“Let me see,” he insisted and Perdita passed over the brief series of notes she had scribbled. Kit stared down, recoiled as he read her suggestion, then reached across and checked a few things. Perdita watched him, trying to read his expression as she waited for his verdict.
“What do you think?” she asked. “I’d prefer it if you could have a Smug-Mackensie-Kid moment and tell me I’m wrong.”
But when Kit turned around, his face was as pale and shocked as her own.
“And you worked this out from those few lines of text?”
“From the date. I wanted to check before I said anything.”
Kit ran his hands through his hair as he always did when he was thinking.
“And you think she’s Artemis?”
“Yes, I also think she’s Daisy, which is very old familiar version of her name.”
“Daisy?” asked Kit, confused.
“There are a few letters between Lily and Daisy discussing Daisy’s illness and how she wanted to die to save herself any more pain…” Perdita paused, as another truth revealed itself. “Lily? Lady Venus, of course, of course. Lily was Elizabeth I and Lady Venus was her other codename, the one Lady Penelope Rich used…”
“But you said you thought Lily had been married,” said Kit.
Perdita pushed another book towards him. “Perhaps she was,” said Perdita and Kit’s eyes widened in horror, “look, here, here, here and this too.” She pointed at lines of text that she had highlighted. She did not think Deborah would mind her defacing library books under these extraordinary circumstances. “It’s thin, I admit but it fits.”
“It does fit,” replied Kit. “Let the evidence lead us — they were your words and this evidence has definitely led us.”
They stared at each other, uncertain how to proceed.
“But Lady Venus — what did you mean about Lady Penelope Rich using the name?”
“Penelope Rich was Lettice Knollys’s eldest daughter from her marriage to Walter Devereux. In her adult years, Penelope was quite a woman. After enduring an unhappy marriage to Lord Robert Rich and providing the required heir and spare, she had a long-running and very public affair with Charles Blount, 8th Baron Mountjoy and had a number of children with him. She was also something of a political mover and shaker and was very focussed on the next monarch, James I, so much so, that she and her brother, Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex began a secret correspondence with James before Elizabeth’s death, using codenames. These were intercepted by Thomas Fowler in 1598. He was one of Burghley’s men, and the codename used for Queen Elizabeth was Venus. Penelope was Rialta and King James was Victor. The most interesting, though, was the name they used for Robert Dudley, which was The Weary Knight. All these codenames appear in our letters.”
“But how do you know this?” asked Kit astounded.
“This is why I’ve been so frustrated,” said Perdita, “because I knew I’d read these names before. I studied Penelope Rich at university and her involvement in espionage but it was only for one essay. The names have been nudging me for weeks but I couldn’t remember where from. Reading all this has finally made me see what I’ve been missing. It’s as though I was trying too hard and the answer wouldn’t reveal itself but, today, suddenly, it’s come back to me. The letters intercepted by Burghley are in the public domain — well, they were. The Watchers may have since removed them.”
Between them, they found, catalogued and printed the letters. Staring down at their evidence, Perdita felt a huge shudder run through her.
“We need to tell your dad,” said Perdita.
Kit began shutting the books and piling them into the battered Fred Perry sports holdall he used as a computer bag. Perdita followed suit and moments later the desks were clear. Kit wiped his search history from the terminal he had used and with great reluctance, Perdita did the same.
“We’ll do it together.”
He took her hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Perdita let him lead the way to his father.
Chapter Three
“All electronic devices off, please,” said Alistair. “We’re doing this the old-fashioned way: pens, papers and, if necessary, an overhead projector. The information we’re about to impart is so sensitive I can’t risk any security breaches.”
Around the table Piper, Callum, Stuart, Deborah and Susan exchanged bemused glances but complied with Alistair’s orders. He was at the head of the long boardroom table with Perdita and Kit seated on either side. They had been closeted in Alistair’s office for the past hour, discussing Perdita’s discovery, and had decided the others needed to be appraised of their suspicions.
