The Last Daughter

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘I know.’ I was furious with him. It was odd to be angrier to find him alive rather than dead. And these were our first words in two years. We were quarrelling already.

  He made a sort of huffing noise. Probably he had no breath for anything else. ‘Why do you never do as you are told?’

  ‘We’re talking about this now?’ I could not help myself. ‘When the battle is lost and you swim a river in your armour?’

  He stopped my hands as I reached to unfasten the first buckle. ‘Leave it for now.’

  I paused. ‘You’re injured?’

  ‘No.’ He was short and I knew he was certainly in pain but he accepted my help to stand and even offered a word of thanks. I might as well have been his squire.

  ‘I’m glad you’re safe,’ I said. My throat closed with emotion. They were such inadequate words after years apart and a tumult of experience but I felt utterly incapable of finding better.

  ‘I’m hardly safe.’ Francis looked grimly amused. ‘Let’s go.’

  He set the pace and I allowed it for his pride’s sake. I asked no more questions. If the Yorkists had won he would not have been here like this. It was a simple as that. I managed not to say that I had known all along that the battle would be lost, even though I had.

  ‘How is Richard?’ Francis half-turned to look back at me.

  ‘He chafes to be denied the chance to fight at your side,’ I said. ‘Francis, he is thirteen years old now. He wants to be involved—’

  ‘He is the only hope for the future.’ He interrupted me. ‘Now, more than ever. You know his safety cannot be put at risk.’

  I wanted to argue. Richard of Shrewsbury was to all intents and purposes dead; we had promised his mother that we would hide him, protect him from Henry Tudor, the man who was now her son-in-law. She had lost one of her boys when Edward had died. All she wanted was for Richard to survive somewhere, somehow, in peace. It was not for him to reclaim his father’s kingdom, not if he wanted to live.

  The manor came into view suddenly around a curve of the river, squat and silent above the bank, grey walls forbidding. Francis put out a hand to hold me back when I would have quickened my pace toward it.

  ‘Wait.’ His voice was low, his breath stirring the hair by my ear.

  ‘No one has come this way.’ I had told Franke to watch for us and signal if there was danger and now I was fizzing with impatience to get Francis inside, into hiding, to an illusory safety. Nevertheless, his caution incited a rush of fear in me. I froze, ears straining for a sound, the snap of a twig, the soft footfall that betrayed an enemy was near.

  After a moment, Francis sighed. I felt a little of the tension leave him. He allowed me to lead the way now, following as I ducked under the lintel of a door into a hidden corner of the courtyard. The air of desolation that cloaked the manor was tangible. Grass sprouted from the cobbles and a broken-down cart lay rotting in the sun. Shutters hung loose from the windows and the door was gone. Would it fool the King’s spies? I hoped so. Yet I knew we could not stay. There would be time only for Francis to wash and probably not even to rest long before we would all need to leave. And there was nowhere to go. Francis was once again a fugitive and Richard was in even greater danger than before. We had come to the end.

  I felt the lodestar, warm against my throat. It had protected me and saved my life. What I was about to ask it was far beyond that and I could only believe, and hope, that it would see my cause as true and would answer me.

  The door of the buttery opened abruptly. I saw Francis tense, his hand going to his sword. Light and colour erupted, Richard hurtled past me then and straight into Francis’ arms. I watched them for a moment, my heart squeezed with pain and joy combined. There was such a strong bond between them and had been since Francis had mentored him during those days in the Tower. Richard loved me too, I knew that, but his feeling for Francis was as simple as sheer, blazing hero-worship.

  Thank God he came back. I felt my heart give another tight squeeze.

  I stepped past them to greet Franke. ‘All quiet?’

  ‘I haven’t seen a soul.’

  That was not necessarily reassuring.

  ‘Was the field lost?’ Franke spoke softly, one brow cocked in Francis’ direction.

  ‘Of course.’

  Franke’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Then we should leave,’ he said.

  ‘For pity’s sake, give them a moment together first,’ I said. Francis and Richard were talking now, their heads bent close together.

  ‘It is too dangerous to wait until after dark, when we can’t see the enemy,’ Franke said shortly. ‘The King will know by now that my lord has escaped. Even if no one witnessed him crossing the river, his men will have checked every corpse on the battlefield.’

