Kit rounded on Perdita as she approached. “What’s Piper thinking of accusing Callum of spying?”
“She didn’t,” snapped Perdita. “She doesn’t know Callum but she did meet him at a black-tie event held by Jeremy’s firm. Callum attended as Kirstin’s date. If he was anyone other than your best friend, you’d be the first one to mistrust and question him.”
Kit looked as though he was about to argue the point but then he backed down, as ever, scrupulously honest. He gave a curt nod. “Fine,” he said and turning on his heel, stormed off.
Alistair opened his office door and beckoned her inside.
A few moments later, Callum arrived, bemused at being so formally summoned. Alistair introduced Perdita, who nodded a greeting but did not speak. Instead she tried to put aside all her preconceived ideas in order to listen to the facts and assess them rationally.
“My apologies for this Cal,” said Alistair, pointing to the chair opposite his desk, “but we have to ask a few delicate questions.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Callum asked.
“Perdita’s sister, Piper, recognised you from an event you both attended while you were in the US,” Alistair continued. “It’s the woman you took as your date whom interests us and your connections to her.”
Callum looked even more confused.
“Your sister?” he asked, looking at Perdita. “Who’s your sister?”
“Mrs Piper Davidson, wife of Jeremy Davidson and you accompanied a woman called Kirstin Chaplin,” supplied Alistair.
Callum’s face cleared with understanding. “The tedious do in New York,” he said. “Jeremy is on secondment from the London branch and is usually based in Austin, Texas, isn’t he?” confirmed Callum, and on a nod from Perdita, continued: “A number of staff were flown to New York for the annual internal awards ceremony.”
“And your date, Kirstin Chaplin?” prompted Perdita.
“She wasn’t a date. As we were the only two who weren’t coming with partners it was suggested we paired up and made up the final numbers of the table where Jeremy and his wife sat.”
“So, you and Kirstin weren’t or aren’t romantically involved?” Alastair asked.
“No!” exclaimed Callum, laughing. “The first time I met her was in the lobby of the hotel where the awards ceremony was being held. We talked at dinner — she was very good at small talk and networking — and she told me about her two daughters and how one loves horse-riding, the other is a brilliant tap dancer. I told her a bit about Mum and Elliot but then it went back to work talk. I thought Jeremy’s wife looked quite unhappy all evening. She didn’t seem too keen on Kirstin.”
“Was Kirstin interested in your mother’s job?” asked Alistair.
“Only in passing,” said Callum.
“Did you mention the name Jerusalem, at all?”
Callum considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I said Mum was a librarian and Elliot was a commercial pilot. You’ve always told us to be circumspect when we discuss our jobs with strangers, so I followed your usual line. When the dancing started, Kirstin went off with Jeremy until, in the end, his wife cut in between them. I don’t think Kirstin and I spoke again.”
“And have you heard from or spoken to Kirstin Chaplin since?” asked Perdita.
“No, nothing,” replied Callum. “As I said, I met her for the first time that evening and I haven’t seen her since. What’s this about Alistair? Why is everyone so upset.”
“Kirstin Chaplin is having an affair with Jeremy Davidson and was instrumental in the break-up of Piper and Jeremy’s marriage. She has been the cause of a great deal of pain for Perdita’s sister,” said Alistair. “Piper was shocked and upset to see you. She thought you and Kirstin were involved and asked if we would check your connections.”
“Poor thing!” Callum said, horrified. “It would explain a few things, though.”
“What things?” asked Perdita.
“Why your sister was so edgy at the New York party. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked but how incredibly sad and I thought Jeremy behaved appallingly. He ignored your sister and was all over Kirstin like a rash. It was embarrassing.”
“Thank you, Cal, your information has been very useful,” Alastair said, standing up to indicate the interview was over. “However, if you could be thoughtful around Piper, we’d all be very grateful. Her marriage has broken down irreparably since her husband’s affair with Kirstin Chaplin and she’s in a great deal of emotional pain, something which probably isn’t helped by the wedding fever gripping the castle at the moment.”
