, unresponsive, her limbs were heavy and her mouth was dry, with an unpleasant, sweet taste. Reaching out her hand, she felt soft blankets covering her and a smooth linen pillow beneath her cheek. Sitting up, she winced and paused while a wave of nausea passed. As her eyes swam into focus, she began to make sense of her surroundings. She was laying on a bed in a room that was small but luxurious. Someone had removed her muddy boots and they were placed side-by-side next to her rucksack, which was resting on the floor. Her jacket was on a coat hanger on the back of the door.

  “What the…?” she muttered. A jug of water was on the table beside the bed. Dipping her finger in it and tasting a tiny drop, she could not detect any strange tang that might indicate it was drugged or poisoned. Although she was desperate for a drink, she would not risk it, instead she fished around in her jeans pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Soaking it in the cold water, she held it to her forehead, trying to clear her head.

  Taking deep breaths, she pieced together the events of the morning, forcing herself to remember each detail — their flight from Andorra to Bodmin, the drive to Hannah’s cottage, finding the ring and persuading Hannah to sell it. The rings! Cold panic swept through her: did she still have the rings? Looking up, she ensured she was alone in the room before sliding her hand under her top to check they were safe. In their moment of panic, she had shoved the rings inside the only place she had hoped no one would search, in the lining of her bra. To her relief, they were still there, wedged into the padding which in turn stopped them digging into her skin. If they had remained where they were, despite the fact she must have been manhandled into this room, she decided it must be secure to leave th
em in their current hiding place.

  Beginning to feel more alert, she swung her legs off the bed and reached for her boots, only to find herself lurch backwards. At first she assumed it was as a result of sitting up too quickly or possibly the after-effects of the chloroform, but as she struggled upright again, she realised the room was moving and a row of round windows opposite the bed revealed the reason why.

  “No,” she whispered, horrified, as realisation of her current whereabouts hit her. Lacing up her boots, she pushed herself into a standing position and crossed the room in three strides.

  All she could see for miles around was water. Churning, grey waves and icy, torrential rain. Perdita felt cold terror envelope her and she began to tremble, whether with fear or anger she could not differentiate. She was on what appeared to be a powerful speed boat, considering the way it was slicing through the waves and throwing up spray, heading into the Bristol Channel, perhaps into the Celtic Sea, and it was nobody’s fault but her own for impulsively rushing to Hannah’s cottage. It would take very little effort to tip me overboard, she thought, and in this freezing water, I wouldn’t last more than a few minutes. Her heart pounded: was she about to become the next woman in her family to be murdered like her mother and grandmother?

  There is no way out, she thought. If I was in a car, I could scream to other drivers, I might be able to fight my way out but here, there is no hope.

  Piper’s face swam before hers, her laughter and cartwheels in the moments after they had bought the ring from Hannah, followed by Kit’s smiling face and Callum’s broad grin. Where were they? Were they somewhere on board?

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, she thought, this was all your idea and you’ve led the others into danger, you need to pull yourself together and find them. Maybe together we can think of a way out of this dire situation.

  With this flimsiest of plans in her mind, she wrenched her jacket from the coat hanger, pulled it on, then grabbed her rucksack. It was only as she spun around and hurried to the door, she realised it was probably locked. Gripping the handle, she turned it and to her amazement, it clicked open. With great caution she edged the door open, a little at a time, peering out to see if there was a guard blocking her way. Through the gap, she could not see anyone and hope flared in her again. Finally, the door was wide enough for her to creep out into the sitting room, but any false hope she had created for herself was crushed as a voice said: “Good afternoon, Dr Rivers. I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”

  Perdita tried to step back into the small bedroom as the true danger of her situation took hold but a tall man was behind her, blocking any chance of escape. She was standing in the main seating area of the boat and, sitting opposite her, drinking tea, as though this were an afternoon pleasure trip, was Stephen Haberfield.

  “Where are the others?” she hissed.

  “They are safe,” he said with an avuncular smile that made Perdita want to lash out and punch him, as anger replaced her fear. “I’m sorry our next meeting is under such difficult circumstances.”

  His remorse sounded genuine but Perdita was in such shock, she barely heard his words.

  “Get away from me,” she gasped.

  Stephen Haberfield did not move.

  “Gary, would you please fetch Dr Rivers a brandy — she’s in shock,” he said to the man behind her. “Ma’am, I see you are dressed for outside.” He nodded to her coat and rucksack. “If it makes you feel better, we can go on deck and discuss events. Not everyone can stomach being down below on a boat, although I’ve never suffered myself, or we can remain here where there is heating and comfortable seats.”

  Perdita stared at him, confusion, fear and anger battling each other as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

  “Where’s Piper?” she managed at last, dropping her rucksack.

  “In a launch that is a travelling a short distance behind us — would you like to see?”

