Perdita slid her arm through Piper’s, who in turn rested her head on Perdita’s shoulder. Callum walked into the centre of the road, looking up and down, while Kit hovered beside the twins, nervously scuffing the piled-up snow. Perdita watched him, understanding this was more difficult for him than for herself and Piper. She knew he loved and respected his father; this early morning flit must seem like a huge betrayal.
It’ll be worth it though, she told herself as her own feelings of misgiving rose again. When we have the ring, it will all have been worth it.
“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” murmured Piper and Perdita grinned.
“Our teenage motto,” she said but before Piper could reply the headlights of a large SUV blinded them.
“Callum?” the blonde woman behind the wheel hissed into the freezing air and he stepped forward. “Elliot sent me. He said you’re scheduled to fly in an hour. Get in.”
Callum took Piper’s bag and headed for the boot, which had sprung open. As Perdita moved towards him, preparing to stow her own bag, Kit caught her arm.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
Perdita looked into his pale, tense face. “Yes,” she said.
“But it feels as though we’re betraying Dad,” he said in a rush.
“I know and I’m sorry. You don’t have to come, Kit, we’d understand.”
“And what if something were to happen to you? I’d never be able to live with myself.”
“You don’t need to protect me.”
“I know I don’t,” he retorted, “but what if you were killed? I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again and always wondering if I could have made a difference.”
His blue eyes bored into hers and she hesitated, unsure how to respond.
“Get a move on you two,” hissed Callum, dragging Perdita’s bag from her shoulder and hefting it into the car. “You can have a lover’s tiff once we’re safely away from here and on the plane.”
“What… We weren’t…” began Kit but Perdita had already climbed into the waiting vehicle.
Callum threw Kit’s bag into the boot and smirked. “Come on, lover boy,” he said and guided him towards the open door.
In comparison with their dramatic arrival in Andorra, their departure was smooth and simple. The early morning start had made them all quiet and sluggish. No one spoke much and they all dozed fitfully as they flew into the breaking dawn. It was only as they were making their approach to Bodmin airfield in Cornwall that Sam served coffee.
“We’ve hired you a car,” she said. “It had to be in Cal’s name and we have Kit as a named driver under Dr C Mackensie. I’m sorry Perdita but we were worried that if we booked anything in your or Piper’s name it might trigger alarms somewhere.”
“Good thinking,” agreed Perdita.
“What time do you think you’ll need a return flight?”
Perdita and Piper exchanged an uncomfortable look; they had not yet discussed their plans with Kit and Callum.
“We’re not sure,” replied Kit, taking their silence for nervousness.
“Hannah White is staying in Polzeath, which is about half an hour’s drive from the airfield but we don’t know how long we’ll be after that,” explained Perdita.
“OK, well, keep us posted,” came Elliot’s voice over the intercom. “I’ll need some warning if we plan to fly back this evening.”
“No problem,” Callum shouted through to his elder brother in the cockpit.
Less than an hour later, as the sun rose into a clear sky, Perdita gazed out of the window. In the front, Kit and Callum were discussing their route, while she gazed at the beautiful Cornish coastline. The bleakly rugged cliffs and crashing waves reminded her of Pembrokeshire and she was overwhelmed by an unexpected wave of homesickness.
“Do you think she’ll talk to us?” asked Piper, her voice little more than a whisper, bringing Perdita back to the present.
“I think so, especially if we’re honest about the reasons why we need the ring,” replied Perdita. “Anyway, we have this to convince her.” She reached into her coat and pulled out a small leather pouch.
“Our ring.”
“Yes, our ring,” Perdita confirmed. “What do you think we should offer her?”
“We don’t want to go in too high,” replied Piper. “Alistair told me that he’d offered £4,000 on his email but she hasn’t responded. Although, I checked online and an ordinary Tudor ring could fetch as little as anything between £50 and £350. Those with provenance are more, but if we go in with an opening bid that’s too high she’ll be suspicious.”
“I thought they’d be far more expensive.”