Alistair waited until everyone was settled, then stood, his movement drawing everyone’s attention.
“As you may have gathered, Perdita has made a rather startling breakthrough and we need to discuss it.”
“What’s going on, Alistair?” asked Piper. “The three of you look as though someone has died.”
Alistair shuddered at her comment but forced his usual calm, reassuring smile to his face even if, this time, it did not quite reach his blue eyes.
“No one has died,” he said, “but if what Perdita has discovered can be proven, then the repercussions could be extreme.”
The alert and expectant atmosphere around the table shifted to an uneasy silence.
“As it’s quite a complex, I’ll let Perdita, with Kit’s assistance, lead you through her evidence, then after she has finished, we can discuss her findings and add our own thoughts.”
He sat down and turned to Perdita, who looked around the table. The nervous faces of the people she loved best gazed back at her and a sharp pang of guilt shot through her. Once she had told them, they too would be involved in this dangerous discovery and they would be in even more peril than they were at present. She knew that was not her fault but delivering bad news was always a thankless task. Shaking back her dark hair, she forced a small, professional smile to her lips as though she were about to begin a university lecture.
“I’m going to start a bit further back than is probably necessary,” she explained, “but it’s important in order to frame this in the proper context.”
They all continued to stare, her nervousness adding to the tension in the room.
“Despite what is stated in our history books, we have discovered that Catherine Howard gave birth to twins, a girl and a boy.” There was nodding around the table as everyone acknowledged this information. “Catherine was still married to Henry VIII, so these children were legitimate Tudor heirs. We know the boy ailed but from other information we have gathered, we’re certain he survived. His name, as given to him by his mother, was Nicholas. Her daughter also lived and we know this child’s birth name was Elizabeth. These children were royal Tudor heirs, so their correct titles should have been Prince Nicholas Tudor, Duke of York, as this was the title given to the ‘spare’, while the heir was always the Prince of Wales. The little girl would have been Princess Elizabeth Tudor, however, as there was already a Princess Elizabeth, it’s unlikely this child would have remained being called by her birth name.”
Perdita sipped some water, using the pause as an excuse to gather herself before continuing.
“After we arrived here, with the help of our brilliant library teams, we began studying Granny’s second unpublished manuscript, which we’ve named The Ladies of Melusine. We have also been transcribing the primary source material for this work, which are the letters she bought from her friend, Lady Pamela Johnson. As we are all aware, these were sent between a group of women covering the dates 1541 until 12 December 1662. They used codenames and a form of secret language to communicate, but the main correspondence centres around ‘Artemis’ and ‘Apollo’ — who we think are the missing twin heirs, thanks to Izabel and Eveie’s work on Lady Kathy Knollys’s Book of Hours. There is also a woman named ‘Venus’. Kit and I have deduced that a short series of letters between ‘Lily’ and ‘Daisy’ are connected, too. We think ‘Lily’ and �
�Venus’ are the same person, likewise ‘Artemis’ and ‘Daisy’…”
“And, ‘Apollo’?” asked Susan.
“Nicholas Tudor, the lost Duke of York,” said Kit. “Although, we’re certain his name was changed and we are yet to identify this new title in historical records. For now, we’ve concentrated on the women, particularly as Piper has found a lead for the second ruby ring — the piece of jewellery we know was given to Catherine’s daughter shortly after her birth.”
“Let’s focus, please,” called Alistair. “There’s a lot to get through and we need to be methodical.”
Perdita checked her notes, her hands trembling and continued, “What you may not be aware of is that Lily is a familiar name for Elizabeth and Daisy is a very old ‘shortened’ version of Mary…”
“Those two names again,” interrupted Callum. “Elizabeth and Mary.”
“Exactly. All roads seem to lead us back to two women called Elizabeth and Mary,” agreed Perdita. “For a while, I wondered if these were rare, newly-discovered letters written by Queen Elizabeth I and her half-sister, Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII and his first wife, Katherine of Aragon. However, as ‘Lily’ discussed her marriage, I dismissed this idea. Elizabeth was famously The Virgin Queen.
