“But Mary’s comment — ‘through the women’?” persisted Callum.
“It is through the women,” said Kit, pointing at the line to Mary. “It’s through Mary, Queen of Scots.”
Perdita turned to look at the tired faces all working through her comments and beginning to nod or make murmurs of agreement. The sky was dark now and the harsh overhead lights of the boardroom made everyone look pale and exhausted.
“Shall we call it a day?” she asked and there was a wave of relief.
“Although, before we finish,” said Deborah, “one last thing — my team and I have worked out most of the codenames now. Lady Griffin is Kate Howard, Lady Effingham, who was the daughter of Henry Carey, Kathryn Carey’s brother; Hebe is Katherine Newton and, we should have guessed, Lady Glass is Bess of Hardwick.”
Perdita gave a tired laugh. “Of course,” she said, “the rhyme about Hardwick Hall, ‘more glass than wall’. She was famous for building an extravagant home with huge windows.”
Deborah gathered her things and disappeared, while Alistair remained, perusing Perdita’s diagram.
“Are you done?” Piper asked her sister but Perdita shook her head.
“I want to check a couple of quick things,” she said.
Piper nodded. “We’ll wait for you,” she said but made no attempt to do any more work, instead curling up on the sofa and making herself comfortable.
Perdita bustled back to the table and, once again, consulted the printout of the letter sent to Bess of Hardwick from her granddaughter. Mignonne’s voice resonated through the centuries, her words conveying the sadness and devastation at the brutality of the Scottish queen’s end, the words as impactful in the twenty-first century as they would have been in the sixteenth. If this was then followed by the murder of Elizabeth I by Fortescue’s men, it was no wonder the English were ready to fight Philip out of the water when he launched his Armada, she thought.
“What about all the stuff with the privy council — the death warrant, Elizabeth refusing to sign it and all the other convoluted plots?’ asked Kit.
“All made up afterwards by The Scribe?” suggested Perdita.
“The detail of it, though,” said Kit, still unable to let it go, “could anyone make it up?”
“Yes,” said Perdita, her quiet voice a stark contrast to Kit’s sceptical tones.
“Seriously?”
“I suspect the details are based on real events — other real events — ones that took place before or after and have been altered to make them fit with the story The Scribe had been told to tell.”
“But why?”
“The Scribe must have been instructed to carry out these changes by someone in power who decided it was time to hide the real trail of events,” said Alistair.
“The thing I don’t understand is why, though?” Kit persisted. “Why would anyone go to these lengths? These stories are fascinating but why does it matter? The past doesn’t change anything, it’s still the past. Why kill people today over things that were changed hundreds of years ago?”
“You need another perspective, Kit,” said Alistair.
“You’re right, Dad, I do,” he said. “Help me understand why Perdita and Piper’s lives are in danger because of events that happened in the sixteenth century!”
“But Kit, you know!” exclaimed Alistair. “History was changed, an enormous event was hidden — a secret which could have cataclysmic consequences if it were revealed today. I think with these discoveries, we’re getting closer. Mary Fitzroy began to uncover these truths — you and Perdita took it even further with your incredible discoveries about Catherine Howard and now, with us all working together, we’ve uncovered even more and in a shorter space of time.
“We know Catherine gave birth to two legitimate Tudor heirs, we know the little girl replaced the legitimate Stuart heir: each born to royal parents, each a princess. Mary’s line is the one we know, it led to the Stuart dynasty, to the Hanoverians, to Saxe-Coburg and Gotha and, finally, to the Windsors. Yet now we know she wasn’t a Stuart at all, she was a Tudor. Should this be exposed, such a revelation is enough to send enormous shockwaves through society and around the world. It would beg the question: what else has been changed? Can anyone trust history?
“If we added to that the possibility that Elizabeth I was murdered at the same time and replaced on the throne by her cousin Lettice Knollys, there would be bedlam. Historical records the world over would be called into question, our national identities would be in tatters and in a climate like that, it doesn’t take much for civil unrest to take hold.
“There’s something else you must also consider,” continued Alistair, when no one spoke, “although we have the codename ‘Apollo’, we still don’t know what happened to the male line. It’s vanished without trace. For some time now, I’ve wondered whether discovering what happened to Catherine’s son, Nicholas, is the key to solving this.”
“Are you suggesting it doesn’t matter about discovering the true identity of baby Elizabeth Tudor, Catherine’s daughter?” asked Piper, ready to defend her sister.
“No, of course not!” Alistair replied. “It was essential, and the more we delve into it, the more the ramifications of this duplicity will become apparent. We need to finish this, to find the ring and the locket. To see if what the Watchers say is true. They believe that when all three pieces of jewellery are reunited they will provide irrefutable proof of real events. Is it any wonder MI1 is scared, Kit? They have no idea what it could reveal. With what we’ve discovered here and even without verifiable proof, we could use this information to start a revolution, to hold governments to ransom. This is another reason why I think Randolph Connors is so desperate to take control of Marquess House. I wonder if he believes the final proof is hidden there. Whether it is or not, whoever finds and controls it holds the power.”
