Sally cautioned him, “Mostly?”
“Aye, lass, mostly,” Patrick shot his wife a guilty look.
Alex sensed they could gleam something more from their local knowledge and wanted to pursue this further, “Cate, can you show them the letter on your computer?” He turned to the husband and wife, “Was there a public bath in Ath Dara?”
“I never heard of one, why?”
Cate found a spot on the crowded table and swung her laptop so it was facing Alex, and he read out loud from the screen, “I ask, because there was something I could never quite understand. It says, My Bertie came to Dara’s to see his boy washed, and we always thought she was referring to some kind of bathhouse.”
“Now that’s where you have it wrong again. It’s not any kind of public bath, it’s another local saying. Around these parts we call it washing, when the priest is putting the wee ones in water to be cleansed by God’s Holy grace. Her husband, her Bertie as she calls him, came to Ath Dara to see his son baptized.”
Alex was not expecting that answer, and his eyes opened wide in shock, locking on Sally, as he sat there silent, running through the huge implications of what she had said. Then he spoke, “Where would they have been baptized?”
“Were they God-fearing Catholics?”
“No, definitely not. They were protestant, Church of England.”
“Well, the only place for that kind of baptism in Adare back then would have been the Augustinian Priory.”
Alex’s head was spinning and he leapt to his feet, excited and unsure of exactly what to do next.
Patrick couldn’t understand why Alex had gotten up from the table so fast, “You don’t like my wife’s breakfast?”
“No. I mean, yes. It’s wonderful. But...Cate, Eddie - I need to speak to you outside. Right away.”
Without waiting for a reply, he hustled for the door and pushed through into the sunshine. Seconds later, Cate and Eddie joined him.
“What is it? Why did you leave the table like that?” asked Cate.
Alex was breathless as he answered, “There may be a way we can end this and go home.”
She stared at Alex, “Go home? What? How?”
The excited professor swung his gaze to Eddie, “It’s up to you. It would put you in an impossible position.”
“After this past week that’s going to be my new middle name, Eddie Impossible York. What are you thinking?”
“If we can locate the baptism record, it will not only prove the birth of a son to Albert and Mary, but it would also document their legal marriage status. We take that, along with the photocopy of the marriage certificate we were given at Thaxted church, and I’m sure the vicar will testify to its authenticity because he made it for us, and we go public with it. Then they can’t touch us. Once the truth is out, it will be too late.”
“And what do I have to do?” asked Eddie.
“Everything will come down on your head. You’ll be in the middle of a legal nightmare which could continue for years. And you may remain a target during that time.”
“Like they’ll still try to kill me?”
“Yes, and they will make it look like an accident. A car wreck or a drowning, or something similar. Maybe even poison, like Queen Victoria is thought to have given her grandson, and then told everyone he died suddenly from influenza.”
Eddie fell silent, before looking up at his two friends, “But you guys will be safe?”
“We will, if we can find the proof and give it to the press. You won’t.”
“And this baptism thing is that important?”
“Eddie, it would prove, beyond any shadow of doubt, that you are the rightful, legal monarch and ruler of Great Britain and all the Commonwealth territories.”
“Shit!” The reality of this was hitting Eddie hard. Until now it had seemed so far-fetched, so distant, and their struggle to survive had blocked any consideration of this actually coming about, “If that happened and it all worked out, could I do things? Would I have any real powers?”
“Like flying?” joked Cate.
“No, stupid. I mean what can a...,” he hesitated to say the word, “King do these days?”
“A lot.” Alex spoke slowly so Eddie would understand, “Just like our President in the United States, The Crown is designated as the Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces. The King or Queen’s army has bases all over the world. And the monarchy is part of the checks and balances of government; Britain’s Prime Minister reports to the throne every week and can’t proceed on bills or laws without first seeking formal Royal permission. Plus, the United Kingdom has the third largest nuclear arsenal on the planet with over 400 warheads and four ballistic missile submarines.”
