by April White
“Found anything?”
A deep, quiet voice spoke from behind me. “Finding nothing is perhaps more telling.”
I spun to face Archer as he stood in the open doorway. All my reserve and cool went straight out the window at the sight of his face, with a gentle mouth and slightly wary eyes. My brain pretty much lost control of my body as I flung myself at him and jumped into his arms. It was a good thing his reflexes were so quick, because I would have taken anyone else out. But Archer held me tightly as I locked my legs around him and kissed him with the force of my whole body.
“Ahem, right, well, I’ll leave you to it then.” Bishop Cleary sounded like he was smiling through all his embarrassed Britishness as he slipped past us and out of the room.
Archer made a low growling sound deep in his chest when we finally came up for air. “You are killing me.”
I smiled against his mouth. “You’ve said that before.”
He pulled back and looked in my eyes. “When did I say that?”
Too late to take back, and frankly, I was sick of trying to keep stories and facts straight. “I’ve gone back to see you.”
There was no expression on his face. “Indeed.”
I took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I missed you, and … I wasn’t confident enough to come here first.”
The strong muscles of his jaw relaxed and his eyes softened. “You? Lacking confidence? I find that hard to believe.” He smiled at my wince. “I know you went back. I remember.”
That’s right. The memory thing. When I went back and changed something, it was like the memory for it got unlocked. “Not to mention the fact that you can read my honesty.”
“You’re a deep, lovely blue with not a bit of green in sight.”
“Really? Not even the blue-green of omission?”
He smiled. “Why, are you planning to withhold something from me?”
I raised an eyebrow. I tried for slightly seductive, but I’m pretty sure I just sounded like I had a cold. “Not anymore.”
His eyes widened perceptibly, and I burst out laughing. “I think you’re safe from me, Archer. I won’t compromise your honor without your permission, I promise.”
There was a purr in his voice. “I’m not certain I intend to let you keep that promise.”
I gasped at the multitude of meanings behind his words.
Archer finally set me down gently so my feet were back on the floor. “I missed you.”
I took a deep breath. No withholding. “I thought if I could hold a piece of myself back it wouldn’t hurt so much if you left.” His arms tightened around me at my words. “But instead I just drove you away.”
“You didn’t drive me away, Saira. And you’re here now.”
Maybe it was just the tip of the iceberg, but it was a start. And being back in Archer’s arms made all the noise in my head drop down to a whisper. I melted into him for a long time before I finally spoke again.
“Tell me about what you’ve been doing. You haven’t found anything?”
He kept my hand in his and led me over to the table. A map of London and outlying areas was stuck with several pins. “These are the buildings owned by Rothchild or controlled by Walters. I’ve managed to bypass security in all but four of them. So far, I’ve found nothing of the book.”
Then he showed me a notebook full of names. “Cleary’s been digging through every publication from every university, hospital, tax assessor, voting registrar, church, or chapel in England from the years 1888 to 1900. And though Bishop Wilder is frequently mentioned until November 9th, 1888 in several publications across quite a few disciplines, there is absolutely no further mention of him from that date forward.”
I looked at the notebook for a long time. “How far back do the records go?”
Archer eyed me carefully. “You believe the Lady Elizabeth and Ringo were a true vision?”
“I think the Lady Elizabeth might be Elizabeth Tudor, before she became queen.”
An eyebrow raised. “That’s hundreds of years before Bishop Wilder was born.”
I walked out into the main cellar of the War Museum, near the spot where the old Bedlam wing had collapsed. Bishop Cleary was sorting through boxes out there, and I waved him over as I found the remains of the original spiral portal. I ran my hand lightly over the grooves. “Mr. Shaw believes Wilder drained my mother’s blood so he could Clock. And I think he Clocked back to 1554.”
Bishop Cleary made a noise of amazement in his throat and stepped forward to touch the spiral. I turned to face Archer. “Wilder had a paper signed by ‘the traitor’ that he threatened to show the Lady Elizabeth’s sister, ‘the queen.’ Think about it, Queen Mary had Elizabeth imprisoned in the Tower of London after the Wyatt Rebellion, and she was there when Thomas Wyatt was beheaded for treason on April 11th, 1554. What if he’s the traitor and Wilder has somehow forced a confession from him?”