  ‘Francis and Richard need go nowhere to escape,’ I said, equally shortly. ‘I can get them away and no one will be the wiser.’

  I left him staring after me in bafflement and went to the other side of the hall to try to compose myself. I wanted no witnesses to my weakness. The end was coming and very swiftly now. I was frightened and unprepared.

  The lodestar seemed to vibrate against my skin as I took the chain from about my neck. It was warm against my palm, waiting. My faith in it was absolute. I knew nothing of where we might go or what might happen to us but it had to be better than fighting and hiding and running for ever.

  Franke had gone to fetch water. Richard was helping Francis remove his armour now, performing the duties of a squire. I watched them for a moment then closed my eyes and felt a tear trickle from beneath my lids.

  Francis came to sit beside me. The wooden seat gave beneath his weight with a groan that threatened collapse. When I opened my eyes, he was wiping the water from his face with the cloth Franke had given him. The stubble on his chin and cheeks rasped against the rough material. Droplets clung to his eyelashes and the ends of his hair. He had yet to take off his gambeson and the padded jacket was filthy and stained with sweat. I could smell the sweat on his body too, mingled with the metallic scent of blood. It did not prevent me from wanting to throw myself into his arms just as Richard had done.

  Francis leaned forward and brushed the tears from my cheek. ‘Don’t cry.’ His voice was gruff. ‘We are not dead yet.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but this is the end now, Francis. You know it.’

  He opened his mouth to reply but never got the chance.

  ‘Someone comes!’

  Franke yelled a warning from the doorway a second before I saw them. They were soldiers in the King’s livery. They cut Franke off with one quick slash to the neck and he fell without another sound. I grabbed Richard’s arm and thrust him into Francis’ side and then I closed Francis’ hand tight over the lodestar relic.

  ‘Take us to a place of safety,’ I said, and I prayed with my whole heart.

  The room seemed to brighten with a blinding flash of light and I fell to my knees, covering my face with my hands. The ground shook and the walls began to fall, dust and stone flying. I felt as though I was falling down and down, through darkness. I came to myself in a pile of rubble with the kindly face of Father Hubert, the priest from All Hallows Church, peering at me through the devastation. Out in the courtyard the soldiers milled around seemingly as stunned as I.

  I rubbed the grit from my eyes and the priest extended a hand to help raise me to my feet.

  ‘I heard the terrible noise from the road,’ he said. ‘What can have happened here, daughter?’

  I could not speak. All I could think was that I had failed, that the relic had failed me when I most needed it. Once it had saved my life; had I asked too much this time, when my prayers had been for others and not myself? Like Ginevra before me, all I had wanted was power for a good cause, and yet I had been punished beyond measure. But whilst the lodestar had taken her away, this time it had taken the others and left me behind.

  I looked around. Franke’s body lay where he had fallen, blood and dust-stained on the
cobbled yard. There was no sign of anyone else at all.

  ‘Lady Lovell?’ I recognised the King’s uncle, Jasper Tudor, dirt-stained, straight from battle, pushing his way through the troops in the yard.

  ‘Where is your husband?’ he demanded.

  ‘I have no idea,’ I said. I took a deep breath and thought, I am alone now. God give me strength.

  ‘I was waiting for him here after the battle,’ I said, ‘but as you see, Your Grace, he is not here.’

  ‘Search for him,’ Tudor barked, glaring at me from beneath his brows. I drew closer to the priest and despite everything, despite all that I had lost, I felt my heart lighten a little, for I knew they would find nothing; not Francis, not Richard, both gone, never to be seen again. I remembered Ginevra’s words then: ‘She felt as though she was falling … And when she did, she was in a different place, in a different time.’ This time I had fallen into darkness but they were the ones who had gone to a different place, a different time.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips in a kiss. ‘Go with my love,’ I whispered. ‘And may God bless you always.’

  Chapter 21

  Serena

  Minster Lovell, Present Day

  ‘Serena, honey!’ Polly enveloped her niece in a huge hug and a wave of Chanel. ‘It’s so good to be here!’

