“Edmund Ironside!” Gervase intoned gravely.
Edith shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
“The king? You’ve never heard of him?”
“He was a king? Of where?”
“Of England. A descendent of Alfred the Great.”
“Oh, that’s quite interesting,” Edith thought back to something she had read on the internet, “I hear that lots of people are descended from Edward III, which is cool.”
“Silly girl,” Gervase stood up, thrusting a piece of paper forward, “this is a direct male descent. The important kind. Anybody can be descended from a king, but a direct male line is the same line that the crown takes.”
Edith pushed back in her seat. She blinked. A thought too enormous crowded her mind, making itself impossible to see. “What are you saying?”
“If this pedigree is true, then had history been different your fiancé would be the king of England.”
“C’mon, Andrius, pick up!”
Edith had dialled Andreas before she had left the yard of Gervase’s farmhouse. As she reached the end of the gravel track Andrius had still not answered. The phone hung from the dashboard where it innocently rang away.
Then it stopped.
‘Hello. You have reached the voicemail of Andrius Lietis. I’m a very busy man, so...’
“For fuck’s sake!”
She hung up. Dialled again.
She had to speak to somebody. Her sister would be at work. Her father incommunicado. Sam half way around the world.
Daylight had faded to twilight. She hadn’t meant to stay so long. The hills were mere shadows on the skyline. The fields too had lost their already tenuous colour. The headlights of solitary cars wound along the road in the distance.
She slowed to a crawl and redialled Andrius’s number for the third or fourth time. Somebody had to tell her she wasn’t going mad. Even if she was they could at least humour her in her delusions.
“Andrius! Just pick up!”
She set off again, approaching the main road back to Chunal, Glossop, and then Manchester. The drive home wouldn’t take more than half an hour, assuming the evening rush hour had died down.
As she began to turn onto the main road a car approached at speed. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. She floored the accelerator to gain speed out of the junction. The engine grunted, punctuated by shifting gears, gradually achieving a respectable speed.
It wasn’t enough for the car behind, growing larger in her rear view mirror, so near its headlights lay buried below the line of the rear window.
“For God’s sake, Andrius!” She screamed at the phone, driving with one eye on the road and the other on the car behind.
The road bent round the side of a hill. She went faster than she wanted, clearing some space between her and the tailgater. At that moment a voice filled the car.
“Babe! I was in a meeting, what’s the matter?”
“Oh, God, Andrius! Andrius!” She squealed with fear and joy. “I’ve found it!”
“Found what?”
“The reason! I’ve found the reason why all the Faircotes are being killed. You won’t believe it. It’s impossible.”
Her speed had dropped while she spoke. The car behind was once again driving on her arse. She accelerated a little but her focus was on the conversation.
“Who’s doing it, then? Have you been talking to this Hugh Mountgrace?”
“No, not Hugh. I went to see that genealogist, Gervase Hemlyn. To learn more about the Faircote’s noble title.”
“Oh, yeah, so that was a good lead?” Andrius was pleased with himself.
Edith looked up into mirror. She had slowed. The other car had gained. There was no way to drive, talk, and make the wanker behind her happy. She decided to park up, and scanned the roadside for somewhere suitable.
The verge was too steep, or too narrow. She had to keep driving and looking. There would be a lane end somewhere.
“Andrius, it is incredible what he said!”
“Then tell me, woman!” Andrius laughed. He loved Edith the most when she was at the edge of her emotions. “Tell me what he said and has gotten you so excited.”
“Andrius, Sam is the king of England!”
“What?”
“No, no, not the king, but descended from the king. In a better line than the current royal family. Gervase said it was all male, which is good. Supposedly.”
At that moment Edith glimpsed up to the rearview mirror. The car behind had switched to full beam. It had obviously pulled back too. Its lights were two brilliant orbs dancing in her mirror. She could see nothing of the car itself. ‘What the fuck?’ Edith whispered to herself.
“Edith, that is incredible!” Andrius spoke with a childlike excitement. It soon fell when the revelation hit. “That means...”
“Yeah, somebody connected to the monarchy has been killing the Faircotes. This is as big as it gets. I don’t know what to do, Andrius. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Just try not to panic. Come see me when you get back to Manchester. We need to talk in person.”
“I will, I will. I can’t think of what our next step is going to be. It’s not possible that we can do anything against them. Surely they’re too power...”
Edith lurched forward suddenly. Her head millimetres from striking steering wheel. Her seatbelt snapped tight. Her whole body jarred. The sound of the collision came to her ears a split second later.
“Fuck!”
“Edith, what was that?”
She looked in her mirror to see the lights of the car behind her growing larger and...
“Oh, fuck!”
The car jolted again. She felt the wheels run over the grass verge. She steered the car back onto the road.
“Edith!”
“They’re ramming me, Andrius! They’re pushing me off the road!”
Edith gained speed. As much as she could. A terrifying speed. The car shook through her body. The rammer kept pace.
“Edith, what is going on? Are you okay?”
