“You don’t give off the impression you dislike them.”
“On the contrary, hopefully one day they will no longer be necessary. What’s the saying: if you want peace, war is inevitable.”
“An old saying,” Jen said.
“Still as true today as it was then.”
A strange silence had overcome the chapel, almost religious in nature. The sound of shuffling was the only disturbance, again coming from Morris. Nearby, Lovell was kneeling by his side, tending to his wound.
“So what’s your involvement in all this?” Jen asked.
The question was for Catesby. “It was my noble ancestor’s grand ambition to oversee a great transition from the turbulence that plagued England following the schism of the House of Plantagenet. Like his noble cousins, he understood that things like pestilence and bad harvest that contributed so greatly to the turmoil would be only temporary measures, leaving the developments of the realm safe among the prudent. I don’t, of course, expect you to be familiar with the work of my great namesake; his private writings have rarely made it out of the family.”
It saved her a question.
“But I daresay, not everybody lost in the result of the great schism. Our families perhaps had the most to profit. When the feeble Henry VI lost power to the great Edward IV, England briefly became a country of great enterprise: the flair of the merchant was rewarded as much as the toil of the industrialist, including that of the common man. In the past, the greatest mistake a man could make was to try to profit by someone else’s work. It was that which failed the feudal system.
“When Edward IV died, his son had the potential to be one of the greatest kings who ever lived, but even God could not prevent his slide into darkness. When the mantle fell upon the greatest general of Medieval Europe, England could have been secure for another twenty or thirty years. It’s been estimated that the Wars of the Roses saw the end of the great noble families. Less predictable, alas, the end of a great nation.”
Jen couldn’t believe her ears. “Most people would call it the shaping of a great nation. Let me guess. You’re going to deliver another diatribe about religion. Save your breath, I’ve heard them all before.”
Catesby’s indignation was apparent. “An understandable misapprehension, but a misapprehension nonetheless. In truth, the religious fires that came after were merely a by-product. By the time the bastard of Henry VIII took the throne, the Reformation had already gone too far to be countered altogether. It was never my ancestors’ intention to destroy the new. Only to make room for the old.”
He took a step forward.
“It is never possible to live peacefully through conquest. Only compromise.”
The sound of a helicopter interrupted Jen’s intended response. The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat. Glass shattered from the broken window, accompanied by a sudden gust of wind as the force of the blades passed by.
Edward was horrified. “You called MI5,” he said, unclear whether he was speaking to Jen or Thomas.
Standing alongside them, Ratcliffe and Catesby were both alarmed.
“You must’ve done.” Panic was written all over his face.
Thomas, meanwhile, was edging to his left, now touching Jen.
His next move was instinctive. Taking advantage of Edward’s brief look over his shoulder, Thomas pounced, taking Edward with him to the floor.
They landed heavily, Edward taking most of the damage on his back.
He lost his gun on impact.
Catesby was still armed. He aimed at Thomas, cocked and poised to shoot. He felt a thud on the back of his leg and fell over instantly, losing his gun. It skidded along the aisle, landing at Jen’s feet.
“Stay where you are,” she said, picking it up. “You too.”
Ratcliffe obeyed without hesitation. He lowered himself to the ground extra slowly and placed his hands over his head.
Jen looked to the side of the chapel. Lovell had disappeared, as had Morris. She heard the sound of a door closing, then locking.
She cursed her luck.
Now they could be anywhere.
She returned her focus to her new prisoners. “I told you to keep still.”
The gun went off, the sound echoing. Catesby flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the floor, barely a metre away.
Jen was so surprised she nearly dropped the gun.
She had no idea it was even cocked.
She turned and aimed at Jeffries, then Edward, but refrained from firing. The two cousins were still at deadlock, their hands gripping each other around the shoulders. Edward’s face had turned bright red, whereas Thomas was in better control.
It was obvious who the fitter of the two was.
Fitness was proving the key. Thomas flipped Edward over and pinned him to the floor. He punched him twice in the face, drawing blood. Edward kicked back hard, making contact with the ribs. Thomas felt the force. He fell backwards, sliding about a metre before regaining himself. He jumped to his feet immediately and charged at Edward.
Edward was riled. He attempted to run in the other direction, but struggled to keep his feet on the tiled surface. He leaned forward for the gun, stretching himself to the utmost.
Grabbing it, he rolled onto his back, pointing the gun upwards.
Thomas stopped. He thought he was about to be shot, but Edward delayed. To Thomas’s left, Jen was alongside him, still in possession of Catesby’s revolver. He looked again at Edward, now a melting pot of rage.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Edward said. He rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on the prince. He cocked the trigger and aimed at Thomas’s head.
He heard movement from behind, causing him to panic. He turned and fired instinctively.
Only then did he realise his mistake.
Less than half a mile away, the helicopter landed outside one of the mansions. Stephen was the first to exit, followed by West.