Eddie was stunned at the far-reaching implications, “This is a lot to take in. I’m going to have to read up on it to learn where I’m from. Could I borrow your books?”
It was Cate’s turn to be surprised, “Don’t books creep you out?”
“Newsflash. Compared with Jack the Ripper and the psycho MI6 dude, books are the last thing that are creepy. You know, I always felt sorry for myself. Parents dead, kicked out of school, locked up in Juvie Hall, but these last few days I’ve seen people so much more worse off than me, sleeping in parks and bus shelters and shit. And no one does anything about it; there’s nobody to give them a chance at getting a job or finding them a place to live. You said all my family before me did things to help people, like they were firemen, policemen, and even my own dad was a soldier. He was a good guy, he died saving his friends. So maybe it’s my turn. Maybe I can save my friends and even help change things a little if this goes down right. I say, let’s do it. Let’s go and find the proof.”
Sally and Patrick gave Alex directions as he sat uneasily in the driver’s seat of the Vauxhall parked in the long, unpaved driveway leading to the farmhouse.
“You don’t seem comfortable,” noted Patrick.
“I’m not. I’m only doing this because Cate’s navigating. To be honest with you, it’s been quite some time since I’ve been behind the wheel, and I’ve never driven on this side of the road before,” answered Alex. “Eddie’s been doing all the driving. He enjoys it.”
“Then why isn’t the lad doing it today?”
“The lad can hear you,” laughed Eddie. “I have to miss out this morning because I’m stuck reading. I have a lot of studying to do to catch up with these two,” he gestured to Cate and Alex.
Patrick’s expression showed how strange he thought it was, a seventeen-year-old boy turning down the chance to drive a sporty SUV, and instead reluctantly coop himself up in the back seat with a bunch of books and notes. He tried to put it out of his mind and concentrate on helping Alex, “Most of the abbey’s records are kept at the post office.”
“Not the town hall?”
Sally grinned at Alex’s question, “The post office is the town hall! It’s also where we can get our passports, driving licenses, pay our electric bills, and lucky couples go there so they can file their wedding certificates. Adare is a tiny village, mostly hotels, pubs, and souvenir shops for the tourists.”
Patrick was still concerned, “Are you sure you don’t want me and my boys to come with you?”
“No, it’s best you don’t. But thank you for your hospitality and everything you’ve done for us.”
“And you give me a kiss, young Caitlin. Promise you won’t make it so long next time. I wish you would stay on. One night was not enough. You said it would be more.”
“We hoped it would longer too. But we have to keep moving. Perhaps another time.” She exchanged a grateful kiss through the rolled-down window with Sally, and as Alex pulled cautiously away, she waved sadly back at the O’Gradys who stood watching them leave.
The car disappeared from sight as it wound between the tall hedgerows, obscuring the view, and Patrick threw his arm around his beloved wife and they started back toward their farmhouse.
“Something wasn’t right in Caitlin’s voice when
she said goodbye. She seemed sad, not excited to be back here on holiday,” said Sally.
“I picked up on that as well,” agreed Patrick. “And I didn’t like the way she said they had to keep moving.”
“And I overheard the professor last night telling little Caitlin the same kind of thing, that they couldn’t stop until they found somewhere safe to be. As if it was dangerous just being here.”
As they reached their door, the sound of a helicopter echoed off the old stone walls and they turned to see a black chopper moving slowly southbound, about a mile away from them.
“Now that is strange,” said Patrick. “Unless there’s an accident on the motorway, what is one of them whirlybirds doing up around here this time of day?”
Sally shook her head in puzzlement.
“I’m going to make some calls.” Patrick pushed inside, heading straight for the phone.
The fugitives’ SUV headed south on the M7 at a painfully slow pace as Alex attempted to get used to driving on the wrong side. Neither the driver nor the two passengers noticed the helicopter following behind, matching their speed.