“No, it’s surprising how reasonable they are when you consider their age. If she doesn’t think it has much monetary value — and I bet she’s looked up Tudor ruby rings on the internet, people usually do when it’s a family heirloom — it’s probably the reason she wears it as a pendant.”
“Should we tell her the truth then?” mused Perdita.
“A version of it, I think,” replied Piper.
They pulled up outside the cottage where Hannah White was staying. Perdita slipped their ruby ring on to her finger, the jewel with the emerald clip, engraved with the Latin words luncta sanguine, hiding a portrait of Anne Boleyn, that had belonged to two formidable women: Anne of Cleves and Elizabeth I before being passed to Arbella Stuart. The weak morning sun caught the fire in the stone and it glinted.
“Come on,” she said, squeezing Piper’s hand, “let’s see if we can get the second ruby ring and take another step closer to proving the truth.”
The cottage stood alone, looking out to sea. Perdita suspected it had once been a fisherman’s storage hut but an enterprising developer had transformed it into a wooden-floored, white-washed weekend retreat with a veranda running along the front. Its position offered uninterrupted views of the roaring ocean with its magnificent sunrises and sunsets. A faux-antique knocker shaped liked a mermaid was positioned in the centre of the eau-de-nil painted door. Perdita grinned at Piper when she saw it.
“Let’s hope it’s a good omen.”
The woman who opened the door was almost six foot, with long, straight brown hair, pulled on top of her head in a messy bun. She was wearing a large fisherman’s style jumper over thick pyjama bottoms and on her feet were battered Ugg boots. Her hazel eyes were warm and welcoming.
“Are you here for the Reiki healing? Because if you are, I’m not ready,” she laughed. “I forgot to set my alarm clock and I overslept. Come in, come in.”
Perdita glanced at Piper and they both smiled back, delighted to have a reason to be invited inside, before following her into the cottage. They had decided it would be less threatening if Kit and Callum remained in the car at the end of the lane.
“Keep your phone on,” Kit had insisted, “and if anything goes awry, ring us and we’ll be with you in seconds.”
The interior was bright and warm, a small log burning stove glowed in the fireplace.
“This is so kind of you,” enthused Hannah, tipping a pile of clothes off the sofa and straightening the cushions so Perdita and Piper could sit down. “I’m still training and I really need the practice. Would you like tea? Real tea, none of the herbal nonsense.”
“Thanks, that would be great,” said Perdita, wanting to keep things friendly. She suspected Hannah would be less open when they revealed their true intentions.
“We both have it with milk and no sugar,” she called as Hannah bounded off to the other end of the large room that served as both sitting room and kitchen, divided up with an old-fashioned wooden table in the centre. As the kettle boiled and she assembled mugs and biscuits, Hannah chatted. Perdita and Piper murmured the occasional response but the cheery string of conversation flowing from Hannah’s lips did not need much encouragement.
“Here we are,” she said, sweeping back to the living room and placing the tea tray on the long low table in front of Perdita and
Piper. “This is for you,” she handed a shocking pink mug to Piper, then she passed a vivid green one to Perdita, who took it with her right hand, ensuring the ruby ring was in view. For a second Hannah faltered and her stream of chatter halted. She folded herself into the armchair opposite the twins and picked up her own tea, sipping it.
“Your ring,” she said, her voice tentative for the first time. “It’s very unusual.”
“It’s a family heirloom,” said Perdita, smiling, trying to exude calm and trustworthiness but she was aware that Hannah’s cheerful, open demeanour was hardening.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Really?” she responded; her tone suspicious.
“It belonged to our grandmother and when she died earlier this year, she left it to us as part of her estate.”
“You’re sisters?”
“Yes, we’re twins,” said Piper, her voice mirroring Perdita’s, low, warm, calm.
Hannah considered them. “I can see that,” she said. “Your colouring is different but your faces are almost identical.”
Perdita placed her mug back on the tray, taking a deep breath; she knew this was the moment.
