The King looked at Clarence, then at his son. “Get me the DG of MI5. Then, if you can manage it, the son of my third cousin.”
79
“Have I the honour of addressing the real King of England? Or is that office now the sole preserve of your grandson?” Jen asked.
The question was far too condescending. Jen immediately sensed the old man’s anger. His jaw had tightened; the sagging skin that flanked it on either side was now somehow smoother than it had been. If the malevolent expression was not enough, the extension of the man’s breathing made it all the more obvious. The combination was enough to make her feel threatened.
She reminded herself she was wearing a wire. If she played her part well, Thomas would hear everything.
“Well?” She pushed him.
Across the room, the sound of laboured breathing had become steadily greater.
“How dare you!” he said at last. Although the words came out as little more than a mutter, his tone pierced with aggression. “You enter into my house, into my family chapel, and pay insult to the memory of the greatest family in the history of England!” The volume of his voice picked up, which unsettled her further. “Do you not realise, had a certain battle been won by the opposing side, I, and not my snivelling distant relation, would currently be king.”
The response left Jen momentarily speechless. Till now she was still to consider the possibility that theoretically at least he could be right.
Her thoughts turned again to finding a way out.
She still had no idea what had happened to the gunman.
Or Lovell.
For now, at least, she and the old man were alone.
“Is that what this is all about? All these deaths? Just to satisfy your lust for what might have been?”
“I don’t expect many people to be capable of understanding even the most elementary of truths. People come and people go, but for every man who lives well, a mark is left that betters the fabric of mankind. And when a man lives badly, there are repercussions.”
He spoke strongly, but she was still to grasp the relevance to the modern day.
“You’re angry at Henry Tudor?”
“My dear, having broken into my family vault, I shall spare you the insult of preserving the importance of my lineage. It is unfortunate, shall we say, that fate was at its most stupid in depriving my family of their royal birthright. But please spare me the ignominy of addressing me like a common cook.”
Secretly, she was still undecided. “But that would depend. I mean, it’s either that or you have a pretty extreme case of narcissistic personality disorder…after all, you are the people responsible for Debra Harrison’s murder.”
The man took a deep breath but remained silent.
“What happened to her?” she asked. “Her parents have a right to know.”
“Ah, yes, to be a parent.” He cleared his throat, a lengthy and chesty cough that she feared might be contagious. “Only when a loving parent has had their son or daughter taken away from them can they possibly understand the unique hurt and longing for the loss of the irreplaceable.”
Jen was confused.
The man continued. “In the past, as a member of the Wootton community, any person would have been able to count on the protection of my friends and family. For centuries, we have overseen the safety of our neighbours. However, there have been times when even our own citizens have chosen to betray their roots.”
Jen crossed her arms. “Are murderers not deserving of contempt?”
“Precisely,” he said coldly.
The comment threw her slightly. “But you are the people responsible for Debra Harrison’s murder, for her mother’s unbearable pain.”
“It may surprise you to learn that many years ago, I, too, found out firsthand what it is like to suffer the unbearable pain of losing a beloved child.
“My story began on a cold day in November 1991, and in many ways the story is still to end.
“Listen if you will. For what good it will do you.”
Back at the boathouse, Caroline stared at the motionless screen. The two red dots continued to flash consistently, only now they barely moved.
Whatever Thomas and Jen were doing, it didn’t appear urgent.
She could hear Thomas’s voice in the earpiece. He was clearly speaking to someone, but the conversation had no flow. She asked him a question but got no answer.
Her mobile phone began ringing on the desk, the caller Stephen.
“Stephen,” she answered, “what’s happening?”
“Stay where you are. We’ll be with you in an hour.”
80
Thomas heard every word.
Surely he hadn’t heard correctly.
The accusation was preposterous.
“What?” Thomas asked.
Edward laughed, this time without humour. “He never told you, did he? Not that I expected him to. Why would he? I mean, it would be the end of him, wouldn’t it?”
Thomas controlled himself well. “Whatever game you are playing, believe me, it will not work.”
“You think I’m playing? Let me ask you something, Tom; imagine the following hypothetical scenario:
“Suppose, just for a second, there’s this newspaper person, let’s say a journalist. Eventually, this journalist goes into politics. One day, he finds out something so incredible, the whole world would shake if they knew the truth. This person, let’s call him, I don’t know, Richard.”
His father’s name.
“Richard tries to reason with the person responsible. Listen to his side of the story. After all, even if he’s guilty, it doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person.”
“What in God’s name are you babbling about?”
“In the eyes of the public, King James III will go down in history as one of the most beloved English monarchs – even though he was half-Scottish.” Edward grinned. “Everywhere you go, the eyes of the adoring faces would watch. The man who could do no wrong.” His expression turned more sinister. “Only he wasn’t, was he?”
Edward walked slightly closer.
“I assume you were aware of Joanna?”