“But, Dad, why was history changed in the first place?”
“When things are happening, when you’re in the middle of events, it’s all that you can think about, all that matters. It is only with the passage of time and the wisdom of hindsight that you realise your actions may not have been rational. It’s clear that whatever other events followed those we have discovered, someone in power wanted the details changed and it would seem their objective may have been to eradicate the evidence of the other male Tudor line.”
“Alistair, are you suggesting that perhaps Lettice did as Elizabeth asked and the male heir became king, but something happened and his entire reign has been expunged from all historical record? Even from what we’ve discovered, that’s quite a suggestion,” said Perdita.
“Believe me, my dear, there is more to come, another secret, maybe multiple revelations. Remember Kit,” he said turning to his youngest son, “you’re on The White List, too, and, despite the fact the Home Secretary claims it doesn’t exist, I am not completely convinced any of you are out of danger. I will do everything I can to keep you all safe.”
There was silence. Perdita stared at Alistair, then her gaze went to Kit who was white-faced. Callum was standing behind him looking unnerved but when she locked eyes with her sister, Piper radiated defiance and Perdita felt a surge of adrenalin. Kit might be unsure but she knew her sister was still at her side, fighting.
“These letters are a huge and important historical discovery,” Alastair continued, when none of them spoke. “Please give yourself plenty of time to consider your next move. Doing something impulsive now could have fatal consequences.”
His words sent a shiver down Perdita’s spine and she turned to face him, her expression quizzical. Did Alistair know she and Piper were planning to search out Hannah White themselves? Their conversation had taken place some days ago and had since been superseded by the discovery of this new version of events surrounding the death of Mary, Queen of Scots and the build up to the Armada. You’re imagining it, she thought, mentally shaking herself. How could he possibly know?
“Of course, Alistair,” she said.
“I won’t do anything hasty.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “You and Piper have only known me for a few months but I’ve known you all your lives and I will guard them with the same ferocity I would employ to protect my own children.”
Swallowing an unexpected lump in her throat, Perdita nodded.
“I promise, Alistair,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers behind her back.
Alistair gave her a searching look, then with a rueful smile, strode towards the door, leaving the four of them alone among the piles of research and empty coffee cups.
Kit threw himself into one of the chairs and dropped his head into his hands. Callum took the seat next to him, his face ashen with exhaustion but determined to stay.
“Do you think these letters are really viable?” Kit asked, his voice muffled.
Perdita and Piper exchanged a look. Perdita wandered over to examine the timeline Deborah had been compiling. Perusing the many names and the links between the families, she considered all they had discovered before she responded. Gazing at the names: Elizabeth I, Arbella Stuart, Lettice Knollys and Mary, Queen of Scots, she screwed up her face as she decided on her next course of action.
“Yes, I do,” she said. “If Mary, Queen of Scots was murdered by representatives of the Spanish king, it would explain why the Babington Plot is so very odd. Would someone as astute as Mary really allow herself to be implicated in such an amateur attempt on Queen Elizabeth’s life? I don’t think so, not when you assess it dispassionately.”
Kit stared at her. “And Elizabeth’s murder?”
“Plausible, if she truly did break into Fotheringhay Castle to say goodbye to her sister.”
“Would she have taken such a risk?” asked Callum.
“I would,” said Perdita and Piper in unison.
Kit smiled. “And the missing son?” he asked.
After a moment, Perdita replied, her tone thoughtful, “The duke of Hereford.”
Piper, Kit and Callum exchanged a confused look.
“Who?” asked Kit.
“In the letter,” Perdita walked over to the table and the printout of Mignonne’s final, terrible message concerning Mary Stuart. Pulling it towards her, she read: “The duke of Hereford and his men arrived not long after and they carried her body to her chamber. We have prepared her with the love and reverence she deserves. The duke was said to be much affected by the death of the Scottish queen and was brought in by his men. His injuries, sustained as he and Lady Venus left us two nights ago, have weakened him considerably. His leg and his arm are both most heinously damaged, however, he sat beside her with his head bowed, sobbing as though she had been his great love…”
“The duke of Hereford?” said Kit.
“In all my years of research,” said Perdita, “I’ve never come across a duke of Hereford for this period.”
“Yet, from what Mignonne’s letter says, he’s at the heart of the situation,” mused Kit.
“He sobbed as though she was his great love…” echoed Piper. “Or he’s grieving for a beloved twin sister.”
“And remember the mermaid analogy for Mary?” said Perdita. “The mermaid and the hare? It’s always been suggested the hare represented her third husband, the earl of Bothwell, because there was a hare on his coat of arms. What if it wasn’t him? What if it was a play on Hereford — ‘hare’ is the first part of the name. The mermaid and the hare, the missing twins.”
“My goodness, Perds, you’re right,” said Kit. “The truth hidden in plain sight all along.”