Adare lived up to the description Sally had given it, and it was easy to understand why it was known as the prettiest village in all of Ireland. It was as if a child’s fantasy had exploded around them as thatched roofs, whitewashed walls, brightly painted, undersized doors and colorful wooden window shutters were everywhere.
Eddie glanced up from his books, “Are we still in Ireland or did we just arrive in the land of the Hobbits?”
“That’s what I was thinking. I can’t believe I’ve been to County Limerick twice before but never been here,” said Cate. “It’s beautiful.”
“Hopefully we can sightsee when all this is behind us.” Alex focused them firmly back on reality, “But first we have to find out where the post office is and try to locate those records.”
He cautiously pulled over to the cobbled sidewalk and quickly received directions from a helpful villager.
“He said we can’t miss it. Straight down this street on the left. Look for the little building with the bright green door next to the Pat Collins pub with the tables out front.”
Cate smiled at Alex and started to speak, but he shut her down, “No, we don’t have time for a drink. We have to do what we came here for first. This could be it.” Alex tried to contain his excitement, but it was readily apparent in his voice.
In less than a minute they were stopped outside the little post office. All three fell speechless at the sight in front of them.
Eddie broke the silence with a laugh, “They weren’t kidding it’s green. Green door, green windows, green sign. And what would you call that green? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Ummm,” Cate had to think, “It’s like something out of the Wizard of Oz. Maybe lime green?”
“On steroids.”
“They call it shamrock green.” Alex brought the guessing game to a close, “A very appropriate name for Ireland. And I have to admit, it’s an incredibly vibrant shade.”
“I’m coming in with you,” said Eddie. “I’ve gone through my crazy family tree twice, and just about got it memorized. I’ll finish the rest of my reading later. I want to see if this place is as green on the inside, too.”
They climbed out of their car, so distracted by the unique coloring that they failed to notice the familiar stretched silver Ford Transit, parking across the street, sixty feet behind them on Blackabbey Road.
Concealed within the van, Colin made his first demand of the technicians, “I need audio from those three, now.”
“Sir, I can get it for you as long as they remain outside on the street, but once they’re inside a building, we’ll lose it entirely. Without a bug planted, the old stone walls around here are too thick.”
“Damn it. We know they’re not going in there to buy stamps for a postcard. Can we get someone inside with a listening device?”
“It’s a tiny shop, sir. We have a tracker on the girl, but trying to put a microphone and transmitter in such a small space in full sight of the targets already there, is risky at best. It could blow our invisible tail.”
“Figures. Ask you to do something a little more difficult and you can’t pull it off.”
Colin sensed Simon’s condemning gaze at the way he was talking down to his men and tried to put his frustrations to the side, “Okay, what can you do?”
“Let me get agents in place at a table at the pub next to the post office. They’ll have a device on them. Between their mic and our listening capabilities in the van, we’ll hear everything they say outside. And we’ll put a second tracker on the car and make it impossible to lose them.”
“Do it. And let’s hope they talk when they come back out.”
The post office was one half of a converted house, and the postmaster saved himself any commuting worries by living upstairs. He greeted his visitors with the big smile which seemed standard in this part of the world, “Good afternoon. What can I do for the three of you?”
“We’re looking for records from the abbey. I understand you have them here?”
“Indeed we do, or at least, most of them,” said the postmaster. “The Black Abbey, as we call it round here, is a little too damp to store their important papers. When they built it in 1316 for the Friars, they weren’t concerned about keeping out the mold like we are these days. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Baptism records. Ideally from 1891 or very early 1892. The parents would have been Mary Kelly and Albert Wettin.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard to find. I’ll go back and look right now.” He caught Cate’s eyes, “Be a love. It’s quiet today, but if anyone comes in can you ring this for me?” He pointed to the little bell on the counter, “If I hear it, I’ll hurry back out.”
“Will do,” agreed Cate. With that, the postmaster disappeared into one of the storage rooms behind him.
