The Plantagenet Vendetta

by John Paul Davis

  “Careful, Tom, careful. Enough playing games.”

  “You’re the one p-playing.”

  “Uh, uh, oh,” he tutted. “Let’s not forget where we are.”

  Thomas could feel Edward moving around him, circling him like a shark. What fazed him most was the slowness of his footsteps. They echoed softly, as if trapped in the atmosphere. It even sounded like a church. To the prince, it felt as if time was slowing down, if not stopping altogether.

  He needed a contingency plan.

  Jen couldn’t believe it. The object was there, less than five metres in front of her.

  If she could make it under the next pew, she would have it.

  Edward looked around the chapel, horrified by the debris. “Mum and Dad used to love this spot. Sometimes Mum used to paint, particularly the windows. She’d set up her easel over there.” He pointed to the back of the church. “Would you like to see some of the pictures, Tom?”

  A loud noise from one of the middle pews caught their attention.

  “Jen,” Edward said, elated. “I forgot all about you. Come join us.”

  Jen rose slowly from her knees to her feet, knowing she was helpless to argue. The waving of his gun was particularly persuasive. She walked down the aisle, grimacing awkwardly as she approached Thomas.

  Edward watched her as she made her way alongside the prince. Another quick smile had withered into a frown.

  There was new movement behind them, this time much quicker. A large bird had entered through the broken window in the corridor and perched itself on one of the pews.

  All eyes looked toward the bird.

  “Oi, oi, how did you escape?” Edward asked.

  Thomas was confused. He remembered seeing various birdlife in the grounds of the Catesby estate, but he didn’t associate them with the bird in front of him.

  “That’s a razorbill,” Edward said, clearly paying it the most interest. “Sir William, that’s Catesby, he breeds them. You often find them in Yorkshire. It’s because we’re only four miles from the sea – you only ever find them near the sea. Mum used to love painting them, too, but she could never quite get the colours right. They have this thin white line, there,” he said, pointing to the area between the eyes and the bill. “Sometimes it’s whiter than that; I think it has something to do with the mating season.”

  Thomas’s patience was almost exhausted. If there was such a thing as a fate worse than death, this was surely it.

  “Mum used to paint it whiter than that,” Edward said, looking again at Jen. “Would you like to see some of my mum’s paintings, Jen?”

  She had no idea what to say. “Yeah, okay.”

  The smile returned. “They’re in the other room.”

  “Wh-what do you mean b-breeds them?” Thomas interrupted.

  “That’s right. Breeds them; he lives over there.” Edward pointed.

  Thomas was confused. “You mean they’re not wild?”

  “Nah, not these birds. Sir William breeds them specially. They’re really tasty, razorbills. I think he’s got some prepared if you’d like a taste.”

  The sickly grin of the blond man confirmed Thomas’s suspicions.

  He had identified the source of the meat found on the man at Greenwich.

  “It’s particularly good with chips. As long as you’re not allergic to poultry.”

  “Speaking of which. How’s the medication going, Edward?”

  Jen looked to her right, even more alarmed.

  What medication?

  “I’m sure he’s already told you,” he said to Jen. “When we were at school, Edward used to suffer from homesickness. Took him two full terms to settle in at Winchester.”

  The hurt was visible across Edward’s face.

  He laughed, his usual laugh. “You are so predictable,” he said, quietly but with venom. “You think you’re not? You think you’d be any different if the same happened to you? Do you?”

  The volume of Edward’s voice had risen considerably, sending an unpleasant shiver down Thomas’s spine. Twenty-eight years as his cousin had taught him Edward Jeffries was unpredictable at the best of times.

  “For the record, Jen, it wasn’t just me that suffered. You know I had heard, Tom, members of your own family didn’t care too much, for starters. Of course, back then fagging was still legal.

  “I’ve always wondered what it was like, having to undergo such terrible cruelty,” he said, waving the gun. “Care to try it out, Tom?”

  “Why don’t you p-put the gun d-down? Then we can t-talk p-properly.”

  Edward’s smile returned. “You want to t-talk p-p-properly, do you? Well, let me t-tell you, T-Tom. I can t-talk p-p-properly with or without a gun.”

