The Catherine Howard Conspiracy

by Alexandra Walsh

  Determined to help, she took a deep breath, working up the courage to move. But as she revved the engine, she looked over at Kit and realised he was laughing. Seconds later, he was running towards her.

  “Come on,” he said. “They’re going to take us to the airfield.”

  “What?” said Perdita bemused. “Who are they?”

  “Jason and Nathan, old mates of mine,” he said, removing the keys from the moped and turning it towards the van where the doors were already open.

  “But won’t we be safer on the bridle path, away from the road?” she asked, refusing to move out of the shadows.

  “No,” Kit whispered. “The reason they stopped is because they saw a van they didn’t recognise blocking the far end of this path. They’ve also seen a couple of others and a group of men spreading out across the fields. They figured something was up. They thought it was a sheep rustling ring, but I bet it’s MI1. They were about to call the police. If we carry on along here, the Watchers will get us. This is our only chance.”

  Perdita bit her lip, nervously.

  “And we can trust these two?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “No question.”

  Perdita threw a glance at the two men who were waiting by the van, then gave a short nod. Kit grinned in relief and began wheeling the moped towards the waiting vehicle. Moments later, the two men had helped him lift it inside.

  “Come on,” Kit whispered, beckoning to her. Perdita, knowing she had to trust Kit’s judgement, ran along the bridle path where he hauled her into the back of the van.

  “Sit on the floor and keep out of sight,” said the taller of the two men, before slamming the door and plunging them into darkness.

  Perdita dropped her head into hands. The night was pushing her to the limit of her nerves. There was a roar as the engine started and they lurched out on to the road. The unexpected movement unbalanced her and she tumbled into Kit who was sitting beside her.

  “Don’t worry, Perds,” he sat, helping her to sit up again. “We’re safer here than out in the open, especially if MI1 are patrolling the fields. They probably know about the jet and are trying to stop us getting to the airport.”

  “They’re doing a good job,” replied Perdita. More than anything, she wanted this journey over.

  In what felt like no time at all, the van crunched onto gravel and came to a halt. The back doors opened and Perdita could see lights in the distance.

  “Kit, you need to be careful, there are people everywhere,” whispered the tall man.

  “Thanks, Jason,” Kit replied. “Can you take Briony’s moped back?”

  “Yeah, no worries, it was coming in to me for a service next week anyway,” he muttered. Perdita climbed out, her eyes on the perimeter fence.

  “Thanks,” she whispered to Jason.

  “My pleasure, now get going.”

  Hulking buildings loomed in the night, their shapes blacker than the autumn sky as they ran through the shadows looking for number five.

  “There,” she said as they rounded a final corner. “The last one, there’s a gate.”

  They edged forward, making it through to the relative safety of the shadows. The hangar doors were wide open and light spilled out on to the wet grass that edged the tarmac runway. Then Perdita saw something that made bile rise in her stomach and panic fill her head. Striding into the hangar were three men in black uniforms. In their arms they cradled guns that glinted menacingly in the dim light. One marched up to the waiting jet, where a tall slim man with a beard gave them a cautious nod.

  “Shit, now what?” whispered Kit.

  “If we go back, they might see us.”

  “But if we stay here, they’ll definitely find us,” he hissed. Laughter suddenly filled the air, pulling their attention back to the hangar. The three armed men said something to the pilot then vanished back inside the airport offices.

  “Now,” said Perdita, and ran forward.

  “Blake,” she whispered the password to the startled pilot, Elliot.

  “Sam, they’re here,” he hissed and a woman with long brown hair, dressed in black, emerged from the jet. She hurried down the short flight of steps leading to the only door in the side of the jet and took Perdita’s rucksack.

  “Quick,” she whispered, “those men are Watchers, they could be back at any moment. Lie on the floor.”

  Perdita ran up the short staircase, relieved that the plane had been parked in such a way that the side door they were all scurrying through was obscured from the office windows.

  “Stay out of sight,” instructed Elliot, who had followed them on board. “We don’t have much time.”

  Perdita squashed herself into the small aisle between the seats. Kit squeezed in behind her. Sam leaned out of the plane, pushing away the steps before slamming the door. The engines roared and the small jet rumbled forward. Elliot spoke into his headset and they were given clearance for take-off.

  Taxiing to the runway, the plane began to build up speed. As it did, the three armed men streaked into the night, running flat out towards the jet, shouting and firing rounds above their heads, their voices filling the air with violence. But the plane’s nose was lifting. They were rising, rising, rising; the men were becoming smaller, smaller and they were up, flying free through the starry sky.

  Chapter Three

  The next month passed in a blur for Perdita. On arrival at Castle Jerusalem after their traumatic journey, she and Piper had fallen on each other, before finally collapsing into bed and sleeping almost around the clock. It was a few days later when Kit had shown her around properly, and she had realised the clue was in the name of the Mackensie’s home.

  “I know you’ve always said it was called Castle Jerusalem,” she said, gazing up at the thick stone walls and the arched doorway that seemed to grow out of the austere mountainside, “but I didn’t think it was a real castle.”

  “It’s not much,” laughed Kit, “but it’s home.”