“Where is it?”
The MP knew the way well. “Follow me.”
86
Edward was horrified on seeing what he had done. His grandfather was lying on the floor, oozing blood.
Edward collapsed to his knees, his vision clouded by tears. The bullet had entered the skin around the right shoulder area, close to the collarbone. The wound gushed quickly, clearly visible despite the man’s thick suit jacket.
Edward placed his hands to the wound and pushed hard. Blood escaped through his fingers, covering his hands.
“Granddad.” His voice was barely audible. His hands shook violently, as did the rest of him.
The old man coughed, a chesty cough, though much weaker than before. The reflex was different, noticeably without conviction.
“Quick,” Edward shouted to no one in particular, “call an ambulance.”
He returned his attention to the floor. He sought to speak, but the old man silenced him. He grabbed his grandson’s outstretched hand and held it with both of his.
“Edward,” he said, the words audible only to them, “we are undone.”
His lip quivered, as did the young man’s. Edward watched as the man who raised him took a deep breath and lowered his head to one side.
Either dead or just unconscious, it was impossible to know.
Thomas and Jen watched, mesmerized. Jen struggled to breathe. She tried to move, but her legs had gone to jelly.
Thomas’s first concern was for Jen. He grabbed her hand and backed away toward the doors. Ratcliffe and Catesby were still on the floor, neither daring to move.
Thomas led the way through the open doors, turned right immediately and sprinted along the corridor.
He stopped on reaching a dead end. He was on virgin ground, the only part of the house neither of them had explored.
He instantly regretted his choice.
He replaced the earpiece and tried to contact Caroline.
“Caroline, I need guidance.”
No response.
“Caroline?”
Anthea hea
rd the voice. She put the headset on and replied.
“Caroline?”
“Try the third door on the right.”
“Where’s Caroline?”
“She’s fine.”
That wasn’t the question. Nevertheless he took the instruction.
“It’s just an empty room.”
Anthea cursed her mistake. “Try the next one.”
“Wh-where’s–”
“She fainted.”
“What?”
“She’s okay, I’ll explain. Try the next door.”
Thomas tried it and saw a large cluttered room with bay windows and a mini balcony that overlooked the grounds and a winding stairway by the far wall. Once upon a time it would have been part of the old servants’ quarters.
He descended the stairs and came to another corridor.
“Where now?”
She wasn’t sure.
“Anthea?”
“Stop yelling,” she yelled herself. “Go left. There’s a doorway at the end.”
He opened it and found a third corridor. Unlike most in the house, the wall was a dirty shade of white and the carpet older and messier. Numerous religious artefacts decorated the walls, ranging from watercolour paintings to crosses.
Immediately there was gunfire.
Thomas dived behind the door, taking Jen with him.
“Give me the gun.”
She obeyed.
He waited for the gunfire to stop, using the door as a makeshift shield. The bullets penetrated the wood, destroying the upper half.
When the sound died, he inched it open, then fully.
Immediately the gunfire resumed, coming from the end of the corridor. Whoever it was had clearly been waiting for them.
Thomas fired twice, more in hope than expectation. He could tell from the cries the second shot had been successful. The man fell, slumped against the wall.
“Stay here.”
Thomas ran toward him, the revolver trained on the gunman. The man was hooded, clearly a friar, and evidently still alive. Cautiously he approached. Satisfied the man was unconscious, he stole the firearm. It was automatic, modern and, most importantly, had three magazines of ammo left.
He looked at Jen, who was still crouching by the door.
“Come on.”
Kneeling by his grandfather’s side, Edward felt a light hand on his shoulder. As he looked up to his left, he saw the cold eyes of William Catesby staring down at him.
“They must not escape.”
Edward looked back at him for what seemed in the circumstances a lengthy pause before placing his hands to his eyes. He dried the tears, but failed to mask the stains.
He rose to his feet and loaded his gun.
Thomas and Jen were about halfway down the main stairs when the gunfire resumed. A swarm of bullets battered the wall behind them, ruining three pieces of art.
Debris fell like snow.
Edward was screaming at the top of the stairway. “Don’t run from me, you bastard.”
Edward fired again, the closest yet. Thomas dived instinctively, forcing Jen off balance. They rolled for several steps, the jagged edges of the wooden stairway hard on their sides and back despite the carpet.
Jen was the first to her feet. She grabbed Thomas with her left hand, doing her best to sprint and keep low. As the gunfire ceased, she heard running at the top of the stairway.
Then more gunfire.
Thomas picked up the pace, concentrating on the floor above. He could hear but not see Edward Jeffries descending at a fast pace, the bullets from his gun destroying the nearby decorations.
Thomas let go of Jen’s hand, allowing her to get ahead of him. They both ducked as a new barrage of gunshots caused debris to fall from above, landing on the stairs and ruining the carpet.
No question, the bullets were getting nearer.
