The gunman had reloaded and was aiming directly at the car. He unleashed one at the windscreen, causing the glass to break.
Jen screamed loudly.
“Stay down,” Thomas shouted.
A second round came, also a direct hit. Glass entered the car, but the windscreen itself remained intact.
Just.
The gunman was forced to reload.
Thomas put his foot down, now on collision course with the shooter. He was less than twenty metres away, fifteen, ten, five…
The friar dived, far too late. The impact occurred on the left side, more a passing blow than a head-on collision. Thomas could see from the rear-view mirror that the man was flat out on the road, motionless but probably not dead.
Thomas guessed the injury was to the upper body rather than the head.
He continued through the village, his eyes alternating between the road and the rear-view mirror. Seconds later the high street was no longer in view.
He turned his attention to Jen, surveying her appearance for the first time. She was crying, the tears ruining her black eyeliner. She was more attractive than he had expected, but in a state.
He guessed from her lack of make-up she’d had a bad day.
At least the hairdresser’s story checked out.
“It’s okay; you’re safe.”
Jen didn’t respond. She tried to control herself, but doing so was becoming more and more difficult. She wiped her eyes, doing everything she could to keep the floodgates shut.
The last thing she needed was to lose control of her emotions.
Thomas, meanwhile, watched with pity. His natural instinct was to pull over and comfort her, but he forced himself to be disciplined.
He knew further danger was probably still close at hand.
Jen looked as though she was going to vomit.
“Here, drink this.” He passed her a half-full bottle of mineral water from the cup holder.
Jen opened the bottle and coughed immediately. The liquid simply refused to go down.
“Slowly.”
She tried again, this time with more success. She spilt some on her jeans, but most of it went down, calming her nerves slightly.
She closed the bottle and placed it on the floor, concentrating now on her breathing. She wiped her eyes, composing herself.
Thomas watched her, convinced she was in a fit state to be questioned.
“What happened?”
She looked to her right at the stranger. She tried to speak but failed.
“Wh-who was that man?”
She still had no idea.
“What happened?” he asked, slightly louder.
She sought to reply, but the words just refused to come.
What on earth had just happened?
“Who are you?” This time the question came from Jen.
Thomas was determined not to stutter. “I’m the son of the Duke of Clarence – nephew of the king.”
You’re kidding.
No, he isn’t kidding.
“Okay.” For several seconds she merely sat and watched as he drove her through the isolated roads. Although the route was familiar from her earlier journey, she had no idea where he was taking her.
“I take it you’re Jennifer Farrelly?”
She nodded, incapable of anything else. “And you? Do you have a name?”
He hesitated. “T-Thomas.”
She studied him for the first time. He was handsome, as expected – what royal isn’t? Or at least that was the fantasy.
He was well built, his figure befitting an army pedigree – or at least something from the forces. He was handsome – wait, she’d established that – though slightly ragged. She guessed he hadn’t slept much recently.
Thomas looked to his left. “What?”
“What are you doing here?”
He didn’t reply. Silently he guessed she already knew, assuming the hairdresser wasn’t lying.
“How did you know my name?”
“I m-met your friend.”
“Friend?” Suddenly it dawned on her. “Anthea?”
“You needn’t worry. She’s safe.”
If anything, that made her even more insecure. “You abducted her?”
“Of course not, it’s a l-long story.”
“I’m in no hurry.”
“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong,” the prince said, his tone firmer than before. “Time is the one thing that we don’t have. Wh-what are you doing here, anyway?”
“I was being shot at – remember?”
He let the comment go. “Your friend said you were researching a documentary on the g-girl who went m-missing.”
“That’s right.” She looked at him. “What?”
“You seem to have outstayed your welcome.”
He turned down a quiet lane, heading toward the boathouse.
“There was a man dressed in the habit of a Dominican friar firing at you.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
“Had you seen him before?”
“What?”
“The friar – had you seen him?”
Jen was appalled. “Of course not.”
“So you didn’t recognise him?”
“No,” she said, apparently baffled by the question. “Had you?”
The prince was not amused. “You’re quite certain you had never seen him before?”
“Yes, I’ve only been here a few days.”
“That’s often quite long enough. What happened? Just now, wh-what happened?”
Jen took a deep breath. She told him everything that had happened after leaving the hairdresser’s.
“There was no warning?”
“None.”
“And you’re certain you didn’t recognise him?”
She looked as if to hit him. “No.”
This time he believed her. “Okay. But why was he shooting at you? Come on, you must have some idea? Things like this don’t j-just happen without good reason.”
This time it was Jen’s turn to be coy. She guessed the prince, if indeed he was a prince, probably knew more than she did.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“You’ve established that,” he said. “Tell me about the vault?”
