The Plantagenet Vendetta

by John Paul Davis

  “Are you mad?” Jen fired back. “Did you not see what happened?”

  “It’s because of that we must go back,” he said, his expression stern. “Where is it?”

  “Beneath the church.”

  “Can you show me on a map?”

  “Do you have one?”

  “Here.” Caroline picked up something from the desk and offered it to Thomas. It was a tourist information leaflet she had picked up from the hotel lobby. There was a map of the local area in the middle.

  Simple, but good enough.

  Jen looked at the pamphlet and tried to get her bearings. She fingered her hair nervously, conscious that everyone was looking at her.

  “Here.” She pointed at the area marked priory ruins.

  “You’re quite sure?”

  “That’s where we got in.”

  “How did you manage it?”

  “We did it at night. The priest had been out.”

  Thomas nodded. “Could you do it again?”

  Jen doubted it. “For all we know, they’ve put a massive rock in front of it.”

  That seemed unlikely, but surveillance was now surely inevitable.

  “I can show you the photos.”

  She removed her iPhone and showed him all she had. Following that, she showed him Debra Harrison’s camera.

  Thomas scrolled through the photographs on the screen. “It’s very dark.”

  “It was a vault.”

  He looked at her, not taken by her flippancy. He held her gaze, this time for longer.

  Her appearance had improved since her visit to the bathroom.

  “What good is the vault?” Caroline asked after blowing her nose. “After all, we already know it’s there. And we have photos to prove it.”

  “What is your objective?” Jen asked. “Assuming you have one.”

  Thomas bit his lip. Now she was annoying him again. Nevertheless, he kept his patience. “We have reason to believe that the Sons of York were responsible for the murders of two p-prominent politicians.”

  It took a few seconds for that to sink in. “You mean Bates–”

  “Exactly,” he cut her off.

  Jen watched him as he began to pace. The man had a restless streak, a strange determination: almost as if he was allowing the burden of the world to be placed on his shoulders.

  “What’s that got to do with you? Surely that’s a police matter?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m not getting involved in this unless you’re straight with me.”

  He took a breath. “We also have reason to believe that they were responsible for the murder of my grandfather.”

  Jen was speechless. She attempted to breathe, but inside she felt numb, almost as if an icy storm was blowing through her chest. Whatever the reasons for the abduction of Debra Harrison, this was the last thing she had expected. Whoever they were, this cabal of men whose roots dated back centuries, their potential impact was clearly mind-blowing.

  And had been for centuries.

  Her phone began to vibrate, followed by the ringtone. Feeling like a fool, she rummaged through her handbag and looked at the phone’s display.

  It was the number Lovell had given her.

  She smiled ironically. No doubt hoping to reschedule his neglected appointment.

  “Who is it?” Thomas asked.

  She looked at him as if he was prying. “Dr Lovell.”

  “Answer it,” Caroline said.

  “What?”

  “Answer it,” Thomas agreed. “Let’s see what the bastard wants.”

  Jen was unsure.

  “Go on.”

  She answered. “Hello?”

  “Ah, do I have the pleasure of addressing the lovely Miss Farrelly?”

  You know you bloody do.

  “Speaking?”

  “It’s Francis Lovell here – you might remember we dined together yesterday evening. I must say it was a most memorable occasion.”

  I remember.

  “Put it on speaker,” Thomas said.

  Jen covered the mouthpiece.

  “I want to hear what he’s saying.”

  She agreed.

  “Hi, can you hear me, Dr Lovell?”

  “Quite clearly, my dear, and quite heavenly. You do have the most angelic voice.”

  Thomas looked at Caroline, guppy mouthed.

  “My dear, I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you in any way.”

  “Not at all.” She grimaced. “Just been caught up doing a little research.”

  “I’m so pleased; I do hope I have not found you unwell.”

  “Not at all. Sorry, I’ve just been…sidetracked.”

  “You really are the most charming of creatures. Now, Miss Farrelly, or may I be so bold to address you as Jennifer, I was wondering if you were free for a little get-together in about an hour at the home of my good friend, Lord Jeffries. His is one of the most delightful homes in all of England, and Lord Edward was only too pleased to grant my request to show you his splendid house and chapel.”

  Jen was horrified.

  The man was trying to kill her.

  “Ummm…”

  “Say yes,” Thomas whispered.

  “Are you crazy?”

  The words were louder than she had intended.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lovell asked.

  “Ummm, sorry, just a sec…” She was furious with the prince.

  “Tell him you’d be delighted,” Thomas said.

  “You tell him.”

  “Go, he’s offering you a way in.”

  “He’s trying to kill me.”

  “He won’t; I’ll be there with you.”

  “Hello, I say, is everything okay?” Lovell asked.

  Jen took her palm away from the mouthpiece. “Hi, can I call you back in a couple of minutes…thank you.”

  She disconnected the call and looked at Thomas. “Are you kidding me?”