He was gone less than ten minutes and reappeared carrying four small books. “Here we go, and to save me doing anymore searching around, I brought you all these. They cover every Church of England baptism in Adare from 1890 to 1893. There’s not many, because most of the folks around here are good Catholics, like me, so Christian and Anglican baptisms are a lot rarer. But take a look and see what you can find.” He laid the books on the counter and turned back to sorting through today’s mail and slipping the envelopes into the PO Boxes on the wall.
Cate took the records for 1890, and Alex began with 1891. As he flipped through the pages, he saw the postmaster had been correct, there were only fourteen Anglican baptisms for the entire year, and almost immediately found the one he was looking for.
“I have it!” He didn’t mean to yell, but his excitement was hard to conceal. In seconds, both Cate and Eddie were staring over his shoulder at the records transporting them back to the fading years of the nineteenth century.
“It’s right here. Mary’s name, Albert’s name, the baby’s name, the priest’s name. Their signatures. The date. Their marriage status. Even the Holy Seal of the abbey. It’s everything we needed.”
Alex’s excitement was so contagious, the postmaster leaned over the counter to see the entry in the open book, “I’ll be buggered,” he said out loud. He switched his gaze to Cate and apologized, “Sorry, miss, for the language, but this got the better of me. Are you three Royal scholars?”
“He is, sort of,” she pointed at Alex.
“Well, you have quite the find here. It’s signed with the father’s full name, Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward Wettin, Duke of Clarence. That’s a first, English royalty in Adare. He must have come here unannounced or I would have known about it. I’ve studied the history of our little town. We had a famous politician visit once, from your country. Ted Kennedy, back in the sixties, but never any British Royals. Do you want me to copy this for you?”
“Absolutely. And we need to get it legally certified. Do you know where that can be done?”
“Right
here.” He grinned at Alex, “I’ll do it for ten euros. I’m the postmaster, notary, and until the next election, mayor.”
“And I bet you mix a mean margarita,” said Cate.
“I don’t know about that, but I do pour a good pint of Guinness next door at Pat Collins’ pub on a Friday night.” He laughed as he took the book, “My copier is right here. I’ll make two copies for you, no extra charge.”
His old Xerox sprung to life, and Alex waited anxiously as the machine scanned then printed the pages.
The postmaster held up the prints to the light, checking their quality, “Looks good to me. I’ll need someone in the back to witness my notarizing these copies. If you want to come around the counter…”
Both Alex and Cate stepped forward. Eddie waved them on, “You guys go ahead. I’ll wait here. I should check out my great-great-great-grandparents’ signatures in the book.” He hoisted the small, leather-bound volume.
The postmaster overheard his comment and stopped, “Did he say-”
Alex cut him off, “He was joking. You know what we Americans are like.”
“Yes. You Yanks are always joshing. Like that Will Ferrell. Every Christmas my wife and I put on a marathon of his movies starting with Elf. It doesn’t hurt his name is Irish. Come on.” He vanished into his little office with Alex and Cate on his heels.
Eddie opened the book and stared at the three signatures and thought over his strange destiny that had begun so many years before.
Six minutes passed as the postmaster notarized and dutifully logged the two copies, and as Eddie saw his friends re-emerge from the back room, he could sense a change in Alex, as if a weight had been lifted from him. He started to speak, but Alex raised his hand to silence him, and turned instead to the postmaster.
“Thank you for this. It’s going to make a tremendous difference to us.”
“You’re very welcome.” The postmaster patted the three books laying on his counter, “I’ll put these little gems back into safe keeping, in a few minutes. Now you run and enjoy your holiday in our lovely country.”
The trio walked silently out of the store and approached their parked car. It was there Alex paused, “I didn’t want to talk in there, certainly not after the comment about it being your distant family.”
Birthright: Pray your past stays hidden (Alex Turner Book 1) Page 21