“Hannah, we’re not here for the Reiki,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, non-threatening. “My name is Perdita Rivers and this is my sister, Piper. We’ve come to see you because we have something important we need to ask.”
“You’re not here for the Reiki?”
Perdita shook her head.
“You have a ring that matches this one,” she said, deciding honesty and directness would be the most effective way to charm Hannah. Despite her carefully cultivated scatter-brained behaviour, Perdita was aware that Hannah was no fool and was even now considering either throwing them out or calling for help.
Hannah placed her mug on the table, too. “What do you want?” she said, her voice cold — all trace of the amenable young woman who had welcomed them had vanished. Although, thought Perdita, she has not denied my claim or even asked how I know.
“Has someone else approached you about the ring?” she asked. “Someone other than an antique’s dealer named Alistair Mackensie?”
“So what if they have?” snapped Hannah. “You two are getting beyond weird!”
She pulled her phone from under a cushion and held it on her lap where the twins could see it. She flipped the timer on. “You have five minutes to explain yourselves and what you say dictates whether or not I call the police.”
“Alistair Mackensie works for us,” said Perdita. “He’s not an antique’s dealer, he’s our solicitor and he approached you because he was concerned about your safety.”
“My safety?”
“Yes,” said Perdita. “I’m an archaeologist and Piper is an artist. Earlier this year, our estranged grandmother died and left us an enormous stately home. This ring was part of the legacy. It dates from Tudor times and is key to my research.
“Our ring has an emerald clip, which when pulled, opens a secret compartment under the ruby. It reveals a Latin inscription: luncta sanguine that means ‘joined in blood’. Under a moveable golden plate at the bottom is a portrait of a woman whom we believe to be Anne Boleyn, as it is engraved with the initials AB. We think the ring you inherited from your grandmother Honor Westcote née Winchester is the matching pair, only your ring has a sapphire clip.”
Hannah stared at Perdita, agog. “How do you know my grandmother’s name?”
“While we were searching for the ring, we came across information about her,” said Piper. “It was how we were able to locate you. I’m sorry, Hannah, this must be very difficult to comprehend.”
Hannah stared at them. “I didn’t know it opened,” she said, looking at Perdita, who gave her what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
“Yes,” said Perdita. “It was quite common during this period for people to use rings or other small items of jewellery to pass secret message.”
“And you think mine was used this way?”
“We do. We believe that in the middle of your ring is a portrait of a woman whom we think is Catherine Howard, Henry VIII’s fifth wife,” continued Piper. “We also think there could be an inscription saying: Semper Sorores — Always Sisters.”
“Hannah, these rings can help to prove a secret hidden so deeply in history that there is a government agency whose only function is to stop it being revealed,” said Perdita. “They want the rings. They want them so badly they’ve already murdered our mother and our grandmother. We think reuniting the rings will help to save our lives, as well as yours.”
“A government agency?” Hannah made a brave attempt at a contemptuous laugh. “Who are you people? You’re insane!”
“It does sound that way, I know,” admitted Perdita, “but we’re telling you the truth.”
There was a clang as Hannah’s five-minute alarm sounded. She switched it off with trembling fingers and pointed to the ring on Perdita’s finger.
“Open it,” she demanded. “If you can show me all the things you’ve described, I won’t call the police.”
“Of course,” said Perdita. She unwound the soft woollen scarf from around her neck. Piper moved the tea tray on to the floor and Perdita stretched the delicate fabric across the table. From her handbag she extracted her roll of jewellery making tools and a small torch before removing the ring from her finger and placing it in front of Hannah.
“Pick it up if you like, check it’s real,” she offered and with cautious fingers Hannah grasped the ring, placing it on her palm as she examined it. Returning it to the table, she made no comment, crossing her arms as she waited. Her face was a mixture of doubt and curiosity.
Smiling with as much warmth as she could muster, Perdita unrolled her tools, then with measured movements, ensuring Hannah could see her working, not wanting to be accused of sleight of hand, Perdita took a steel scribe and turned the ring over.