“Of course,” said Callum, walking to the door with Alistair. “I’ll do whatever is best. I wouldn’t want to upset anyone, but really, I have no connections with Kirstin Chaplin. I spent that one evening chaperoning her and she was more interested in…” He checked himself. “Well, she wasn’t interested in me.” They had reached the door and he turned to Perdita. “Please tell your sister I’m sorry to have upset her.”
Callum hurried through the door. Alistair shut it behind him and re-joined Perdita at the desk.
“Do you believe him?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Alistair. “For now, we will have to put this down to unfortunate circumstances and coincidence, however, when the wedding is over, I will ask the team watching Kirstin Chaplin to dig deeper and see what else they can uncover. We know she has links to Randolph Connors. My guess is, Randolph employed Kirstin to spy on Jeremy and the fact she ended up being chaperoned by Cal was a pure chance.”
Perdita considered all she had heard and looked into Alistair’s clear blue eyes. Piper’s question echoed in her ears: “Can we trust the Mackensies?” and Perdita swallowed as once more a fear that Alistair was lying rose in her. Could they trust them? Granny had trusted them, so had Mum, she thought, and they are both dead.
“Perdita, are you feeling all right?” She heard Alistair’s voice through her unexpected panic.
And both your mother and your grandmother were murdered by MI1 Elite, her rational self answered. An organisation Alistair has spent his life defeating. Do not let fear and paranoia destroy everything.
“Sorry, Alistair,” Perdita said, “I’m a bit tired after last night. If you think Callum is trustworthy, then I believe you.” Smiling at Alistair, she walked towards the door. “Piper and I have a list of errands to run for Megan. I’m going to insist she comes with me — it will be good to get out of the castle for a while.”
Hurrying back to their tower, Perdita’s heart beat fast in her chest as she wondered whether she had made the right decision.
Chapter Four
Megan and Pablo’s wedding day dawned with a crystal-clear blue sky and passed in a whirl of laughter and happiness, with the newlyweds leaving for a sunshine-filled honeymoon. As the last glass of champagne was drunk and the last song was played at the reception, Perdita could not help but think, “And now, I can get back to work.”
Olaf had called her the day before to tell her his team had identified the name of the ship in Dale. Around the figurehead of a mermaid was the name ‘Arbella Stuart’.
Somehow Perdita had expected it to have a connection with either Catherine Howard or Penelope Fitzalan, or even the Llyn Cel mermaid, which would account for the figurehead. Arbella Stuart was the last name she had expected to hear.
Perdita was still thinking it over the following Monday when she met Kit in his office to continue with their research.
“Remember the initials on the fourth bust in the chapel at Marquess House? A.S.?” she asked him. “I think they stand for Arbella Stuart.”
“Great,” said Kit, then he leaned back and folded his arms. “Who’s Arbella Stuart?”
“She is the name of the wreck that Olaf and I were investigating last summer and, in Tudor times, she was the granddaughter of Lady Margaret Douglas,” replied Perdita. “There was also a time when she was considered the most likely candidate to be named heir to Elizabeth I.”
“Once James I was named as heir, Arbella rather faded into the background. She supposedly suffered from an illness called porphyria, which has also been prescribed to both Mary, Queen of Scots and George III by varying historians, which was said to cause the occasional bout of madness. What with this and being a woman, she was more or less forgotten for centuries.”
“Yet she had a ship named after her?”
“Yes, and a ship with a mermaid figurehead,” replied Perdita. “I’ve done a bit more research into mermaid imagery and iconography — after all, they’re all over Marquess House, Catherine Howard was the inspiration for the legend of the Llyn Cel mermaid and then there’s the Ladies of Melusine, the name Granny had been considering as the title of her second unpublished manuscript. Melusine being a water goddess who was half woman, half fish…”
“A mermaid,” interrupted Kit, grinning.
“Indeed, a mermaid.”
“Did you find any others?”
“Yes, quite a few. What’s interesting for us, because it fits with the timeframe we’re studying, is the array of mermaid symbolism during Tudor times, particularly in the Elizabethan era.”