  “The home of Edward Jeffries is one of the m-most d-difficult to enter in the entire Commonwealth. You’ve been offered easy access. This could be the b-break we n-need.”

  Jen was still horrified. “He wants me dead.”

  Caroline was equally nervous. “Thomas, this is madness.”

  “Madness would be not taking it. While you enter the house, that l-leaves me easy access. You can be my diversion.”

  Suddenly Caroline liked what she was hearing.

  Jen was not. “I’ll be killed.”

  “No, you won’t because you’ll be wearing one of these.” He showed her an object from his pocket. “Not to mention one of these.”

  “Is that a wire?”

  “Similar. And this,” he showed her a small red microchip, “is what’s commonly called a tracker. MI5 uses it to keep an eye on things.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Use this, and the palace, MI5, Special Branch, not to mention several others, can keep a track on you. Meanwhile C-Caroline can listen in.”

  Jen looked at him, appalled. “And what about you?”

  “Like I say, I’ll be in there with you. While you keep them distracted, I’ll be able to s-search for evidence.”

  “What kind?”

  “That’s hardly your concern.”

  “I’m actually very concerned.”

  They eyed each other.

  Deadlock.

  Jen sighed forcefully, the air moving her hair. She looked at Caroline, then Anthea.

  One mistake and she would surely not make it out alive.

  She looked at Thomas and fought the urge of a rebuke, instead focusing on his eyes. Not for the first time he displayed the persona of a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  She took a deep breath.

  “What’s the plan?”

  At around that time, the small helicopter came down in the grounds of the large Scottish castle. Stephen left the cockpit immediately and jogged across the immaculate grounds toward the main building.

  T
he sight was familiar. Green lawns were surrounded by ancient woodland, basking in the glow of the sun above the mountains. He had stayed there every year of his life. It was the Scottish home of the Royal Family.

  The castle of Balmoral.

  A large bald-headed man walked out to greet him. “Master Stephen.”

  “Hello, Douglas, I have a favour to ask.”

  The man listened attentively.

  “I need to see the surveillance footage of the dinner on the 17th June.”

  “The 17th?”

  “Yes.”

  He decided not to question it.

  “You best be heading this way, sir.”

  68

  Jen rang back several minutes later to accept the invitation. Despite her concerns, the decision had been made. Had it been up to her alone, she would probably have declined.

  But it was not up to her.

  At least that was how it felt.

  The car pulled up outside the gate. Jen checked her appearance in the mirror on the sun visor and began to fiddle with her hair. Showering had made a difference – that and make-up. Gone the ravages and dirt; even the cuts from the concrete were now completely invisible. Instead, the reflection was more what she recognised. The new do had actually lasted well in the circumstances. It certainly brought out the strengths in her appearance.

  She looked to her right.

  Not that anyone else had noticed.

  Thomas checked his watch. It was approaching 3:30pm, and all was quiet. He had never seen the road before, but he felt as though he had – many times. Visually it was fantastic. Secluded but opulent.

  Pretty – most would say.

  He knew that the buildings represented much of what was to be loved of British history, but equally important was the knowledge that in such seclusion, evil and malcontent can spread. The houses were old; the trees older still. Despite the calm surroundings, he felt a sense of apprehension: not nerves, but something more permanent. It was instilled deep within the landscape, perhaps in time itself. He remembered Wilson had once told him, or perhaps it was Gardiner, his mind was confused, that the true lesson of history was not so much what happened, but why and, in certain cases, what happens next time. If one thing is to be learned from history, more often than not it is the following sobering truth:

  Nothing is ever learned from history.

  He looked at her. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

  She guessed he meant aside from breaking into vaults. “No. You?”

  He grinned.

  “My parents didn’t bring me up to break and enter.”

  His grin became even wider. “Neither did mine. I went to school at Winchester College.”

  “Well, la di da.”

  He laughed, which made Jen feel better. He looked her in the eye, and a strange feeling of calm came over her.

  “It’ll be okay, you know.”

  The statement came from the mouth of a stranger, but with the concern of a friend. She looked at him and found the strength to smile.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Jen got out of the car and walked slowly toward the main driveway. The property was gated in two places, located approximately fifty metres apart. The one on the right was smaller, and perhaps older, whereas the one in front of her was modern, electric and seemingly impenetrable. Though it was modern, the design was classical and, to her eyes, vulgar. There were cherubim at either side, while the gate itself was symmetrical. Each side rose equally in height before reaching a pinnacle at the centre.

  There she found the greatest peculiarity. A large animal, not quite a bulldog but not dissimilar. Had the last few days been different, the design might have left her confused. Today, however, the dawn of realisation was upon her.

  It was not a dog, but a pig.

  She was entering the home of the Hog.

  The latest of a long line.

  She walked toward the right side of the gate, her eyes on the intercom. There was a red sign with black writing saying ‘Strictly no trespassing’.

  Perhaps this was a bad idea.

  A voice called from nearby. “Why, Miss Farrelly, what excellent timing.”