  Thomas attempted to remain calm. “Put it down, Ed.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do; honestly, anyone would think you’re the king.”

  The choice of words caused Jen new anguish. How much had changed in less than a day.

  “It’s you that’s under orders, Tom, and you know what happens if you don’t obey.”

  Edward marched in front of them, this time displaying complete concentration.

  “I think the time for games is over. Backs against the wall. Move.”

  He shouted the last word, which made Jen jump. They followed the gesture of the waving gun to the left of the open double doors and stopped behind the final pew, in between two bookcases that were filled with hymnals.

  Jen moved in alongside Thomas, her breathing quick. The large puffin-shaped bird was still in the chapel, its large feet padding up and down the penultimate pew. Every so often it would flap its wings, but not take off.

  A gunshot filled the chapel, followed by frantic flapping.

  “Missed,” Edward said.

  Jen was livid, while Thomas looked on in terror. The bird took off and escaped into the corridor, either making its way through the broken window or somewhere back along the cloisters.

  “Honestly never knew what Mum saw in them.” He turned his attention back to his prisoners. “You all right there, Jen? You seem nervous.”

  “Don’t answer,” Thomas said.

  He fired again, this time into the air. “What did I say about giving orders?”

  Thomas took a deep breath. He heard Caroline speaking in his ear. She wanted a response, but that was impossible.

  Edward turned to Morris. “Come here.”

  The friar jumped to it.

  “Frisk him. You never know, I might have missed something.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Morris carried out his objective in rapid time: under the arms, waist, and legs…

  “He’s clean, sir.” He looked at Jen. “How about her?”

  Edward laughed. “Where would she be hiding anything? There’s nothing there.” He gestured to her breasts. “Have you ever fired a gun before, Jen?”

  No answer.

  “Would you like to try?”

  She took a deep breath, her expression turning malevolent. “Only if you promise not to move.”

  Edward seemed hurt by the comment. He looked her in the eyes for several seconds before ending the sequence with a trademark laugh.

  Thomas was quiet; instead, his mind considered the present reality. Edward was hardly a field agent; his family had no experience in the military whatsoever since the war. Nevertheless, the more time passed, the more he was becoming concerned by the threat. The stories Caroline told him earlier that day continued to replay over and over in his mind. The possibility seemed unbelievable.

  Edward Jeffries, killer of a king.

  “Where did you g-get the g-gun from?”

  Edward avoided the temptation to sneer. “Does it matter?”

  “Only to Scotland Yard.”

  Edward laughed. “It’s always seemed to me, Tom, that the more thinking you royals do, the more trouble you make for yourselves. I mean, take a look at the situation regarding Edward IV. All he ever really wanted was to marry for love.”
/>   He laughed.

  “In the late 1700s, I had an ancestor called Martin Jeffries.”

  “I thought you guys were only called Edward.”

  The comment seemed to rile him. “Cheap blow, Tom, cheap blow. He wasn’t the eldest son, if you were wondering…

  “Anyway, he had been arranged in marriage to a fine lady from Lincolnshire – at least I think it was Lincolnshire. That Martin was something of a traveller, not that type of traveller.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Edward grinned. “While he was abroad, he fell in love – as you do. The woman was French, but without title. And when he returned, he said to his father, his name was Edward, that he was going to marry her anyway. And you know what he said?”

  Thomas had no idea.

  “He sat him down, and he said to Martin that he should never underestimate the importance of choosing the wrong woman. And do you know what he meant by that?”

  “He c-couldn’t m-marry her?”

  “No, you’re wrong, Tom. He said the opposite. He said that it was his opinion that the biggest mistake of the royals was that none of them married for love. It was that which made them cheat; it was that which made them unpredictable and violent. He said that there was never a man in history who reached the top without the support of a loving woman.

  “See, my ancestor, Edward IV, married Elizabeth Woodville. Now she was a commoner. Drove the nobles mad, that did, the king marrying for love. Only what they failed to realise was that Elizabeth brought out the best in him.”

  Again Thomas was confused. Edward seemed to have gone off at a tangent.

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Ever since I was fourteen, I’ve spent hours and hours reading the biographies of great men. You should try it yourself, Tom. You never know, something might rub off on you.”