Archer was silent a long time, his gaze faraway until he finally spoke. “Would you believe I’ve never been to the Tower of London?”
“If that room is in the Tower, we could almost prove it was March or early April of 1554. Elizabeth Tudor was a prisoner there for only two months, and everything else fits.”
Archer winced. “Sadly, the Tower doesn’t keep nighttime hours, and it is, after all, meant to be a fortress. Not so easy to break into.”
“I might be able to help.” Bishop Cleary spoke behind us. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “An old friend of mine works with historical documents at the Tower. I can make a call.”
I grinned. “That would be awesome.”
He laughed and headed toward the document room.
When we were alone again I grabbed another quick kiss from Archer. I had tried so hard to pretend I hadn’t missed him the past week, and I clearly sucked at self-delusion. He held my face in his hands. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Everyone wonders where you are.” Archer’s expression darkened and I quickly continued. “Not all bad though. Mr. Shaw is hoping you’ll give him some blood. He’s trying to isolate the porphyria mutation to see if it really does draw the promoted Descendant gene into itself.”
A smirk. Archer and Mr. Shaw had the interesting relationship of alpha males who respect each other’s skills. “Tell him I’ll come in when I’m back at St. Brigid’s.”
“You are coming back?” I tried to sound casual, but knew I’d failed miserably by the stricken look on Archer’s face.
“Of course I am. How could you even imagine I wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t want to assume.”
He pulled me into his body and held me tightly. “Assume.”
I tried not to show how relieved I was, but I’m pretty sure the way my knees gave way was a big clue.
“Okay.” My voice came out in a whisper, and Archer kissed me again, very gently.
Bishop Cleary cleared his throat noisily as he came back into the main room. “So, I talked to Professor Singh’s secretary. He’s up at the Tower tonight for a gala. Some very stuffy historians apparently cut loose once a year, and I managed to charm Indira into putting your names at the gate.” He winked. “I owe her dinner as a thank you.”
I kissed the bishop on one cheek. “You’re awesome. And I’ll be your excuse for a date any time.”
He opened his mouth to protest and then shut it again with a laugh. “Lying’s a sin, so I’m just going to say hurry up. The event started an hour ago.” He looked me up and down. “I don’t suppose you have a cocktail dress up your sleeve, do you?”
Archer smiled and grabbed my hand. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
My Vampire knew clothes. And places to shop that stayed open for his hours. But then again money wasn’t an issue, and he insisted I had to have the gorgeous black, long-sleeved dress that clasped behind the neck and was otherwise completely backless. I was a little nervous about how far the cut-out dipped until I felt Archer’s hand on the bare skin of my low back. Someho
w everything was right when he was touching me. Heels weren’t an option if I wanted to explore the Tower, but the salesgirl pulled out a pair of gladiator sandals that totally worked with the dress. Although, the way I felt in it, even fuzzy bunny slippers would have been perfect. I wrapped my hair up into a low twist, and added some eyeliner and mascara. The person who looked back at me from the mirror was glamorous and intriguing instead of my usual uncomplicated and casual. For once I actually felt old enough to be Archer’s date.
“You are exquisite.” Archer’s eyes drank me in.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I couldn’t manage a casual tone. I was too giddy.
Archer, of course, looked effortlessly handsome in a cashmere sport coat, black sweater, and slacks, which he had with him at the bishop’s. Of course he did.
A taxi dropped us in front of the Tower of London and I looked up in awe. The whole complex was lit with low floods that slashed light up the stone walls, and the unmistakable sounds of a party carried on the night air.
As promised, our first names had been left at the front gate, but Bishop Cleary had given us both his last name just in case anyone was looking for a Devereux or an Elian. Archer’s hand was at my low back as we were escorted in to the White Tower, and I felt like his skin was fused to mine. Regardless of our purpose there, we were walking into a party, and it seemed like a date. Our first one, actually. In public, where people could see us together. A real couple. I liked the feeling.