“Joanna?”
“Joanna Fletcher.”
Thomas had no idea.
“The King’s mistress.”
Thomas laughed, a reflex. “Don’t be absurd.”
“You think I’m lying?”
Thomas avoided a stutter. “Even if you’re not, he’d hardly be the first.”
“First or not, what happened is hardly right…
“You see, the Queen was getting suspicious back in about 1989 – at least that’s what Granddad tells me.”
“You’re basing your story on a story?”
Edward laughed. “Alliteration, Tom, I like it, I like it.” The smirk died into a frown. “The marriage was never loveless, no one could say that, but it had got somewhat complicated. In the late 1980s Joanna was an MP for the Tories, but years earlier she’d actually worked for the King on one of his estates; I forget which one.”
“Get to the point.”
Another laugh. “All in all, the affair lasted about four years, though I must admit, in my opinion it was probably a lot shorter – four years does seem quite a long time to get away with it, particularly when you’re the king. According to some, there was even a child involved, but if there was, it was almost certainly miscarried…
“Anyway, after it was over, Joanna moved job, eventually ended up out in the cold. Then one day–”
“She revealed everything?”
Edward placed his hands out with his palms up. “But the affair was only part of the story. You see, there was actually another even more serious event that you, yourself, are not even aware of.
“Answer me this, Thomas: where does the king get all his money from?”
“Where…”
“You heard me. Where does he get all his money from?”
“Why the Privy Purse…obviously.”
&nbs
p; “Correct answer, well done, Tom. But what makes up the Privy Purse?”
Thomas had no idea where this was going. “The Crown Estate. The Duchy of Lancaster–”
“Exactly.” Edward snapped his fingers together. “You know all about the Duchy of Lancaster, of course.”
Thomas guessed there was a War of the Roses jibe coming.
“See, initially the Duchy of Lancaster dates back to the disinheritance of Simon de Montfort in 1265, but after that it became more significant. Henry IV, and later Edward IV, when he was king, made it separate from the Crown, but ever since it’s been passed down pretty much to the next descendent, i.e., the king…what’s it worth today, Tom? £350 million?”
It sounded reasonable. “Okay.”
“But, and correct me if I’m wrong, Tom, but the Duchy of Lancaster, though technically it belongs to the king, can’t be given away.”
That confused him. “Can’t…”
“Okay, let me rephrase. The king can profit from the income, yes. But he can’t sell the capital and keep it.”
Thomas bit his lip, slightly disturbed.
“We can always check…”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Edward grinned. “He liked helping people, your grandfather, didn’t he?”
“He was a n-nice man.”
“He certainly got on well with you. Is it true that you used to call him Popup when you were a kid?”
“Get to the point.”
“Oh, believe me, Tom, I will. See, the Duchy of Lancaster must be one of the largest trusts in the world. Investments, land, buildings…but, like I say, he’s only entitled to the profits. Technically, any money profited from a sale wouldn’t legally be his.
“And there was one little deal back in the early ’90s that was just a little over the edge. See, Joanna had actually been made Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, which technically made her a member of the Cabinet, albeit a minor one. And there was this rumour–”
“Do you base all your suggestion on rumour?”
“Not at all, as a matter of fact, I’ve seen the footage myself.”
Thomas assumed he was speaking of the projector in the hidden study.
“See, it was around 1992, the time when all the Common Agricultural crap came into play. See, that benefited the King no end. See, much of the Duchy’s land was farmland, so when this came in, his income exploded.
“But around the same time the King was offered a deal for some of the farmland the Duchy owned: build a shopping centre, flats, that kind of thing. Only problem was the land wasn’t his to sell. So what he and Joanna did…”
It was obvious to Thomas what was being suggested. “What you say is slander.”
“Is that what you think? Would you like to see the footage? The land was silently transferred, documents were forged, people tricked into thinking the King had actually bought the land with his own money years earlier. We’re talking five thousand acres, by the way.”
Thomas huffed. “That’s rather a lot of land to lose.”
“What do you mean, lose? Tom, have you seriously learned nothing about being a royal? You people never lose. Unfortunately for the King, or perhaps fortunately, depends what side you want the coin to land, the builders went bankrupt and the site didn’t go ahead. Only now he had a different problem.”
Edward moved closer.
“Joanna decided to tell everything,” Edward said, his sunny side returned. “It’s not good, is it? I mean, the King of England up to no good with government property.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “What has any of this got to do with your parents?”
Edward’s expression turned more serious. “After the company was liquidated, my father got wind from an acquaintance of some of the things that had been happening. Later that year he asked the King about it directly: literally, just like that, came out and asked him. Of course your granddad denied it.”
“Perhaps he was innocent.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you – I don’t blame you; after all, you’re his grandson,” Edward said, pausing. “Only now, it was no longer that simple. You see, the King and my father had something of a falling out – as a result my father threatened to expose them. Only then something strange happened.