“Wasn’t the mermaid a derogatory term suggesting a woman of low-morals?”
“Correct. Because of her tail, a mermaid was seen as impenetrable, therefore making her a tease,” Perdita replied. “The women of the era viewed them in a different way, though. There’s a very famous portrait of Elizabeth I called the Armada painting and there’s a mermaid carved on to her chair of state. It’s supposed to represent her feminine wiles in luring the Spanish sailors to their deaths.”
Kit laughed. “Isn’t that stretching the interpretation a bit thin?”
“Very,” agreed Perdita. “Although, even more strangely, another more recent interpretation of this is the suggestion that the mermaid is supposed to represent Mary, Queen of Scots. It’s claimed that the reason Elizabeth is facing away from the carving is because Mary and all the plots she aroused are behind Elizabeth. Mary, Queen of Scots was executed in February 1587 and the Armada followed a year later. You can’t dismiss the possibility that the carving does represent Mary because there is surprising amount of mermaid imagery relating to her.”
“Really?”
“The most famous images are those of a mermaid and a hare which were distributed after her third and much derided marriage to James Hepburn, 4th Earl of Bothwell. It was to defame Mary, suggesting she was little better than a prostitute for marrying him. There is also a passage in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream which refers to a mermaid riding a dolphin. It’s supposed to be a play on words of Mary and the dauphin, her first husband, the French prince, who became King Francis II of France. And, there’s a house called Harvington Hall that has mermaid imagery from the Elizabethan era on the walls, as well as numerous carvings in churches, cathedrals and castles, including Stirling Castle.”
“Which is fascinating,” agreed Kit, “but doesn’t help me understand who Arbella Stuart was in connection to the throne.”
“Mary, Queen of Scots, who became monarch at five days old, grew up to marry three times like her paternal grandmother, Margaret Tudor. First she married Francis II, the king of France and was briefly Queen of France, then after he died and she had returned to Scotland, she married Henry Stuart, Duke of Albany, also styled Lord Darnley, then finally James Hepburn, 4th Earl of Bothwell. Her second marriage to Darnley was the only marriage to produce a living child, a son, who was the future James VI of Scotland and I of England, the heir to Elizabeth I.
“Margaret Tudor — Mary’s grandmother — had a daughter from her second marriage called Lady Margaret Douglas. Lady Margaret was part of Catherine Howard’s court and was engaged to Charles Howard. But when Charles vanished from the pages of history, Margaret became engaged to Matthew Stewart, 4th Earl of Lennox and from this marriage she gave birth to two living sons, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley and Charles Stuart, 1st Earl of Lennox.”
“So, Mary, Queen of Scots married her cousin?”
“Yes.”
“And Henry Stuart was murdered?”
“Mary was accused of being involved in his murder and that’s when things went awry for her. Margaret Douglas’s other son, Charles, was never blessed with the most robust health but she was very conscious of the fact he possessed a claim to the throne through her Tudor blood, so she was eager for him to marry and reproduce. Lady Margaret was already grandmother to one heir to the English throne and with Elizabeth I unmarried, she wanted to have more than one potential monarch in her arsenal. Particularly, as under the terms of Henry VIII’s will, English monarchs had to be born in England to qualify and James VI had been born in Scotland, so he might not have been eligible.”
“Margaret Douglas was quite an amazing woman,” said Kit. “Imagine if she’d been alive today.”
“She’d be running multi-national companies,” agreed Perdita. “Even back then she was formidable and she was friends with another powerhouse of a matriarch, Elizabeth Talbot, countess of Shrewsbury, better known these days as Bess of Hardwick.”
Understanding was dawning on Kit’s face.
“Bess of Hardwick had a daughter, Elizabeth Cavendish, from her second marriage,” Perdita continued, “who married Charles Stuart and they had Arbella Stuart, who was born in England and had royal blood, descending from Margaret Tudor. It always strikes me as odd that historians are so fascinated with Henry VIII, when it was actually Margaret Tudor who had the biggest impact on the monarchy and it’s through her that the descendants of the Tudors still sit on the throne today. Although, Charles and Elizabeth’s marriage did cause a bit of a scandal.”
