The Forgotten Sister
Page 1
Praise for Nicola Cornick
‘A fascinating tale with intriguing twists which kept me reading late into the night.’
Barbara Erskine
‘Atmospheric and compelling, I was gripped from beginning to end.’
Sarah Morgan
‘Nicola Cornick is the mistress of keeping you up way beyond lights out because you just can’t put it down. Brilliant!’
Katie Fforde
‘A gorgeous novel, so fresh and original. And the tension! I was on the edge of my seat.’
Jenny Ashcroft
‘With its intriguing premise and engaging characters, this fresh take on the time-slip novel completely won me over.’
Kate Riordan
‘A lively, entertaining read… the story kept me turning the pages right to the very end.’
Katherine Webb
‘I was hooked from the first pages… I can’t remember when I last read a book so fast, just to find out what happens next. A twisty and deceptively clever book… [with] a wonderfully satisfying conclusion.’
Gill Paul
‘A rising star.’
Publishers Weekly
‘A sumptuous, spell-binding story full of mystery, secrets, heartbreak and magic that will keep you guessing.’
Sara Manning, Red Online
NICOLA CORNICK is an international bestselling and award-winning novelist who has written over thirty historical novels in a career spanning twenty years. Her books sell in over twenty-five countries, have been translated into many languages and been published in multiple formats.
Nicola studied History at the University of London and at Ruskin College Oxford, and worked in academia for a number of years, before becoming a full-time author. She volunteers as a guide and researcher for the National Trust at the 17th century Ashdown House and gives talks and seminars on a number of historical and writing related topics. She has spoken at the London Book Fair and at literary festivals including Oxford and Sharjah. She is a former Wiltshire Libraries Writer in Residence and trustee of Wantage Literary Festival. In her spare time, she is a guide dog puppy walker.
Also by Nicola Cornick
The Woman in the Golden Dress
The Phantom Tree
House of Shadows
The Forgotten Sister
Nicola Cornick
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020
Copyright © Nicola Cornick 2020
Nicola Cornick asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008278502
Version 2020-04-12
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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008278496
This book is dedicated to my grandmother,
Doris Clark, whose shelf of Tudor-set
historical novels started me on my journey.
Cast of Key Characters
Present Day:
Lizzie Kingdom, b.1993
Annie Kingdom née Bowling, Lizzie’s late mother (1965–1998)
Harry Kingdom, Lizzie’s father, now living in California
Dudley Lester, Lizzie’s best friend, married Amelia Robsart in 2010, b.1992
Arthur Robsart, son of Terry Robsart and Layla El Ansari, b.1988
Amelia Robsart, daughter of Terry Robsart and Jessica Scott, b.1993
Anna Robsart, daughter of Terry Robsart and Jessica Scott, b.1997
Johnny Robsart, son of Terry Robsart and Jessica Scott, b.2003
Kat Ashley, Lizzie’s PA/godmother
Avery Basing, Lizzie’s grandmother’s oldest friend, b.1935
Bill Cecil, Lizzie’s agent
Juliet Carey, Lizzie’s cousin
Tudor Story:
Elizabeth Tudor, Queen Elizabeth I, daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn (7 September 1533–24 March 1603)
Edward Tudor, King Edward VI, son of Henry VIII and Jane Seymour (12 October 1537–6 July 1553)
Mary Tudor, Queen Mary, daughter of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon, married to Philip II of Spain (18 February 1516–17 November 1558)
Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester (24 June 1532–4 Sept 1588)
Amy Robsart, his wife (7 June 1532–6 Sept 1560)
Arthur Robsart, Amy’s half-brother (c.1523–1590)
Sir John Robsart, Amy and Arthur’s father (c.1500–1554)
Elizabeth, Lady Robsart, previously Appleyard, née Scott, mother of Amy and Anna (c.1504–1557)
Anna Appleyard, Amy’s half-sister (c.1525–1565)
John Dudley, 1st Duke of Northumberland (1504–1553), father of Robert Dudley and of:
John Dudley, 2nd Earl of Warwick, who married Anne Seymour, daughter of Duke of Somerset (1527–21 Oct 1554)
Ambrose Dudley, 3rd Earl of Warwick (1528–21 Feb 1589)
Henry Dudley (c.1531–10 Aug 1557)
Guildford Dudley, married Lady Jane Grey, who became Queen 10 July 1553 (1535–12 Feb 1554)
‘O, call back yesterday, bid time return.’