“A few months before the general election, my father and mother were on their way back from a night out in Corsica. They were driving along this coastal road; you’d recognise it if you saw it – they always use it on the Tour de France…
“Anyway, they were driving back, and well, something happened, and the car went over the edge. Apparently Dad died immediately.”
Thomas noticed sadness in his voice.
“Never forget the day – not ever. I wasn’t with them in Corsica – I was here, being looked after by my granddad. He always looked after me, did Granddad. He’s dying himself, you know,” he said, making eye contact for the first time in a while. “The cancer started with the lungs, but then it spread. They caught it too late, you see. I’ve never had to be without him before. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.
“They called in the middle of the night: about three. He didn’t answer straight away; it just kept ringing and ringing. I knew something was wrong. It’s never good when someone calls you in the middle of the night, is it?”
Thomas remained unmoved. He could see there was sadness in Edward’s eyes. Strangely it reminded him of their time at school.
“Never forget the funeral. He was there, His Majesty, and the Queen, she was there. Your dad, he was there…you, you were there.”
“I’m sorry.”
Edward laughed. “What are you apologising for? You were only eight, same age as me.” He shook his head. “Never forget when the King got up to the lectern and made a speech. I loved him then: I was so proud that the King was there at my parents’ funeral – making a speech about how great they were. I thought it was brilliant.”
His expression hardened.
“It wasn’t till after we’d left school I finally found out – not for sure. Granddad, he’d always known, at least had his suspicions. They found the car in the sea; it had gone off the road. Initially the police thought they’d been involved in a car crash.”
“What makes you so s-sure they weren’t?”
Another ironic laugh. “You’re always the same, you are, aren’t you – Mr Cynical. I seriously don’t blame you, Tom; I’d probably say the same thing if I were you.
“It took years to find out what happened. Their deaths had actually been caused by sniper fire. The evidence was found on the right side of the car. Incredible, isn’t it that so many people can miss something so obvious? They found him three years later – the sniper. He was dead – his corpse found in the front seat of a car. Apparently he’d died of fumes.”
The story seemed familiar.
“They found me mum. She didn’t die in the crash. She had a bullet lodged right there.” He pointed to the right side of his head.
Thomas took a deep breath. “What happened?”
“No one knows, not for sure.” He shrugged. “But the Sons of York were determined to find out. They’d only restarted again in the late ’40s. The original Sons of York had an incredible network; apparently in the Middle Ages it was the best the world had ever seen. Apparently it extended all the way to the Vatican. Wherever you went in Europe, there was a Yorkist hiding somewhere.
“About two years later a cousin of one of our neighbours heard a rumour that the sniper had turned up. Rumour also had it that he had once been an employee of the Duke of York. Ryan Tomkins, his name was; there’s no record of him.”
“If there’s no record, he didn’t work for us.”
“Ah, I knew you’d say that; I swear, Tom, you’re easier to read than a bloody Kindle.
“A few years later, someone got to view his tax record at the HMRC. And guess what?”
No response.
“Yep, that’s right; he worked as a chauffeur to the Duke o
f York 1989 to 1993.”
Thomas exhaled deeply. “You think he shot at your parents’ car? Do you have any idea how absurd that sounds?”
“Absurd or not, that’s how it happened. It took me years to get the proof – even now I still don’t know everything.”
Edward removed a piece of paper from his pocket.
“Dad wrote this letter to Granddad less than a week before he died. You can read it if you like.”
Thomas snatched it and read it quickly, all the while continuing to listen to the earpiece. Jen had been quiet for some time, but he could still hear breathing.
He looked at Edward after finishing.
“Interesting reading, isn’t it?”
“You conceited baboon,” Thomas spat. “You expect me to s-stand here and swallow this crap. You manipulative little–”
“Steady on, Tom, steady. You have to consider yourself lucky. After all, your father is the only one not mentioned.”
Thomas tapped the paper. “Show me the original.”
“Why? So you can destroy it?”
Thomas grabbed hold of Edward’s shirt and pinned him against the wall. “I am not interested in the paranoid ravings of a pitiful insecure sneak. What happened to your parents was a tragedy, but it has nothing to do with the King.”
“You found the projector, didn’t you? I know you did; we’ve got cameras everywhere. And the library, did you find it interesting?”
Edward pushed him back.
“Great thing, history. Archives – brilliant. It makes things so much easier to follow when you have a trail that goes back centuries. Everything is there, going back to before Bosworth. Maybe next time you should wait around and see the whole thing.”
Thomas was livid. He raised his head as far as his neck would allow. He sought to speak, but was distracted by something in his ear.
Jen was screaming.
81
“Wait, hold on a second,” Jen interrupted. “The King ordered the murder of your son and daughter-in-law?”
The Plantagenet Vendetta Page 41