“The what?”
“Your friend told us there was a vault – she also t-told us about the churchyard.”
The surprise was etched all over her face. At least she knew that Anthea was safe.
She told him everything – finishing with Stephanie Stanley and the likely murder of Luke Rankin. She could tell by the prince’s reaction that he was taking it seriously.
Perhaps extra seriously.
He pulled up in the car park of the boathouse and removed his seatbelt.
He looked at her sternly, remaining seated. “Tell me everything you know about the Sons of York.”
“I only heard of them for the first time earlier today.”
That makes two of us. “What do you know?”
“Probably less than you.”
“Actually, I know very little.”
She didn’t buy it. “We got into the vault via a secret passage – it started in the priory, and another ended up at the castle.”
“Go on.”
“There’s a door in the church vaults, but it’s locked. When I asked the priest for the key, he gave me some cock-and-bull story about it being unsafe.”
“In what way?”
“He said it was used to house the remains of plague victims.”
“You mean he lied?”
“Obviously.”
“What sparked your interest in the vault?”
“I thought Debra Harrison might be buried there.”
“Is she?”
“No…well…I don’t know.”
In truth she had never considered that since yesterday.
Thomas was equally uncomfortable. “Wh-what was there?”
“You’re a member of the Royal Family; how can you
not know?”
“Just because I’m royal…” His voice trailed off. “Just answer the question.”
“Why?”
Did she really just demand that?
“I spoke to her best friend today – her name’s Stephanie; her uncle is a member.”
His interest heightened. “What’s his name?”
“Rowland Stanley, the politician. All of them live in houses east of the church. Ravensfield, it’s called.”
The prince couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Verification of the location of the mysterious Ravensfield.
To him it was also confirmation that the society was close knit.
“Go on.”
“Their most prominent members are Lord Ratcliffe, Sir William Catesby and Francis Lovell. Lovell is a former headmaster of the school, Catesby is a scientist or something, Ratcliffe…well, I guess you know.”
Thomas bit his lip, this time harder than before.
The Cat, the Rat and the Dog.
It was all too incredible.
“But why? To what purpose?”
“According to Stephanie, among their ranks are many politicians, particularly from the Democrats.”
Everything he heard agreed with what he had learned the day before. “To what end?”
She sighed. “According to Stephanie, their long-term agenda is to re-establish the Angevin Empire by taking power in the governments of Britain and Europe – including ridding England of the Royal Family. It wishes to gain control of both the UK and the EU through the establishment of a Democrat government.”
“That’s preposterous. There have already been Democrat governments.”
She nodded. “Apparently this all goes back centuries; back to the Whigs. Besides, I think the Democrat movement is just the flagship. According to Stephanie, their influence spans all parties. They have support from many in the Tories.”
“Impossible. We’d know.”
She raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Silently Thomas was worried.
He still had no idea why the politicians Trenton and Bates were murdered.
“How does she know?”
Jen delved into her handbag and removed the photographs Stephanie had given her.
She offered them to the prince.
His attention centred on the coronation photo. “Edward.”
She nodded.
He looked at Jen, then to his right. Caroline was running toward them.
“Stephen called. The results of the DNA test have come through.”
66
The Duke of York was pacing up and down the room and had been since their arrival. By now it was starting to rile the King.
“Sit down, for goodness’ sake; you’re making me nervous.”
The duke refused to comply. “It’s all that lying in a hospital bed. The linen’s too tight, I tell you.”
Stephen smiled. “I’ll be sure to mention that to Aunt Victoria next time I see her.”
The King looked at his son, but on this occasion did not smile. He checked his watch, then the clock on the wall.
“Where is Grant?”
York checked the time himself. “Reminds me of the last time we were here.”
“Shut up, William.”
Moments later the door opened, and Grant entered. As before, he carried several papers in his hands.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” the physician said.
At least this time there was no Home Secretary there to snigger.
“I have the results.”
The King leaned forward, his eyes firmly on the physician. “Well?”
The physician removed his glasses from his pocket and began reading the top sheet. “As per Your Majesty’s instructions, the urn containing the bodies of the two children was removed from the tomb, along with that of the former queen. After having proceeded to remove the bones deemed not of human origin–”
“Human origin?” York interrupted.
Stephen nodded. “Yes. According to the original accounts from 1674, on finding the bodies under the tower stair, there was evidence of animal bones, probably an ape from the Tower menagerie, along with that of the boys. Not to mention rubble from the excavation.”
He looked at the King. “Thomas told me that.”
The King was in no mood to smile.
“Wasn’t there also a purple rag?” asked Stephen.