SHAKESPEARE, RICHARD II
Contents
Cover
Praise
About the Author
Also by Nicola Cornick
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
Cast of Key Characters
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Extract
About the Publisher
Prologue
Amy Robsart, Cumnor Village
They came for me one night in the winter of 1752 when the ice wa
s on the pond and the trees bowed under the weight of the hoar frost. There were nine priests out of Oxford, garbed all in white with tapers in hand. Some looked fearful, others burned with a righteous fervour because they thought they were doing the Lord’s work. All of them looked cold, huddled within their cassocks, the one out ahead gripping the golden crucifix as though it were all that stood between him and the devil himself.
The villagers came out to watch for a while, standing around in uneasy groups, their breath like smoke on the night air, then the lure of the warm alehouse called them back and they went eagerly, talking of uneasy ghosts and the folly of the holy men in thinking they could trap my spirit.
The hunt was long. I ran through the lost passageways of Cumnor Hall with the priests snapping at my heels and in the end, exhausted and vanquished, my ghost sank into the dark pool. They said their prayers over me and returned to their cloisters and believed the haunting to be at an end.
Yet an unquiet ghost is not so easily laid to rest. They had trapped my wandering spirit but I was not at peace. When the truth is concealed the pattern will repeat. The first victim was Amyas Latimer, the poor boy who fell to his death from the tower of the church where my body was buried. Then there was the little serving girl, Amethyst Green, who tumbled from the roof of Oakhangar Hall. Soon there will be another. If no one prevents it, I know there will be a fourth death and a fifth, and on into an endless future, the same pattern, yet different each time, a shifting magic lantern projecting the horror of that day centuries ago.
There is only one hope.
I sense her presence beside me through the dark. Each time it happens she is there too, in a different guise, like me. She is my nemesis, the arch enemy. Yet she is the only one who can free me and break this curse. In the end it all depends on her and in freeing my spirit I sense she will also free her own.
Elizabeth.
I met her only a handful of times in my life. She was little but she was fierce, always, fierce enough to survive against the odds, a fighter, clever, ruthless, destined always to be alone. We could never have been friends yet we are locked together in this endless dance through time.
I possessed the one thing she wanted and could not have and in my dying I denied it to her for ever. For a little while I thought that would be enough to satisfy me. Yet revenge sours and diminishes through the years. All I wish now is to be released from my pain and to ensure this can never happen again.
Elizabeth, my enemy, you are the only one who can help me now but to do that you must change, you must see that the truth needs to be told. Open your eyes. Find the light.
Chapter 1
Lizzie: Amelia and Dudley’s Wedding, 2010
Everyone was drunk. They had broken into the wedding favour boxes early and were downing champagne directly from the quarter-bottles, lobbing chocolates at each other and throwing the be-ribboned scented teabags into the swimming pool. Amelia, the bride, who had personally chosen the Rose Pouchong and Green Jasmine teabags to match the scented candles, had stormed off in tears. Dudley, instead of going after his new wife, had jumped fully clothed into the pool, laughing maniacally.
Lizzie thought boy bands were the pits, especially Dudley’s band, Call Back Summer, whom she secretly believed were just talentless entitled rich boys. She would never say that to Dudley, of course. He was her friend. But she wrote and played her own music and before they’d split up, her band had been way more successful than Dudley’s.
Lizzie didn’t drink. She hated it when Dudley behaved like her father, ringing her up when he was pissed, slurring his words as he told her she was his best friend in the world, that he’d love her for ever. It was only because they’d known each other since the age of six that she put up with it. She had no idea why he had married Amelia anyway unless it was for publicity. He’d said he was in love but Dudley was always falling in love with someone. It was a stupid idea to get married when you were only eighteen. Lizzie didn’t intend to marry anyone, ever.
She stood up, unpleasantly aware of the sweat sliding down her back and turning her lace mini dress transparent as it stuck to her skin. Kat, her godmother, had told her it was bad taste to wear a white dress to a wedding but Lizzie hadn’t cared. The June sun was dropping towards the horizon now and the marquee cast long shadows across the lawn. Not a breath of wind stirred the sultry air. A band was playing on the terrace but no one was paying any attention. Lizzie knew the partying would carry on long into the night. Dudley seemed to have an inexhaustible capacity for drink and drugs but she was bored.
Stepping out from beneath the jaunty poolside umbrella, she was hit by the full heat of the day. She hated being too hot; it didn’t agree with her redhead’s pale, freckled skin. Suddenly the water looked very tempting. Dudley, seeing her hesitate on the edge of the pool, waved a soaking arm in her direction.