  ‘Here’ was Oxford station concourse where Polly’s perfume was mingling rather queasily with the smell of fried food and diesel. She was wrapped in an enormous faux-fur coat and her Californian tan was drawing considerable attention. She looked exotic, like a migrating bird blown far off course.

  The station was also reassuring in its ordinariness. Serena – nerves still buzzing from the coffee and even more so from reading about the lodestar – had never needed a dose of normality more.

  ‘You look amazing,’ she said truthfully. Then feeling a rush of affection, ‘It’s good to see you too, Aunt Pol.’ She took hold of Polly’s smart wheeled suitcase. ‘What would you like to do first?’ she asked. ‘Go and see Grandpa, or go back to the hotel to rest?’

  Polly looked at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘Would it be wrong of me to put off seeing Pa until later?’ she asked. ‘I feel so grubby from travelling and want to be at my best—’

  ‘Of course,’ Serena said. She’d caught the slight note of uncertainty in Polly’s voice.

  She’s nervous, she thought, and felt another burst of love for her aunt. It was only a few months since Polly had seen her father but she knew he was declining all the time. It would be hard for her, not knowing whether Dick would recognise her or how he might be.

  ‘We’ll go back to Minster Lovell,’ she said. ‘The pub isn’t exactly five stars, but it’s comfortable and—’ She was going to say welcoming but she wasn’t sure that it was. She also wasn’t sure she wanted to be there at the moment when her mind was in such turmoil and she needed to think through all she had learned about Caitlin’s disappearance. Not for the first time she wished she could talk to her grandfather. If only she knew what he knew.

  ‘Thanks, hon.’ Polly slid gratefully into the passenger seat of the car. ‘The journey was fine but I’ve been travelling for twenty-four hours and I’m exhausted.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, and Serena saw the lines of tiredness and worry beneath her immaculate make-up.

  ‘Is there any more news on the investigation?’ Polly opened her eyes again and looked out as they pulled into Frideswide Square and turned onto the Botley Road. ‘Boy, Oxford has changed! I haven’t come through this way in years. I like what they’ve done with the square and this cute little bridge over the river. Are we on an island?’

  ‘Osney Island, I think,’ Serena said. ‘This is the Thames. There’s no news on Caitlin,’ she added, ‘although, I’ve—’ She stopped.

  Polly raised her brows. ‘You?’ she prompted.

  ‘I’ve recovered my memories of the night Caitlin disappeared,’ Serena said. She glanced sideways at her aunt. ‘I went to the police and told them this morning.’

  She summarised for Polly what she had remembered; the fact that she had seen someone else in the ruins with Caitlin that night, that Caitlin seemed to vanish before her eyes and that there had been a blinding flash of light. She didn’t mention that she’d met up with Jack and they’d found out about the Lovell lodestar; she wanted more time to read Oliver Fiske’s book properly and think about what it might mean. She’d borrowed it from Jack and it was on the back seat ready for her to take over to show her grandfather later.

  ‘Oh boy,’ Polly said when Serena had finished telling her the story, ‘that’s the weirdest thing.’ She looked troubled. ‘Are you sure that’s how it was, hon? What do the police think?’

  ‘Unsurprisingly,’ Serena said, ‘they think that I imagined the bit about Caitlin vanishing and the flash of light. They think it was an illusion caused by the trauma. They do seem to accept that I saw someone with Caitlin that night, though, and that it was probably a woman, so I suppose that advances the case a bit.’

  Polly nodded. ‘And how do you feel?’ she asked, much as Lizzie had done. ‘I’m immensely glad that it doesn’t seem to have caused you any further trauma, but it can’t have been pleasant for you recovering all those memories.’

  ‘It was very strange,’ Serena said honestly, ‘but I felt… as though I was ready for it, somehow. As soon as I was back in Minster Lovell, I started to remember things; my mind started to prompt me in different ways.’

  ‘Perhaps it was time for it to happen,’ Polly said heavily. ‘Perhaps it was time everything started to come out.’

  ‘I think it was,’ Serena said. ‘And I feel better now; even if they never find out who was with Caitlin that night, and what really happened, I feel I’ve done what I can now. I’ve done my best for her. That makes me feel lighter in spirit, I suppose, if no happier to have lost her.’