  It was a terrible joke and Perdita had looked at Kit in amusement. Megan had insisted on taking charge and showing the twins around the tiny nation of Andorra, while Kit had dragged them out to meet his friends and enjoy the night life, persuading them both they needed a holiday and a chance to relax. To her surprise, Perdita had found the fear of their escape subsiding as they settled into the Mackensie’s home. Occasionally, a nightmare dragged her from sleep, but in the land surrounded by mountains, she felt safe.

  After showing Piper the ring and examining it more thoroughly, Perdita had asked Megan to place it in the strong room. Until she knew what was happening in London, and when they would be allowed to return to Marquess House, she was reluctant to begin work on the ring and all the possibilities its continuing existence presented. Throughout her career, she had handled ancient jewels, assessing their meaning, their value and their significance, but she was hesitant of spending too much time in the company of the ruby ring. Deep within her, she knew that, once she began exploring its secrets, she would not be able to rest until she had discovered the truth and, at present, the task seemed overwhelming.

  At last, Alistair and Susan had sent word they would be arriving in Andorra the following day.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to go home?” Piper had asked that evening as they sat in the two-bedroomed apartment where they were staying. It was located in one of the towers and offered spectacular mountain views.

  “I hope so,” Perdita had replied. “It would be great to be home for Christmas.”

  Now, they stood on the stairs leading to the Grande Hall, hesitating as raised voices reached them.

  “Is that Kit and Alistair arguing?” asked Perdita.

  “It sounds like it,” replied Piper. “Should we interrupt?”

  Alistair and Susan had arrived earlier in the afternoon. The greetings then had been effusive. Delighted though Alistair and Susan had been to see everyone, Alistair had refused to update them immediately.

  “We need to sort out the luggag
e,” he had said, pointing to the pile of boxes and suitcases stacked near the entrance hall, “and settle into our rooms. I suggest we meet for drinks in the Grande Hall at 6 p.m., then I can update you and we can follow our discussion with dinner. It’s rather complicated.”

  “We’re safe though,” Perdita had whispered to him when he had hugged her.

  “Yes, my dear, you’re safe,” he had reassured her.

  Perdita and Piper hesitated, not wishing to interrupt the father and son altercation, but as Perdita turned to her sister to suggest they head to the other less formal sitting room for a few minutes to allow the discussion to subside, the door was flung open and Kit marched out, looking flustered. When he saw them hovering on the wide staircase, he halted.

  Alistair appeared in the door way. He, too, looked less sanguine than usual, until he saw them, then his face split into a broad and delighted smile.

  “Perdita! Piper!” he exclaimed, walking up to hug them fiercely, one after the other. “Come in, my dears. You both look ravishing.”

  Kit, after a moment of hesitation, followed.

  A bowl of glühwein was warming on top of a small stove, Alistair ladled out two large glassfuls and handed them one each. Piper took hers and retreated to a wing-back armchair beside the roaring fire. Alistair followed, leaving Perdita and Kit alone.

  “Is everything all right between you and your dad?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing,” replied Kit. “We often disagree about things. You’ve just never heard us shouting at one another. Dad isn’t always the calm, serene Dumbledore character you know. He has a real temper when roused.”

  Perdita laughed.

  “Are you the same?” she asked.

  “What, do I have a temper?”

  “Yes. I certainly do. It’s a long fuse, but when I blow up, which isn’t often, it can be spectacular. Piper, on the other hand, will very quickly let you know when she’s irritated.”

  “It’s her red hair,” he smiled. “But, yes, a bit like you, it’s a long fuse but incandescent when I blow. Today, with Dad, well, it was more professional differences. We bicker a lot in our day-to-day work, this was overspill. Is Piper OK?” Kit asked, nodding towards where she was speaking intently to Alistair.

  “Yes,” said Perdita. “Although, we’re both having the occasional nightmare about being chased, which is chilling.”

  “Same here,” admitted Kit.

  “We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t react,” she replied, giving him a reassuring smile. However, before he could answer, the door opened to admit Susan, Megan and, her fiancé, Pablo, in a flurry of noise and wedding discussions. After helping themselves to drinks, they too grouped themselves around the fire, the conversation about the table plan coming to a natural end. Perdita settled on the two-seater sofa beside Piper’s chair.

  All eyes turned to Alistair who, after taking a sip of wine, began: “Last week, I had a meeting with the Home Secretary…”

  “What?” exclaimed Perdita.

  “It’s not as strange as it sounds, my dear,” chuckled Alistair. “He and I were at Cambridge together and we’ve remained good friends. I rarely use the connection professionally, preferring to keep our business and personal lives separate. This time I felt we needed to flex some political muscle.”

  “And what did you discuss?” asked Piper. Perdita noticed her sister’s voice sounded strangely high-pitched and nervous.

  “The situation with MI1 Elite, Inigo Westbury, the Milford Haven Treaty and the arrest warrants issued under the auspices of The White List.”

  Kit slid into the seat beside her. Perdita could not help but feel relieved; his presence was always comforting.

  “And?” prompted Perdita.