“Why?”
“Charles had royal blood; therefore, he was supposed to seek permission from the reigning monarch if he wanted to marry,” explained Perdita. “Both Margaret and Bess were convinced Queen Elizabeth would say no to the match so they encouraged their offspring to elope and presented the queen with a fait accompli. She was very angry.”
“Following the law of succession as laid down by Henry VIII, Arbella should have been Elizabeth’s heir, then?” said Kit.
“Yes, because she was the English offspring of Henry’s elder sister, Margaret. There were the Grey girls but they were descended from Henry’s younger sister, Mary, so Margaret’s offspring took precedent.”
“And you think this somehow all links in with the ship that Olaf and his team have discovered, which is named the Arbella Stuart?”
“And don’t forget the ceiling bosses in the chapel at Marquess House.”
“But why?”
Perdita shrugged. “No idea, but I’m hoping Granny’s next set of notes, The Ladies of Melusine, as I’ve decided to call it, might offer some answers. I’m going back to my office to read it and the transcripts of the Lady Pamela letters that Jenny and Izabel have sent.”
“And I’m going to answer a few emails and do a bit of work for Jerusalem, then I’ll do the same thing.”
Perdita marched into her own office and shut the door. Throwing one last glance through the window at Kit, she made herself comfortable and began to read.
PART TWO: May, 1586
Chapter One
Elizabeth’s face screwed up in fury as the ceremony unfolded. The nobleman glanced in her direction, then turned his back — the highest insult to pay a monarch. Urging the crowd to cheer, the man raised the crown he was holding aloft and, with great deference, he placed it on the head of the new incumbent: the one chosen by the people.
The young and beautiful girl who stood, staring out over her kneeling populace, smiled. As her lord chamberlain stepped away, he called for cheers for the new monarch and the crowd responded, their cries ringing through the sweet spring air. Atop the white horse, garlanded with flowers, the girl was led towards her and Elizabeth knew, that despite the fact she was a Tudor and a royal monarch, she had no choice but to pay fealty to the new
queen.
There was a tense silence as the girl drew level with Elizabeth and, for a moment, she remained in her vast carved throne, staring at the child who shared her colouring and her blood. As the atmosphere grew uncomfortable, Elizabeth rose. In the hush, where the gathered hundreds held their collective breaths, she handed the girl a branch of rosemary, festooned with ribbons, then to the delight of the watching audience, Elizabeth curtseyed. Her smile broke across her face like the rising sun, washing away the faux fury she always displayed — an expression that was part of the lore of the ceremony.
“To you, Arbella Stuart, Queen of the May,” called Elizabeth, her clear bell-like voice floating on the breeze. “You wear a crown for a day, my dear — use the practise well.”
A ripple of wonder followed this statement as the eager nobles once more searched for clues as to Queen Elizabeth’s successor. Fully aware of her words and intending them to have this impact, Elizabeth resumed her seat under her silken canopy and raised her hand, indicating the official beginning of the lavish May Day celebrations.
“Elizabeth, you are a terrible tease,” murmured the woman sitting behind her.
“I know, Kate,” she replied. “It’s such fun. As if I would announce my successor at an event such as this.”
Kate Howard, Lady Effingham, laughed and indicated for the pages to bring refreshments. The women were cousins through their shared Boleyn blood and Kate had served at Elizabeth’s side throughout her reign. Elizabeth shaded her eyes, squinting to see the parade that had now reached the other end of the tournament ground where the excitement was shining on the face of the queen of the May.
Arbella was being garlanded in flowers as her May Day subjects danced and applauded their 11-year-old queen. Around her the minstrels played their jaunty tunes, mummers capered and Morris Men danced, their costumes glittering and twinkling in the bright spring sunshine as the bells on their legs jangled a merry accompaniment. There was joy in the air and Elizabeth watched her courtiers smiling in delight, rejoicing in the freedom of the warm weather after a long, hard winter.
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 6