  Polly nodded and Serena saw her aunt surreptitiously wipe away a tear from her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. ‘Do you mind if I nap a little?’ she said. ‘I know it’ll probably make the jet lag worse but I’m so tired.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Serena said. A splatter of rain hit the windscreen and she turned on the wipers. They’d left the city behind now and were passing Farmoor reservoir. Gulls wheeled overhead on the ragged breeze. She remembered she needed five pence for the toll bridge at Eynsham but decided not to disturb Polly yet by reaching over for her bag. Her aunt was already sound asleep.

  They joined the main A40 and bypassed Witney, Polly snoring gently in the passenger seat, snuggled down in her faux fur. As they came into Minster Lovell, though, Polly stirred and blinked awake.

  ‘We’re here,’ she said slowly, looking around. ‘This feels a little weird, kind of familiar but deeply different at the same time.’

  ‘How long is it since you were here?’ Serena asked.

  ‘The last time I saw Dad was about six months ago,’ Polly said, ‘but I didn’t visit Minster then. It must have been the year after Caitlin disappeared, I think, when Dad was talking about packing up and moving out of the hall. I do remember that it was a terrible summer – it rained all the time.’

  It was clear from Polly’s face that she wasn’t enjoying herself as she got out of the car at the Minster Inn. She viewed the old pub critically and Serena immediately felt awkward.

  ‘Would you rather stay at the Old Swan?’ she asked. ‘It’s more your sort of place. I only chose this because it’s closer to the manor, but we can move out if you prefer.’

  ‘No,’ Polly said slowly. ‘It’s fine. There’s just something about this place that feels – not quite right…’ She shook her head sharply. ‘Ignore me. I’m just tired.’

  Eve was behind the desk as they came into the reception area and leaped up to check Polly in.

  ‘I’ve put you in the Lady Lovell room,’ she said. ‘It has a four-poster.’

  ‘That sounds delightful, thank you,’ Polly said warmly. They fell into easy conversation,
Eve admiring Polly’s coat: ‘You’ll feel the cold after all that lovely Californian sunshine…’ And Polly telling her about selling real estate to the stars: ‘I sometimes get to sell a tropical island or two…’

  She took her key with a word of thanks, politely refused Serena’s offer to carry her suitcase up for her and set off up the stairs to her room, yawning widely. ‘I’ll see you later, hon,’ she said to Serena. ‘I’ll knock when I’m ready to go over to see Pa.’

  ‘Your auntie’s very cool,’ Eve said, eyeing Polly’s designer boots enviously. ‘Can I get you anything?’ she added. ‘Lunch? A drink?’

  Serena ordered a cheese sandwich, a bag of crisps and a glass of apple juice and went upstairs, carrying her tray. The door of the Lady Lovell room was already closed and she couldn’t hear any sound from inside. She wondered whether Polly had simply laid down on the four-poster and gone straight to sleep. It seemed likely. Polly had clearly been exhausted, and no wonder after the stress of the journey. Serena suddenly felt incredibly weary herself, drained by the interview with the police and all the emotional trauma of reliving Caitlin’s disappearance. She curled up on the bed, leaning back against the headrest. There was so much she needed to think about…

  An hour later Serena woke up to find that she had dropped off sitting upright on the bed, her sandwich half-eaten and the glass of apple juice still in her hand. She had a crick in her neck and had crushed half of the crisps into the bedcover. She got up, stretched and tidied the tray onto a side table. The sound of a door closing down the corridor made her wonder whether Polly had woken up, too, but when she looked out onto the landing she couldn’t see anyone. She wandered along to the Lady Lovell room, but the door was still shut and she decided not to knock.

  The room-service trolley was on the landing, loaded with used plates and cutlery, crumpled napkins and food wrappers. There was a strange, heavy quiet in the air, which seemed to make the stale smell of the previous night’s food all the more pungent as it mingled with old-fashioned beeswax and dust, and an indefinable scent that Serena tended simply to call ‘old things’. Something about the silence felt oppressive and Serena found herself tiptoeing back along the corridor to her room to avoid making the floorboards creak.