“The green stone is an emerald,” Perdita explained, “and it is on the head of small clip. When it’s pushed back,” she made a firm movement and felt the click, “the ruby in its golden cage opens to reveal its secret.”
Levering the ruby back on its hidden hinge, Perdita tilted the ring to enable Hannah to watch as she slid the cover away from the miniature.
“Here is the inscription,” said Perdita, indicating with the point of the steel scribe, while Piper flooded the cavity with light from the torch, “and this is, we believe, a portrait of Anne Boleyn.”
Hannah put out her hand and with a small tremor of reluctance, Perdita placed the ring on her palm. Lifting the ancient jewel up to eye level, Hannah peered inside and her eyes widened. For a few moments, she stared at the interior of the ring, then she returned it to Perdita, who placed it on her scarf, leaving it in view, trying to encourage Hannah to trust them.
Perdita gazed at Hannah. There was not much difference in their ages, perhaps five years, and this young woman held their future safety in her power. As the silence stretched, Perdita threw a quick glance at Piper who had dropped her gaze. Hope was draining from Perdita and she wondered if they had made a grave error coming here and trying to appeal to Hannah’s better nature. Perhaps she should have left it to Alistair with his many years of persuading people to part with valuable historical artefacts through his work with Jerusalem. Kit might have been able to charm her and she kicked herself for not asking for his advice. He, too, was an expert at negotiating and convincing people they were correct in selling them their heirlooms.
I’m a fool, thought Perdita, I’ve ruined our chances by not listening to Alistair. Before we arrived, Hannah had no idea the ring was anything other than an old piece of costume jewellery left to her by her grandmother, now I’ve told her it’s a valuable piece of proof. I may as well have rung MI1 myself and handed it over to them.
Perdita swallowed hard, trying to remain calm. For all she knew, Hannah could already have been approached by MI1 and was hesitating in order to keep them here until agents arrived. Or even Randolph Connors, a ruthless man w
ho would stop at nothing to get what he felt was rightfully his. Perdita shuddered at the thought and decided Hannah was not going to relent. It was time to leave.
As she stirred, reaching forward to reclaim their ring, preparing to go, Hannah placed her phone on the table and fished around the neck of her sweater while Perdita and Piper exchanged a hopeful glance. Hannah pulled a long golden chain from where it had been hidden. Lifting it over her head, she held it front of her.
Hanging from the golden chain like a pendant was the ruby ring.
Perdita and Piper both gasped.
The ancient jewel glinted in the morning light. It was oval shaped with a deep, dark hue and encased in a delicate golden filigree cage, identical to their own. The wide golden band was set with the same pattern of diamonds, five on either side, although whereas only a few of the delicate rose-cut stones remained in their ring, Hannah’s had been restored as all ten diamonds were present.
“You claim your mother and your grandmother were murdered because of this jewel?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Piper. “After our mother died, our grandmother also removed herself from our lives in order to protect us from the people who murdered Mum.”
Hannah shuddered, shaking her head in revulsion. “They wrote to me,” she said, “the other people who wanted this ring. The letter claimed to be from collectors of antique jewellery but the company name, C. Fitzroy Antiques, and the name they used to sign the letter, P. F. Allan, were false because I did some research into them online. It was part of the reason I came here. It made me nervous that they knew where I lived.” Chewing her thumbnail, Hannah looked from one twin to the other, then her gaze rested on Perdita. “You said you need this ring to keep you safe?”
Perdita nodded.
“I only wear it because it’s antique and a bit quirky. I don’t love it so much I’m willing to endanger my life for it,” she said. “If this has all the things inside it that you claim, then I’ll let you have it.”
As Hannah placed the ring in her palm, Perdita felt a leap of excitement. There was no doubting this was the second jewel, the twin to their own. Underneath, in the same place was the clip. Her heart beat faster when she saw the shimmer of the sapphire. Once more positioning the steel scribe with great care, Perdita pushed on the clip, waiting for the click. Piper and Hannah watched, spellbound. She pushed again, using more pressure and this time it came: click and the hinge released.
The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Page 33