  “When I questioned him, the Home Secretary declared The White List to be a fabrication, a myth, I think were his actual words. However, I doubt his sincerity on this particular matter.” Kit leaned forward as though he were about to speak, but Alistair gave a small shake of his head and Kit subsided. Alistair continued, “He did declare that the Milford Haven Treaty was valid and, if Westbury had issued such warrants, his actions would have been a violation of his position as head of MI1 Elite. However, as the men Westbury had placed around Marquess House, thankfully, failed to capture you, there is very little that can be done to prove these documents ever existed. Westbury has been questioned and denied all knowledge of either the warrants or despatching a guard to Marquess House. His office and computer have been searched and, at present, there is no trace of anything incriminating.”

  “But we have CCTV footage of the guard outside the gates…” interrupted Kit.

  “And as I was saying to you earlier, the vans were all unmarked, the men were wearing dark clothing and the number plates of the vans were obscured, in other words, MI1 can disassociate themselves entirely.”

  “What about the men in the fields and blocking the bridle path? And the ones at the airport with guns?” asked Perdita. “They fired them into the sky when we were taking off.”

  “Again, these men were in dark, unmarked uniforms and, although I doubt you’ll be surprised to hear this, there was a fault on the CCTV cameras at Withybush Airport that night, allegedly. Therefore, there is no footage or proof that those men were ever there. The local constabulary claim any loud explosions or noises were probably fireworks.”

  Perdita stared at Alistair, trying to stem the unease his words brought. Once again, she realised the sheer might of the force they were battling.

  “However, despite the Home Secretary’s assurances that Westbury will not cross our paths again, and Marquess House remains a sovereign state, he has agreed to an enquiry into Westbury’s behaviour and methodology. His appointment to the head of MI1 Elite was always a surprise and he does not appear to be making a success of it. In other words, the power is going to his head and he is beginning to believe he is above the law. The man is unpredictable, cruel and has no conscience, so until his superiors have decided what action to take concerning Westbury, Susan and I believe it would be safest for us all to remain here.”

  Perdita turned away, disappointment washing through her. Until hearing these words, she had not realised how much she had been hoping they would soon be on their way home to Marquess House. Now it seemed Castle Jerusalem would be their base for a while longer.

  “You and Mum too?” asked Megan, trying to keep the relief from her voice.

  “We can all work as well from here as at Marquess House. There is the secure portal for transference of files. I’ve been assured these are all still active and untapped by the Watchers, as agreed by the Treaty. Stuart will be coming here for Megan and Pablo’s wedding and his plan was to stay until Christmas, but I will insist he remains until things have cooled down.”

  “What about the people at Marquess House?” asked Perdita. “Sarah and Alan, Billy, Larry, Jenny, Mark, Briony? Everyone else? Will they be safe from the Watchers? Marquess House belongs to Piper and me, we have responsibility for the people who live there, who rely on us.”

  “Once again, the Home Secretary has given us his word that the Treaty will be properly enforced and they are in no danger.”

  Perdita stared at Alistair, her temper rising.

  “The Watchers threatened our lives then chased us out of the country, and we have to remain fugitives. It doesn’t seem fair, Alistair,” she snapped.

  “And it isn’t fair, Perdita,” he agreed, “but we are a few steps ahead of MI1 at present and I would like us to remain so in our quest for the truth.”

  “What do you mean, Dad?” asked Kit.

  “The two of you are able to categorically prove that Catherine Howard wasn’t executed, but died peacefully at Marquess House. You have uncovered evidence to show she gave birth to twins. Perdita, you have proved Mary’s theories and created new one’s of your own. You and Kit, with Mary’s help, have located the first of the three missing pieces of jewellery, which are supposedly the key to this mystery. We know there ar
e two more that we need to find to ensure our safety. Whether they still exist or not, we have no idea, but we must keep looking. The first story is told but the next one is about to begin.”

  “Catherine’s children,” said Perdita, her fury subsiding, and Alistair nodded.

  “Exactly, my dear. You have told the mother’s tale, now you must discover what happened next. Indeed, if there is anything to tell.”

  There was silence as everyone considered Alistair’s words. Perdita’s eyes met Piper’s and her sister smiled, ever defiant and encouraging. Beside her, she felt Kit’s blue gaze, the electricity of his presence and his constant support. It was then she realised, for most of her life, she had been looking backwards, dwelling on her losses, on what might have been, on people she had never known and places she would never visit, but it was time to move forward. To continue along the path begun by her grandmother but which would now be finished by herself, Piper and Kit.

  “Catherine’s children,” she repeated, as a small ray of hope teased at the edges of her heart. “We need to bring them home too.”

  “And you can do it, Perds,” said Piper.

  “You’re probably the only one who can,” added Kit.

  “Yes,” said Perdita. “No matter how impossible the task may seem, we must remember what Catherine always believed.”

  “What was that?” asked Megan.

  “Things may be difficult but there is always hope and mermaids,” said Perdita.

  Her excitement was building and suddenly, a smile of such radiance burst across her face, it was as though she were a different person. The worries, the fear, the loneliness that had plagued her for years fell away as she stared around at the people she loved best. It was as though her grandmother was finally sitting beside her, smiling her approval.

  She was with Piper and they were safe and sound at last.