They made it to the first floor. Thomas considered making a run for the corridor, though Jen had already continued for the stairs. As the gunfire ceased again, they heard running from above, the sound confirming Edward’s location.
The gunfire started again.
Thomas turned as he ran, and fired upwards. Sparks flew off the railing, whereas others hit the wall. He looked briefly to his left as one bullet made contact with the large painting of Edward hanging on the next wall, the bullet entering the forehead.
He took aim once more as the angle opened up, but dismissed firing again.
A clear shot was impossible.
Jen reached the bottom of the stairs. The large hallway was the only thing that separated her from the front door. She pulled on the handle, but it was locked.
She had no idea how to open it from the inside.
Gunfire resumed on the stairs. She had two choices, the lounge or the kitchen.
She chose the kitchen.
Thomas had the same idea. He jumped the last four steps, narrowly avoiding a volley of bullets.
Sensing Edward was getting closer, he sprinted for the kitchen, aware that Jen was already outside. He found her again less than twenty metres from the door, visibly relieved he’d made it.
They had made it into the grounds.
Outside the main gate, Stephen stopped. He looked at West alongside him.
“Where to now?”
“There’s an entrance around the side.”
87
Where to next? Thomas knew his life depended on the decision, and he had zero time to decide.
And that had almost elapsed.
Instinct had guided them close to where Thomas had earlier made his entrance. Drawing on experience, he headed for the mazelike hedges.
“Head west; there’s more shelter.” The instructions came in his ear.
“Which way is west?” Thomas asked.
“Hundred degrees left, you should be aiming for a tennis court,” Anthea said.
“I see it.”
They went for it, taking a pathway to the right before changing direction across one of the lawns.
“If you follow your current path, you might be exposed,” Anthea continued. “Stick to the left.”
It sounded like decent advice.
“Thanks.”
Edward had finally made it outside. He eyed the grounds from the patio, looking for any sign of movement.
The grounds were deserted, the vague sound of animal life the only exception.
He crossed the first lawn and continued toward the tennis court. He reloaded as he ran, giving him forty bullets in one magazine.
Surely more than he needed.
Anthea’s advice had taken them into woodland, a good choice, all things considered. The grounds continued for two miles in certain directions, whereas, according to Anthea, the nearest border was less than half a mile away.
“We can get out there,” Jen said, pointing. “It’s where I got out the other night.”
Thomas took her word for it. They passed what remained of the castle, neither of them showing any interest in the former ruins. Thomas had never seen it, but he was familiar with the rumours.
He guessed they were probably true after all.
The woodlands were a thick assembly of briars and thickets, encompassing over a mile in area. The evening sun was slowly setting over the distant fields to the west, shrouding the woodland in partial gloom.
With the light going, the woodland offered ample hiding places.
They heard gunfire, loud but not particularly near. Instinct told Thomas it was a shot in anger, almost certainly from Edward. Nevertheless, the sound was still unnerving.
Thomas veered left among the trees and over a small brook, followed closely by Jen. The pathway wound from left to right, and then over open ground. There were several outbuildings at this point, most of which Jen had seen before.
“Here,” she said. “It’s this way.”
She grabbed Thomas’s hand, and this time didn’t let go. They passed the mill and then the barn.
Gunfire.
This
time much closer.
Bullets marked the walls of the barn, a permanent scar, causing splinters to fall. Thomas stopped by the wall and cautiously looked to his right.
Edward had emerged from the trees, now less than a hundred metres away.
Thomas wasted no time. He led the way to the other side of the barn. His heart sank on seeing what awaited.
At least three hundred metres of open ground separated the barn and the edge of the estate.
They stopped on the other side of the barn, allowing one final deep breath.
“You ready?”
Jen looked him in the eye and nodded.
He grabbed her hand and then went for it, keeping as low as possible. They heard gunfire behind them, but it wasn’t close. Edward was tiring, and it showed. They both heard shouting, something out of anger.
The exact words were lost on the wind.
They reached the wall that circled the west side of the property. Jen looked for the area she’d used the night before but found nothing but bricks and stone.
“Here, I’ll push you over,” Thomas said.
“What?”
“There’s no time.”
Edward had reappeared close to the barn. He saw them and fired while on the run.
“Now,” Thomas shouted.
Jen jumped immediately and came down with a crash. She hit her head as she came down on the path.
Fortunately nothing more than a scratch.
Seconds later Thomas was also over. He caught his right leg as he came down, nearly losing a trainer.
“Come on.”
Edward cursed aloud. Catching them in his condition was now impossible.
He came to a standstill on reaching the wall and took several deep breaths.
As he composed himself, he heard something. Was his hearing deceiving him? In the distance, he heard consternation.
He jogged in that direction. Access to the pathway was still restricted by the wall and various hedges, but a view across the churchyard presented itself.
The Plantagenet Vendetta Page 45