Perdita’s eyes flashed with determination. “It isn’t conclusive but it’s a possibility,” she said, then her eyes returned to the letter. “Arbella Stuart also gets a name-check,” she said, in a considered voice. “In her most respected biography, it does state that Mary, Queen of Scots left Arbella her Book of Hours. Arbella sent it to her husband, William Seymour, 2nd Duke of Somerset, as both a souvenir and a valuable piece of property when he fled to France. She was supposed to meet him there, but she was captured and forced back to England. It seems he sold the book during the French Revolution — it was repurchased by a man called Peter Dubrowsky on behalf of the tsar. It’s still in the Hermitage museum in Russia.”
Perdita walked over to the window and stared out into the black night. Stars were strewn across the heavens, basking in the silver light of the moon.
“Artemis, the goddess of the moon…” Her voice trailed away.
“What are you planning, Perds?”
Turning away from the window, she realised Kit was staring at her. His eyes narrowed.
“We need the second ring,” she stated.
“Why?”
“When we have both, we might understand how they reveal the truth. They might even give us a clue to the whereabouts of the locket.”
“The locket?” he said, giving a short, harsh laugh. “Could we focus on one thing at a time?”
“Pipes, would you be able to search the database again?” Perdita asked her sister.
“I have,” replied Piper. “There were no hits and I wanted to try a few variations before I told you. I’m sorry, Perds, I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
“Then the ring is our best option,” said Perdita, a thrill of excitement and fear running through her. “Are you sure you know where Hannah White is staying?” she asked and Piper nodded. “Then we should do it.”
“What, you mean go?” exclaimed Kit. “Without telling anyone?”
“Yes,” said Perdita. “We appreciate all your dad does — in fact, we’ll never be able to repay him — but we’re the best shot we have at getting this ring.”
“Dad will go mental.”
“He will. Are you in?”
Perdita stared into Kit’s eyes, wondering if he would advise caution. He glanced at Piper, who raised her eyebrows at him, then his grin unfurled across his face.
“Try and stop me,” he said, a dark edge lacing his voice. “Cal, how about you?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll ask Elliot to fly us there.”
Chapter Two
Perdita hoisted her bag on to her shoulder and scanned her bedroom one last time. She did not know when she would return to Castle Jerusalem but she was grateful for the shelter its thick walls had offered during their time of crisis. Giving silent thanks to the apartment that had been their sanctuary, she gave the room one last nod of farewell and knocked on Piper’s door.
The previous night, they had made a decision, one she hoped they would not regret. After they had found Hannah, they intended to return to Marquess House and trust to the Milford Haven Treaty to keep them safe from MI1, while increased private security, would, they hoped, keep them safe from Randolph Connors.
“It feels like home,” Perdita had said to Piper. “Even more so than the Chiswick house. It’s not only that Pipes, but I feel the answers are there. Everyone here is brilliant but I think we’ll discover more in The Dairy and the research centre. Is that selfish?”
“No, I feel the same way,” Piper had admitted. “Do you think Alistair and Susan will be offended? They’ve done so much to keep us safe — I hope they don’t see this as a slap in the face?”
Perdita had pulled a face and shrugged. “Who knows — hopefully they’ll understand, but even if they do think we’ve insulted them, we can’t let that stop us. They might offer legal brilliance and protection but this is our quest, not theirs, not really. We have to do what’s right for us, or Mum and Granny will have died in vain.”
Now, as her twin joined her, Perdita felt nervous about her decision and wondered if perhaps they should return to the castle after their trip to Hannah’s cottage. There’s still time to change our minds, she thought, as they crept down the stairs. Elliot will have to return the plane at some point, so we can always come back.
They made their way across the impressive entrance hall, heading towards the back of the castle and the exit into the courtyard. It was 4am and outside the sky was pitch black. I
nside, the castle was lit by low night-lighting that cast eerie shadows on the walls. Perdita was relieved when they arrived at the side door and were able to escape from this strange and disturbing version of Castle Jerusalem. She glanced at her watch; they were a few minutes early and there was no sign of either Kit or Callum.
“Do you think they’ve changed their minds?” asked Piper, shoving her gloved hands into her coat pockets in an attempt to keep warm.
“No,” replied Perdita. “They’ll be here.”
As the words left her mouth, the door opened and two figures emerged.
“Hey,” said Kit, his breath forming a cloud. Perdita smiled. Callum glanced at his watch.
“Elliot said he’d send someone to meet us in the lay-by down the road,” he whispered.
Piper picked up her bag and made to walk across the courtyard but Callum grabbed her arm.
“Follow me,” whispered Kit. “The whole area is covered with CCTV cameras but Megs, Stu and I worked out a path that avoids most of them.”
“We used it when we were teenagers,” Callum added. “Then we could deny the lateness of our return home every Saturday night.”
A shadow of a grin flashed across his face. Perdita imagined the two of them sneaking back, impressed with their subterfuge, although she suspected Alistair and Deborah had probably known all about it.
On silent feet, they followed Kit as he kept to the shadows. The courtyard doubled as a car park for the inhabitants of Castle Jerusalem and the tall gates opened on to the main road leading down the mountain. Kit keyed in the passcode and when the gates swung open on smooth, oiled hinges, they exited on to the empty road. It was a short walk to the lay-by where they waited, their breath rising around them in clouds of nervous anticipation.
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 32