“Yet it would have been foolish to dismiss the hypothesis without discussing their relationship. These two women have been described as being friends in childhood but as having an uneasy relationship once Mary ascended to the throne on 19 July 1553. In fact, it became so fraught Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower of London and had to beg for her life. On 17 November 1558, Elizabeth heard the news that her sister Mary Tudor was dead and she was now Queen of England.
“Reading the letters, which were warm and funny and discussed ‘Lily’ and ‘Daisy’s’ hopes, fears and love lives, none of the dates or conversations tallied with those that would be expected between Elizabeth and Mary Tudor. I know we’re dealing with shifting sands here because things have been changed but the Mary in the letters spoke about her late French husband, who had been the elder brother of Lily’s husband. Mary Tudor was married to Philip II of Spain — she did not have any links with the French court. So I dismissed both Elizabeth I and Mary Tudor as potential corresponders and decided the Lily and Daisy letters, while interesting, were unconnected with our search for Catherine’s missing daughter.”
“What changed your mind?” asked Stuart.
“The note we found this morning,” she replied.
To her surprise, Kit produced photocopied sheets of the short note and handed them around the table.
“Baby Elizabeth arrived with a ring on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the blessed Virgin Mary. She is now our beloved daughter, Mary,” Deborah read aloud. “This was the odd one out in the letters that Jenny Procter and I discussed at length,” she explained. “It was tucked in with some that we’ve since translated and are signed by Lady Margaret Douglas, the Countess of Lennox, but at the time, we thought the handwriting was similar to that of Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester, which is why we included it with hers.”
“I’m glad you did,” said Kit. “It sparked something in Perdita’s memory and stopped us from going too far wrong. Before we read this, we thought Lettice Knollys was the heir.”
“But she isn’t?” clarified Susan.
“No,” replied Kit.
“What did you recall, Perds?” asked Piper.
Perdita turned to look at her sister. “You must remember, Piper, I have a favourite person in Tudor history.”
Piper’s eyes were wide. “But how…?” She shook her head, waiting for her sister to continue, her face blanched white at the implication of Perdita’s words.
“When I read the note: ‘Baby Elizabeth arrived with a ring on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the blessed Virgin Mary. She is now our beloved daughter, Mary’, it reminded me of something. I needed to be sure because it had been so long ago, I couldn’t remember clearly. This morning in the library I checked the reference to the Hamilton Papers, which were published in Edinburgh in 1890 and were a history of Scotland in the sixteenth century. In them, it states that ‘The daughter and only surviving child of King James V of Scotland was baptised at the palace of Linlithgow, West Lothian, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary on 8 December 1542. She was baptised, Mary. Although, one rumour stated that she had been named Elizabeth’.”
There was a collective gasp but Perdita continued: “This is compounded by the fact that there has always been a question over Mary, Queen of Scots’s true date of birth. You see, prior to this, her mother had been under huge stress and was thought to have had the baby prematurely. A contemporary report to Henry VIII from one of his informants, Lisle, stated: ‘The queen was delivered before her time of a daughter, a very weak child, who is not expected to survive’. That was followed by another report which claimed this baby was ‘a weak child named Elizabeth’. There was then a sudden change of tone, when on 19 December 1542, Lisle reported; ‘the princess lately born is alive and good-looking’. The child in question was from then on known by her official title.”
Perdita paused, looking around at the intent faces of those she loved, aware she was about to deliver a theory that would put them all in even more danger if it were proved to be true. As she spoke, her voice was low and tense.
“I think Catherine Howard’s daughter, baby Elizabeth Tudor, was swapped for the daughter of James V of Scotland and Mary of Guise, and her new name was Mary, Queen of Scots.”
“But that’s impossible!”
It was Deborah’s voice that cut through the uneasy silence.