The room was full of men in suits and women in short dresses. Most of them were probably in their thirties, but there were a couple of younger people and some much older ones too. Archer asked someone where we could find Professor Singh from the maps department, and we were directed to a very distinguished-looking, white-haired man. Archer hesitated just a fraction of a second.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered in Archer’s ear when Professor Singh noticed us.
The color seemed to drain from the older man’s face when he saw Archer. “Devereux? Is that you?”
Archer’s hand tensed at my back and I could feel his indecision. But then the professor spoke again, as if to himself. “No, it couldn’t be. Don’t be ridiculous.”
I was about to say something, but Archer held out his hand with a smile. “You must have known my grandfather, Archer Devereux. I’m told I look very like him when he was young.”
The relief on Professor Singh’s face when he shook Archer’s hand was palpable. His expression seemed to say ‘thank God I’m not crazy,’ and I felt my heart re-start in my chest. I held my hand out with a big smile. “Hi, Professor Singh. I’m Saira. Bishop Cleary called Indira so we could meet you tonight.” My voice seemed to snap the professor out of his daze, but his eyes never left Archer. I tried again. “I hope it’s not too big an intrusion if we ask you some questions about Elizabeth Tudor’s time in the Tower.”
He finally seemed to realize I was the one speaking. “I’m so sorry.” Then his eyes went back to Archer. “I knew your grandfather during the war. We worked at Bletchley Park together and became great friends. I always wondered what happened to him.”
Archer smiled, and I felt his hand relax at my back. “Well, he found the love of his life, and I suppose the rest is history.” Archer wasn’t looking at me directly, but I knew, and then couldn’t wipe my smile off. Archer’s fingers caressed the small of my back as he continued. “My grandfather has spoken very fondly of you, and he was honored to have been your friend.”
“Ah, right. Capital, capital. It was very mutual. Well, my dear, I’d be delighted to answer any questions you may have. In fact, if you like, I can show you some documents pertaining to Elizabeth’s time here as a prisoner.”
Archer seemed amused at Professor Singh’s enthusiasm for his subject as we walked to his office within the Tower complex. He pointed to a spot that used to be called the Queen’s Garden, and showed us the piece of foundation from the nearby Royal Residence, which had already fallen into disrepair by the end of Elizabeth’s reign. Most historians believed Elizabeth Tudor had been imprisoned by her sister, Queen Mary I, in the Bell Tower, but he was one of the few who thought that was ‘poppycock.’ I bit my lip to hold back that laughter, and Archer tickled my side to tease me with it. A quick jab to Archer’s ribs to get myself back under control, and Professor Singh was in full swing on his theory.
“Queen Mary had never denounced Elizabeth’s relationship to her – they were half-sisters and daughters of Henry VIII - despite imprisoning her for conspiracy to commit treason. Elizabeth was a king’s daughter, and would have been afforded every privilege of one, except freedom, of course. The idea that she was held in a tower with only one upper and one lower room is ludicrous. Records show she had at least four of her ladies with her, and there wouldn’t have been enough room in the Bell Tower cells for that many people.”
“Can we visit the Bell Tower?”
The Professor shook his head. “The last time it was open to the public was several years ago. The only access in is through the Queen’s House, which is what the Lord Lieutenant’s private lodgings are called. At the time of Elizabeth’s imprisonment, however, there was no ‘Queen’s House.’ The Royal Residence, now demolished, housed the queen’s apartments, which Henry VIII had renovated for Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn. The confusion over the names is likely the reason for the modern confusion over where the Lady Elizabeth was held prisoner.”
In his office, Professor Singh gave us a copy of a map of the Tower from the late 1500s which showed the demolished buildings. He also let us see the blueprint of the Bell Tower rooms, and laughed at my question about toilet facilities for prisoners. He explained that each of the prison rooms in the Tower complex would have had a privy or garderobe, depending on whether they were on the ground or upper floors.