Edith couldn’t answer. She was frozen. The car was growing in her mirror once again. Her arms locked instinctively. Her back stiffened. Not under her control.
The attack didn’t come.
The other car pulled out and edged up alongside her. The two cars, on a narrow country road, at eighty miles an hour.
Edith felt her breathing. She fixed her stare ahead. She didn’t want to look at the other car. She didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want to admit the danger was just there. She wanted a second, just a second, to gather her thoughts. Just a second of rest to think. Tears pushed themselves forward and she blinked them back.
Edith looked at the other car. She saw a man, indistinct, it could have been any man, staring blankly at her. The man shrank as his car pulled out further to the other side of the road. Then the man grew suddenly large as the car drew back toward Edith. Bigger. Nearer. It would force her off the road. At this speed she would never survive the crash. She had to act.
Act now.
Now.
‘Now.’ Edith’s thought was a sparse command to act. She slammed on the brakes and jolted forward. The other car zoomed by for fifty metres. Red brake lights glared in the twilight as it halted.
Edith looked at the car ahead. The driver still unseen. His next move unknowable.
So long as she didn’t move she couldn’t be run off the road. She sat still, half in terror, half in a stand–off.
The other car stood upon the road. Seconds passed as hours. Every heartbeat rocked Edith’s body. She prayed for the red brake lights to fade, for the car to set off again and leave her. She focussed on one of those lights, letting the redness fill her whole sight.
And then the red light went. The car crawled away.
Edith breathed out. She had not taken a single breath since braking. With it came clarity of thought: the licence plate.
“MS45 UFG.” Again. Again. Again and again.
It
was her mantra. She breathed in and out, measuring each breath, repeating the licence plate each time.
A quiet, familiar, voice joined her, “MS45 UFG. MS45 UFG. MS45 UFG. I’ve written it down, Edith. I’ve written their number plate down, babe.”
Edith stopped.
The voice was almost in tears. “What happened? Tell me you’re okay!”
She could muster no emotion. She spoke coolly, repeating a bare fact.
“Andrius, they just tried to kill me.”
Edith stood limply at the door as it opened. Her parka hung loose, fallen from her shoulders. The curls of her hair wild and wayward. Andrius stood expressionless at the sight. She smiled when she saw him, without knowing why. An act of defiance maybe. A front behind which to hide. A feeling that nothing was important if you refused to acknowledge it. Then she laughed.
Andrius pulled her in and slammed the door shut. He hugged her tight. Her laughing became gulps of breath.
“Oh, God. Edith. You could have died!”
And with that act of acknowledgement Edith broke down and wept. She cried out and pushed Andrius away. He drew her back tighter. She thumped her fist on his arm and cursed, then butted her head into his shoulder. She began to wail, and then...
Andrius pulled away. He held her face between the flat of his hands. And he kissed her. Not with passion. Not with lust. Only with love. And he did not stop until her body slackened and the tension fell away.
He zipped off Edith’s parka, gathered her up in his arms, and carried her to his sofa. She lay where he laid her. He sat on the floor at her side and cupped her hands in his.
“You’re safe now.” Andrius spoke softly.
Edith’s stared into a unreal distance. Her face failed to register that she had heard him.
“I said you’re safe now, Edith.” Andrius looked for a response. Finding none he sought a new tack. “I love you.”
“But for how long.” Her voice utterly monotone. The utterance not a question. More a statement of future fact.
“Forever, I hope.”
“Even when they come for you? Even when they try to ram you off the road?”
“They tried to shoot me, didn’t they?” Andrius closed his eyes so they would not betray his discomfort to Edith. He too had struggled to understand what had happened on Saturday night. He wanted to go to the police himself. “Yet I’m still here.”
“Those bullets were meant for Sam.” It was her father’s logic that she repeated.
Andrius shrugged. He chose not to challenge her. It didn’t matter who the target was, whether it was Sam on his wedding night or Edith in her car. Everything was out of hand. This was no longer a game in which he could humour her.
“I’m going to the police.”
“No. No, don’t.” She paused in thought. “They’re part of it. They must be.”
“What?”
“They’re everywhere, Andrius.”
Andrius frowned. “They?”
“The state. The monarchy. The elite. They’re everybody who has a vested interest in things continuing as they are. The Establishment.” Edith took a deep breath. Her face became more animated. Her voice regained some normality although her words were fevered. “They feel threatened, that’s why they’re on the attack. They want Sam dead. They want me out of the way too.”
“It’s ridiculous. Just because he’s descended from a king?”
She wanted to forget what she was up against. Her body lightened as sleep crept upon it. Only her mind stayed with her. “I guess. It has to be that. Gervase said that it’s probably a myth, not even true.”
“Murdering people is a pretty big step for a myth.”
“I don’t know what to think. I can’t think right now.” Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.
Andrius stroked her hand and thought, “Maybe they found out it is true? They have some evidence, maybe.”
She spoke now as though sleeptalking. “They why not just destroy the evidence. Instead of people’s lives.”