‘Lizzie!’ he shouted. ‘Come on in!’ Beside him a number of girls splashed around, screaming. One was Amelia’s younger sister Anna, who had jumped in wearing her bridesmaid’s dress. Another was Letty Knollys, the girlfriend of one of Dudley’s bandmates whom Lizzie privately thought was an even bigger groupie than Amelia.
Lizzie smiled and shook her head. Her curls would go even frizzier if she got them wet and there were bound to be paparazzi hiding in the trees to capture the wedding reception for the papers. Dudley would have made sure of that. She didn’t want to be all over the red tops with mad hair and a wet see-through dress. She was too careful of her reputation for that.
She wandered off in the direction of the luxury portaloos. Evidently the plumbing at Oakhangar Hall, the ridiculously ostentatious wedding present that Amelia’s father had bought for the bride, was not up to coping with two hundred celebrity guests. Nevertheless, the cool darkness of the entrance hall beckoned to her.
It took her eyes several seconds to adjust when she took off her sunglasses and then she almost fell over the enormous pile of wedding presents spilling across the floor. Beyond the gift mountain the flagstones stretched, smooth and highly polished, to the base of a grand staircase that curved up in two flights to a balustraded gallery. The soaring walls were panelled in dark wood and hung with tapestries. The whole effect was consciously mock-medieval and rather over the top but Lizzie could see that it suited Amelia’s Pre-Raphaelite style.
A huge black grand piano skulked in a corner beside the stair, its surface playing host to a vast display of lilies more suited to a funeral than a wedding in Lizzie’s opinion. She muffled a sneeze as the pollen tickled her nose. In contrast to the roar of the party outside, the house was sepulchrally quiet. Except… Across the wide acreage of floor came the cascading melody of a harp, the notes resonating for a couple of seconds then dying away.
Lizzie spun around. There was no sign of a harp, no sign of any instrument other than the piano. The cadence came again, higher, wistful, a fall of notes that sounded like a sigh. She moved towards the sound and then she saw it, on a little shelf to the right of the door, a crystal ball held in the cupped palms of a stone angel.
The crystal swirled with a milky white mist.
Touch me.
Lizzie stopped when her hand was about an inch from the crystal surface.
No. The urge was strong but she knew what would happen if she did. Ever since she had been a small child, she had had an uncanny knack of being able to read objects. It was something she had grown up with so at first it had seemed natural; it was only when she had first mentioned it to Kat, who had looked at her as though she was a changeling, that she realised not everyone had the gift. ‘It’s just your imagination running away with you,’ Kat had said, folding her in her embrace and stroking her hair, trying to soothe and normalise her, to reassure herself as much as Lizzie. ‘You see things because you want to see them, sweetie. It doesn’t mean anything…’
Lizzie had never mentioned it to her again after that but she had known Kat was wrong. Later, when she looked it up, she saw it was called psychometry. She used it caref
ully, secretly, to connect with her past and the mother she had lost as a child. The rest of the time she tried not to touch anything much at all if it was likely to give her a vision. She really didn’t want to know.
The crystal was calling to her. She rubbed her palms down her dress to stop herself reaching out to obey the unspoken whisper.
‘What did you see?’
Lizzie jumped. A boy was standing on the bottom step of the vast staircase, dwarfed by its height and breadth. He was staring at her. It was disconcerting; she hadn’t known anyone was there.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I didn’t touch it.’ She sounded defensive, which was ridiculous. She’d done nothing wrong and he was only a child. Deliberately she relaxed her face into the smile she used for the public.
‘Hi, I’m Lizzie.’
The boy looked at her as though he was trying to make some sort of private decision about her. It was an odd expression for such a young child; wary, thoughtful with a flash of calculation. It hinted, Lizzie thought, at a rather terrifying intelligence.
‘I’m Johnny.’ He came forward and stuck out a hand very formally. Lizzie shook it.
‘You’re Amelia’s brother. I saw you at the wedding.’ She recognised him now from the church, traipsing in behind the flower girls in Amelia’s wake, looking as though he’d rather be somewhere else. Amelia’s family had turned out in force for the wedding. They were all very close, a situation which Lizzie secretly envied.
‘They made me be a page boy.’ Johnny sounded disgusted. He looked down at his miniature three-piece suit with loathing. Lizzie could hardly blame him. It was horribly twee. ‘I hated it,’ he said. ‘I’m six years old, not a baby.’
Lizzie smothered another smile. ‘Life lesson, Johnny. People are always trying to make you do stuff you don’t want to do. You have to stand up for your rights.’