The professor had a replica of the Armada Portrait of Queen Elizabeth hanging above his desk. It was painted after she’d been queen for a long time, and I’d seen one of the original versions in the National Portrait Gallery of London during Christmas break.
“My mom told me the story of how Elizabeth got the six-strand black pearls that she’s wearing in that portrait, but not what happened to them. Do they still exist?”
Professor Singh looked up at the portrait lovingly. “It’s yet another mystery of Elizabeth’s reign. Presumably they were broken up and sold by Cromwell in 1649, but we’ve found no record of them, and they’re not in the current queen’s jewel collection. Do you see the crown on the table behind her?”
The version in the National Portrait Gallery was cut down on the sides and didn’t have the same detail as his print did, so I studied the jeweled crown carefully.
“I’ve seen the crown jewels, but that isn’t one of them.”
Professor Singh nodded. “Again, Cromwell. Historians and jewelers recently recreated the Tudor Crown. I saw it on display at Hampton Court.”
“The pearls are prettier.”
He smiled. “Mary Stuart, also known as Mary, Queen of Scots, was a great collector of jewels. It was something she had in common with her cousin, Queen Elizabeth. However, Mary Stuart never actually agreed to sell them to Elizabeth. Jealousy, perhaps, or competitiveness. But the agents from Scotland were more interested in buying England’s goodwill than humoring their own monarch. And so Elizabeth got the black pearls and eventually, Mary, Queen of Scots got the scaffold.”
When we finally left the professor’s office my head felt crammed full of Elizabethan Tower trivia, and I think I surprised him with my quick hug. “You’re an excellent teacher.”
His eyes were bright and he smiled at me. “Well, you’re a lovely student, Saira. I’d be very happy if my interns were half as interested as you obviously are.”
Archer clasped Professor Singh’s hand warmly in both of his. “It was a pleasure seeing you tonight, and your help has been invaluable.”
Professor Singh searched Archer’s eyes as we said goodbye, and I heard him mutter to himself. “Remar
kable, really. So much like my old friend.”
Archer held my hand as we walked away, and from his grip I could tell he’d been affected by our time with the old man.
“You knew him when he was young?” I kept my voice quiet.
“Ravindra Singh is one of the best men I ever worked with.” I felt his breath catch just before he squared his shoulders and led me around a corner. He kissed me quickly and looked into my eyes. I waited for him to say something about being immortal, about watching people he loved get old and die, about how much it sucked that I would get old someday too, but he just smiled. “Let’s go explore.”
It was after-hours and unsanctioned, and it was awesome. We dodged Yeoman Warders, the guys who had been guarding the Tower of London since the beginning of the Tudor dynasty, and took ourselves on a secret tour of the oldest parts of the complex.
The Yeoman Warders seemed to concentrate their guarding efforts on the Jewel House and the White Tower, where a sort of mini-museum had been set up with Tower artifacts. We concentrated on everything not those. We also kept our distance from the Queen’s House, since the current Lord Lieutenant still lived there.
The battlements were fair game though, and we played stealth tag across them between towers. The wall was high enough to run unseen for the most part, though the Bell Tower was a dead-end so we avoided it. Salt Tower was easy to get to, but Beauchamp Tower took a little effort. The easiest climb was near the barracks, which was dangerous because it’s where the on-duty Yeoman Warders lived, but the shadows there were great. Staircases were too easy, and therefore usually shunned, but without my boots I didn’t have a choice.
We were able to stay out of the wide-open spaces near the White Tower, and we concentrated a lot of our search on the ground floor and cellar chambers, looking for something with a privy or a cistern that matched Archer’s vision of Ringo’s torture. But with every new discovery, finding the room took a back seat to just exploring. My favorite thing was the graffiti. It was everywhere, mostly done by Tudor-era prisoners. Robert Dudley’s work was intricate and gorgeous, and I could imagine him chipping away at that wall every day for the year he was in the Beauchamp Tower cell.