“I believe so,” said Grant.
The King leaned forward. “Go on, Maurice.”
The physician returned to the results. “After identifying which bones were human and which were not, bones of both human skeletons were separated into two batches. One was sent to my colleague here, the other to the Ashmolean. Both tests have been completed, and both, I might add, have so far come to a similar conclusion.”
York looked up at the man. “Well, friend, what’s the verdict?”
The physician hesitated. “The results confirm beyond doubt that skeletons of both boys possess a minor biological link to what is commonly dubbed the ‘Plantagenet line’ used, of course, to distinguish descendents of Henry II. They also confirmed that the skeletons were of two boys, definitely brothers,” the physician added, attempting to keep his composure. “It is the considered view, however, of all who have studied the results that the link is insufficient for what we had expected.”
The King’s eyes narrowed. “In English?”
“The boys, sire, were definitely not of direct relation to Edward IV. Furthermore, the subjects in question both died of natural causes.”
All present looked at the physician.
“How about the time period?” Stephen asked.
“Again, Your Grace, we can only speculate…”
“Then give us your speculation.”
“The likeliest age range, based on the probability of a high-protein diet as would be usual for a noble, we could be looking at any time between 1515 and 1600.”
York was the first to speak. “You are quite sure?”
“We can never be one hundred percent sure, Your Grace, particularly after only a few hours of testing. However, it is the esteemed opinion of my colleagues–”
“And what do you think?” asked the King.
The physician paused before answering. “I think that their conclusions are almost certainly correct.”
The King nodded. He controlled his disappointment well.
“And Elizabeth?”
“It would seem the body of the woman did indeed have a biological similarity with what is known of the Woodvilles, but we could find no trace of a family connection to what we know of the Plantagenets.”
The King nodded, remaining calm. “How about Clement?”
“I have spoken to the scientists who managed the proceedings at St Rumbold’s. I have only the preliminary results, but it appears that what they tested were the remains of another man.”
Stephen rose to his feet, a reflex. “What?”
“Sit down,” the King said.
“You’re quite sure?” Stephen asked.
“Again, at this stage, it is difficult to say with any degree of certainty,” the physician replied. “Nevertheless, the results were most surprising. The age of the subject was noticeably different.”
“How different?”
“Perhaps even forty years.”
The result was conclusive.
The King rose to his feet. “Thank you, Maurice.”
The black limousine left the car park, heading back toward Westminster.
Stephen shuffled in his seat, his eyes on his father and uncle. “In truth, this confirms nothing.”
“It confirms one thing,” the King said, clearly distracted. “It confirms we are all in severe danger.”
York was unconvinced. “If the skeletons were not of the princes, then who?”
“Montagu,” the King said. “Disappeared at the Tower during the reign of Henry VIII.”
No one argued.
The hypothesis see
med plausible.
Back in the city, the Home Secretary took the call immediately.
The events of earlier that morning had already left him somewhat bewildered.
Now things had just got worse.
67
Thomas flopped down on the bed, dumbstruck. Despite being aware of the hypothesis, the result of the DNA test was still difficult to digest.
Jen moved slowly to the corner of the room. It seemed unthinkable that she had stumbled on a matter of great importance to the Royal Family.
It was obvious she was not supposed to be there.
Caroline took a seat on the other bed, alongside Anthea. The hairdresser was wide-awake but clearly dazed.
She still couldn’t believe that was the real Caroline.
Thomas sat with his head in his hands, his fingers massaging his temples. Almost immediately he rose to his feet.
“I need to make a phone call.”
He left the room, heading somewhere along the corridor. With Thomas gone, Caroline asked, “What happened?”
The question was for Jen. She let out a deep sigh before speaking for several minutes, leaving Caroline shocked and Anthea mortified.
Particularly the part about Anthea’s mum.
“I need to give her a call–”
“No, no, absolutely not,” Caroline interrupted. “Nobody can know we’re here.”
“But she’s me mum…”
“I know it’s difficult, but trust me.” She put on the most reassuring smile she could manage.
Jen didn’t approve, but she didn’t have a better idea. She wanted to suggest something, but what? The atmosphere was extremely tense, the silence worse than conversation. As soon as she stopped talking, images flashed in her head.
She’d danced with death and survived.
Just.
Had it not been for the man who had recently left the room, she knew she wouldn’t still be here.
She felt her fingers beginning to shake.
There was a knock at the door, followed by the sound of a voice, obviously Thomas. Caroline answered, and the prince re-entered the room. He took a seat on the bed, his attention on Jen and Anthea.
“You have to show me the vault.”
He wasn’t joking.
The Plantagenet Vendetta Page 36