  She couldn’t decide if she was scared or relieved. Lovell had appeared from along the road, dressed in white trousers and a smart yellow jacket.

  At least he was alone.

  She mustered the best smile she could. “Hi.”

  “My dear, you look a trillion pounds.”

  Though she held her smile, inside she was angry.

  How could a man so charming be part of something so evil?

  Were you one of those who stood around Debra Harrison that night?

  “Are you sure this is okay? I really wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsense.” He gestured with his hand. “As luck would have it, my dear friend Lord Jeffries is away for the day, along with his fine grandson. It seems we shall have the place to ourselves.”

  She didn’t buy it.

  “Shall we go in?”

  Several hundred metres away, Thomas listened to every word.

  Proof, at least, the wire was doing its job.

  If his luck was in, the family was away, and all he would have to contend with would be the CCTV cameras.

  Silently, he wasn’t convinced Lovell was being truthful.

  Back in the boathouse, Caroline sat in the bedroom with Anthea, their eyes focused on the laptop.

  The tracker was doing its job.

  Jen had entered the house.

  69

  “What does it mean?” Jen asked of the hog symbol, on seeing it for a second time.

  They were now standing outside the entrance, a fine wooden door flanked by two statues, both identical to the one on the gate.

  “In celebration of the family motto,” Lovell replied. “By now I’m sure you are aware that every family in the village seems to have one.”

  Jen smiled and nodded. The symbol was subtle, irrelevant to the average passer-by.

  But its significance was clear.

  The walk along the driveway had taken longer than she had expected. Though she was aware that the estate was by far the largest in the village, the walk itself was well over half a mile. Unlike most, the driveway zigzagged. The land to the front of the house was abundant in greenery, once part of an ancient forest, its trees reaching heights of well over fifty metres.

  It was warmer than it had been; the sun was beating down through the densely covered branches, causing long shadows across the muddy ground. The forest was alive with nature, the sound of birds a permanent feature. Rabbits, squirrels, and perhaps other things scampered through the undergrowth. Most of what she could hear, she couldn’t see. She guessed there were at least ten different types of bird, chirping, singing, and wailing to one another. The forest was timeless.

  Just like the situation.

  Close up, the house surpassed her expectations. Unlike most in that part of the village, it was a hotchpotch of various eras. The exterior was mainly a yellowy sawdust hue, but mixed with several other colours and a variety of features. The property was described as a manor house, yet if it was, it had certainly developed. The oldest part was the centre section: not quite Tudor, but not far off. According to Lovell, every part was constructed of Yorkstone, four types in total, and with its countless turrets, the elaborate roof was highly picturesque. The exterior had something of a Gothic feel. To Jen’s surprise, the east wing had one even greater peculiarity.

  “Is that a church?”

  “It is the chapel of Lady Jeffries. Commissioned in 1872.”

  “What was it built for?”

  “It is used as a private place of worship; even today the family are staunchly Catholic. In years gone by, another, less elaborate chapel existed. In its day, it was the heart of recusancy for this part of the Riding. It might also interest you to know that since the early 1900s, a small brotherhood of Dominican friars has lived in the adjoining building.”
He pointed to the second smaller building that joined onto the chapel. “In their day, the Dominican order was staunchly loyal to our families.”

  She nodded, not knowing what else to do.

  The explanation made sense. From her studies, she knew that every Plantagenet up to Richard II had a Dominican for a confessor.

  Lovell unlocked the door and allowed Jen to take the first step. She followed the hallway past a sitting room and into a large foyer, comprising a large staircase, bright blue walls, countless antique pieces of furniture and more paintings than one would normally find in a gallery.

  “Wow,” she said, gaping at the vast interior. For a moment she almost forgot the implications of her visit.

  “Are you musical, Miss Jennifer?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I love music.”

  “Then perhaps you would care to try Lord Jeffries’ piano.” He gestured to the corner of the room. Sure enough, a fine Steinway was located in an alcove beneath the main stairway.

  She walked toward it, slightly nervously. It was clearly 19th century.

  Probably priceless.

  “It’s amazing.”

  “Restored it myself not two years ago.”

  Jen forced a smile. “You’re clearly a man of many talents.”

  “A most pleasant way to begin one’s retirement…perhaps you would care to give it a try.”

  She dismissed the idea, but felt conflicted. She walked toward it and pressed middle C. The ping resonated for several seconds, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. In her mind the sound made the entrance hall feel even larger, as if the nearby staircase would never end. She composed herself and tried a D, then an E.

  Then she played the beginning of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata 14 in C sharp.

  She looked at Lovell and laughed.

  He applauded, five short claps. “Bravo.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, her focus returning to the task at hand.

  She wondered how Thomas was getting on.

  Thomas had entered the grounds via the Catesby estate and was making his way north. He had parked in a secluded area and continued on foot toward the grounds.

  Both estates were outstanding. The grounds comprised more outbuildings than a hamlet, ranging from an aviary and dovecote to a small mill.