Andrius sat in silence. They had nothing left to say. Every thought seemed so wild and unbelievable. It was incomprehensible that a group of people were so powerful could murder over decades without being caught or stopped.
They both knew, and both feared to speak, the thought of utter dread: there was nothing they could do in the face of such an overwhelming force. At best they could keep themselves alive by pulling out of the investigation. It may be too late even for that. The Faircotes were doomed. Sam was marked for murder. They would get him in the end. There were too powerful.
Day 14: Tuesday 14 November
Edith did not remember falling asleep. Nor did she remember waking up. Andrius’s arm lay across her chest, its weight a reassuring presence. As she shifted to turn on her side, the arm moved with her, brushing her breast. Morning light, strained through ragged clouds, fell on the bed promising that some semblance of day had begun in Manchester.
“Are you awake?” Andrius had waited, unwilling to wake her.
She nodded and opened her eyes. He kissed her gently on the lips.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yeah.” She pulled up the cover, thinking of how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Suddenly she sat upright in bed. “Dad!”
Andrius reached up and stroked her arm with a smile. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t feed him. I didn’t leave him any food either. I planned to go home last night. He’ll be starving.” She slipped her legs out of bed and paused while she scanned the bedroom for her clothes.
“Might be good for the cranky bastard.” Andrius rolled over, not caring about what he had just said.
She slapped him on the shoulder in jest. Then without warning she wept as the reality of the night before came rolling back to her. However hard yesterday was, today would be harder. There might be no tomorrow. Now they were after her and wanted to kill her. There could be no more days without care.
She wanted to crawl back into Andrius’s bed and lie there forever. If they wanted her, let them at least be open about it. Let them break into the flat, into the bedroom, and kill her in bed so that nobody could mistake their intent.
They would still do it, though, she knew. Why would they stop until they had succeeded? Even cowards die, they just die without having tried. She clenched the edge of the mattress.
“I’m going to do something.” She stood and strode over to the windows. The people down below could see her nakedness if only they looked up. She didn’t care.
“What?” Andrius sat up on one elbow. “I mean, what are you going to do?”
“Anything. I just can’t sit around and wait for them to get me. They know who I am, and they know what I’m doing. It’s only a matter of time, I guess, until they find another opportunity to kill me like they’re doing with the Faircotes.” She pressed her hands against the window and looked down at the early morning shoppers. “Maybe there’s still time for you, Andrius, if they’ve only seen you once or twice. But I’m a goner. So I’d better make a fight of it.”
In a single step he moved from the bed to the window. She sounded so calm, yet her words were madness. He pressed himself against her. One hand on the window beside hers, the other wrapped round her waist. His mouth to her ear.
“I’ll be with you.” His voice almost a whisper. “I told you that, and I mean it. I’ve got contacts. You need to know that. People who might be able to help us.”
She span to face him and planted her hands on his chest. Tension charged between them which, despite their nakedness, was not sexual. It was anger.
“Who?” She shot out her question but left him no time to answer. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Friends. People with money, people with power. Maybe I can...”
“Do they have names? Do you have their telephone numbers?”
“I can get them.” He pulled away and began to dress. “I just need to speak to them first.
”
“Will you do that today?” She leant against the window, her eyes piercing.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, Andrius. Don’t ‘see what you can do’. I need help today.” She stepped forward and flung her arms wildly. “I could be dead tomorrow!”
He left his shirt half–unbuttoned and embraced her once again. His arms holding hers down. He kissed her on the neck.
“Don’t do that! Andrius, I need more than reassurance. I need help.”
“I want you to lie low. Go home and don’t leave.”
“What?”
“You’ll be safe there.”
“But for how long?”
“Til the end of the week. Then we can sort something out.”
“It has to be sooner. Andrius, I can’t wait that long.”
He took a deep breath. It was unfair to hide the truth from her.
“Edith, I have to go to Abu Dhabi for a few days. It’s important business.”
“For fuck’s sake, Andrius, am I not important?” She slapped him on the cheek and marched over to the heap of her clothes on the floor. She thrust her legs into her jeans stretched out her t-shirt as she yanked it over her head.
He watched as she attacked her clothes. “I promise that when I’m back you’ll be my only priority.”
“Go to Abu–bloody–Dhabi and go fuck yourself. I’m going to the one person who said he would do anything for the Faircotes.”
“...and that is?”
“Hugh Mountgrace. He’s a solid guy, Andrius. A businessman—maybe you’ld like him—and an ex–soldier. He’s going to help me, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m stopping your investigation.”
Edith gasped. “What?”
Hugh had welcomed Edith with a scowl and shown her into a private office which was no more than a desk and two chairs. When she had rung that morning he tried to put her off, to say that he was too busy. She was at the edge of her patience. She had spent an hour apologising to her father for letting him starve, again, while keeping from him the fact that she had been attacked. Hugh had been pressed unreasonably, she had insisted, nearly demanded, a meeting that day.
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