  He pointed to the window at the back of the boat and beckoned her forward. Keeping as much distance between them as she could, she peered through the salt-encrusted window. In the distance was a vast, sleek, black speed boat, slicing through the waves.

  “Gary, get Mrs Davidson on the radio please, I can see Dr Rivers won’t relax until she knows her sister is safe,” instructed Haberfield.

  “Yes, sir,” said the tall man who had been hovering behind Perdita. He left the room.

  “Please, Dr Rivers, there is no need for you to worry about your belongings — no one here will steal them.”

  Perdita glared at him. Was he laughing at her? She had never felt so angry.

  “When you feel ready,” Haberfield continued, “we shall step through this door and go up a short flight of steps on to the bridge where you’ll be able to speak to your sister.”

  Perdita did not reply. She was so confused, she could not form words, but when Haberfield stood and did as he had described, leaving her alone in the beautifully appointed cabin, she decided to follow him, although she kept her bag and jacket with her like a safety blanket. He was speaking into a radio when she emerged. On seeing her, he smiled and handed her the mouthpiece.

  “Your sister,” he said and Perdita leapt towards the device with a sob.

  “Piper!”

  “Perdita!” came her sister’s voice. “Oh thank God, we thought, we thought…”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, Cal and I are here, but they’ve taken Kit. Where are you? They said you’re in the boat in front of us.”

  “I am,” she said. “But where’s Kit?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Say goodbye now,” said Haberfield and the line went dead as he took away the radio.

  “No,” screamed Perdita, clawing at him, but Gary Ashley stepped forward and caught her wrists.

  “Please don’t force us to use restraints, Dr Rivers,” he said. “Something my colleagues have unfortunately had to apply to Dr Mackensie in order to subdue him.”

  “What?” she shrieked, her fear for Kit overwhelming her. Now she knew Piper was safe, he was the next most important person and the thought he was in danger filled her with such intense terror she felt faint.

  Haberfield considered her for a moment as she struggled. Then he spoke, his voice soft but firm: “I understand that you have every reason to distrust me but, please believe me when I say, you have my word as an officer that neither you, your sister nor your companions will come to any harm,” he assured her and something about the weariness of his tone calmed her. “Gary, release Dr Rivers and fetch the brandy please, as I requested and, before you ask, the drink my colleague Mr Ashley is about to give you is neither poisoned nor drugged. In fact…” He took the glass and gulped a sizeable mouthful from it, then after wiping the rim of the glass clean, handed it to Perdita. She hesitated only a moment before downing the remaining contents of the glass, then coughed, her eyes streaming, before handing it back to Gary Ashley, who smothered the ghost of a grin.

  “The reason we have been forced to restrain Christopher Mackensie,” he said and Perdita’s befuddled brain took a moment to realise he meant Kit, “is because he was so determined to fight his way out of their boat in order to find you, we feared he would injure, not only himself, but other members of the crew. He has been sedated but the dosage given has been calculated to have worn off before we arrive at our final destination. I assure you; he will come to no harm. Now, shall we?”

  Stephen Haberfield indicated the stairs to the cabin and, because it took her away from the churning grey waves and the possibility that this still might be a trap, Perdita nodded and followed.

  The cabin was warm and comfortable with soft, butterscotch-coloured leather upholstery and polished wood. Perdita perched on the edge of a banquette. Haberfield stood opposite her and for a moment it struck her that he seemed to be waiting for something. After a slight hesitation, he sat down.

  “Dr Rivers, now that you have spoken to Mrs Davidson, do you believe that yo
ur sister and your friends are safe?” he asked.

  With great reluctance, she muttered, “Yes,” then added, “Why couldn’t we travel together?”

  “It is unwise to have you both in the same transport,” said Haberfield.

  “Both? What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a precaution,” he continued. “You will be reunited when we reach the end of our journey.”

  Perdita shuddered. Despite his reassurances, she did not trust this man.

  “And where are you taking us?”

  “To Mill Bay, near Milford Haven, where you will be collected and returned to Marquess House.”

  Although she heard the words and knew he had spoken them, her mind was having difficulty making sense of this bizarre situation.

  “I don’t believe you!” she snapped. “Last year, MI1 issued arrest warrants against myself, Piper and Kit Mackensie. You wanted to charge us with treason. Why would you deliver me safely to Marquess House?”

  “Well,” said Haberfield, “things have changed.”

  “What things? This is a trap, isn’t it? When we get to Pembrokeshire, your boss, Inigo Westbury is going to be waiting…”

  “Inigo Westbury is no longer a member of this unit,” said Haberfield, his voice laced with contempt. “He was relieved of his position a short time ago and no longer has any ties with MI1 Elite. The man was always unstable and the power of being in command of such a prestigious department fed his arrogance to such a level he believed he was above the law. No one has that privilege. He has left the employ of Her Majesty’s government. Unfortunately, he has joined forces with people whom we would rather not associate and has no doubt given them detailed and secret information. He is one of the most wanted men in Europe.”