“We thought that, too,” replied Perdita, “but no matter how I look at it or how I try to rearrange the evidence, these are the comments that crop up again and again.”
“If she was swapped, surely someone would have noticed?” said Callum.
“Not necessarily,” replied Kit. “Would you be able to tell the difference between one new-born baby and another if you’d only seen it for a few moments?”
Perdita looked over at her sister. “What do you think, Pipes?” she asked.
“It’s persuasive,” she admitted. “My main issue, though, is why would the king of Scotland and his wife agree to such a swap?”
“The king probably didn’t know,” said Perdita. “He was ill and died on 14 December 1542. He had been fighting Henry VIII’s army at the Battle of Solway Moss but had taken heavy losses. The Scottish army was in disarray and the king had retreated to Falkland Palace in Fife. He died not long afterwards from a fever. Shortly before this, his wife had given birth to a daughter. This child was the only surviving heir to the Scottish crown. It’s possible Mary of Guise was aware her daughter was unlikely to live, so she was looking for anything that might help her.”
“But, Perds, how did Mary of Guise know about Catherine Howard’s baby?” asked Piper. “If you remember, Catherine was supposed to be dead. And, even if you push that to one side, Catherine was in the depths of Pembrokeshire while Mary of Guise was in Scotland. It’s a huge distance.”
“Lady Margaret Douglas,” replied Perdita. “She was James V of Scotland’s half-sister. They had the same mother: Margaret Tudor, older sister of Henry VIII. We know Margaret Douglas was part of Catherine’s inner circle and we can place her at Marquess House at the time Catherine gave birth. She was engaged to Catherine’s brother, Charles Howard. She gives us a direct link to the Scottish court. In The Catherine Howard Codex there is a short letter suggesting she planned to travel to Scotland, although we don’t have written corroboration yet to say whether she made the journey —”
“We do!” interrupted Deborah. “Lady Margaret Douglas had already organised safe passage for herself and any other members of Catherine’s entourage who wished to escape to the Scottish court.”
“What?” Perdita was startled.
“It’s in one of her letters,” Deborah said. “We haven’t finished translating and
transcribing all Lady Margaret’s letters from The Lady Pamela Collection but of the few we’ve completed, there was one referring to the king of Scotland’s generous offer of protection.”
“So, we have a definite link,” said Perdita, a thrill of fear in her voice.
“Why would Mary of Guise agree to this madness, though?” asked Stuart.
“She didn’t have an alternative. If her daughter died, there would be no heir to the throne, which would have led to civil war, to invasions from England, possibly Spain. James V, with Mary of Guise by his side, had worked hard to stabilise Scotland and under his reign it was beginning to prosper. With James suddenly dead, Mary was in danger. Yet, if she was the mother of the monarch, no one would be able to disregard her power as regent. So, if her daughter was ailing and Lady Margaret Douglas had told her about another royal baby who needed a safe place to hide, preferably with other royal children, there’s a strong chance Mary of Guise would have agreed to take her in. I would also suspect the wily duke of Norfolk was involved somewhere, too. His brother, George Howard, was an envoy at the court of King James V and apparently, George’s daughter, Douglas, was with him.”
“And we know,” said Kit, “Douglas went on to marry Edward Stafford, who was eventually uncovered as the spy ‘Julius’. Douglas may well have heard her father discussing the moving of baby Elizabeth Tudor and this is how, in later years, the secret reached the ears of Philip II of Spain.”
There was silence as the group processed the information that Perdita had drawn together from her many sources in order to make a coherent whole.
“It would explain why Mary of Guise was so resistant to the idea of Mary, Queen of Scots marrying Prince Edward Tudor, heir to the English throne, and uniting the two countries,” mused Deborah, breaking the silence. “Only she and a select few knew that the two children weren’t cousins but were half-brother and half-sister.”
Susan turned to her husband. “Alistair, you’re very quiet, what do you think?”
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 21