  “Well, you always did want to be the brightest student in class, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t patronise me, Tom. And tell me honestly, what’s the need for it? Does it really make you feel superior?”

  “Does pointing a gun at an innocent woman make you?”

  Edward bit his lip. “Not really. Sadly some things are necessary, even if we don’t like it.”

  The sound of flapping wings from the corridor returned, though without any sign of the bird.

  “Do you like riddles, Tom? Here’s one for you:

  “It lives without a body; hears without ears; speaks without a mouth, to which the air alone gives birth.

  “What am I?”

  Remembering words was difficult.

  “Speaks without…” Thomas had already forgotten.

  “Give up: An echo.”

  Both Thomas and Jen looked at him, not knowing how to respond.

  “Here’s a better one,” Edward began. “When a bird flies over water, a part of it touches the water but doesn’t get wet. Which part?”

  Thomas heard this one more clearly, but still he had no idea.

  “Give up?”

  The prince shook his head. “I don’t know. The bones? The organs?”

  “Wrong. The shadow.”

  Thomas breathed out, almost in disbelief.

  “Here’s another one, Tom.

  “Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,

  “Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie,

  “When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing,

  “Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before a king?”

  Thomas’s fury escalated. “That’s not a riddle. It’s a confession.”

  Edward smiled, but said nothing.

  “Death by pie,” Thomas said. “It’s unique, I’ll give you that much.”

  “You haven’t heard the best part.

  “The King was in his counting house, counting all his money,

  “The queens were in the parlour, eating bread and honey.”

  He said the last part slowly, forcing the painful truth to return to Thomas.

  “I hear it was you that found your grandmother?”

  “You bastard.”

  “Oi, oi, oi.” Edward waved the gun. “Now, now.”

  Thomas took a deep breath, struggling to remain calm. The horror of three years earlier, he realised for the first time, had still to sink in fully.

  “You?”

  Edward shook his head. “No.” He looked over his shoulder. “Him.”

  Beneath his hood, Morris smiled like a maniac, the lines on his face appearing extra malevolent in the shadow of his vestment.

  “Care for some more, Tom?

  “The princess was in the garden, nattering on her phone…”

  “No. It’s the servant,” Jen interrupted, confused. “Hanging out the clothes.”

  Edward shook his head. “You’re wrong, Jen. It’s definitely the princess.”

  “Blackbird,” Thomas said, looking at the razorbill.

  “They’re Dominicans,” Jen said. “Dominicans were nicknamed blackbirds.”

  Edward smiled. “Well done, Jen.”

  Suddenly it dawned on Thomas. “Caroline.”

  “What?” the voice asked in his earpiece.

  As much as Thomas wanted to respond, he forced himself to keep his attention on Edward. “Caroline was attacked in the duke’s garden.”

  “Was she really?”

  “You know bloody well she was; wh-what of it?”

  “Listen to the rhyme.”

  Thomas muttered the rest of the rhyme under his breath.

  The princess was in the garden, nattering on her phone,

  When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose.

  They sent for the duke’s doctor,

  Who sewed it on again;

  He sewed it on so neatly,

  The seam was never seen.

  “That’s the clue,” Edward said. “He sewed it on so neatly, the seam was never seen.”

  At the other end of the line, Caroline felt her heart palpitating wildly. She touched her nose, feeling the area where the surgery had been carried out.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  Thomas heard her. “Caroline?”

  Edward was confused.

  “Caroline?”

  Anthea was beside herself. “Calm down; it’s okay.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” The girl was in a fit of panic.

  “Relax, breathe.”

  “Caroline?”

  Edward moved forward and ripped away the earpiece before doing the same to Thomas’s shirt.

  “A wire, oh, that’s cheap.”

  He did the same to Jen, revealing a blue bra but also Sellotape above her cleavage.

  Edward yanked it and ordered them back toward the wall, his anger rising.

  He looked at Jen’s breasts, then Thomas. “Good guess, mind: what you said about the bones. I guess you’re right, in a way. But then again, technically, do they actually touch the water? Really, they sort of don’t.

  “But see, it’s the shadow you’ve got to watch for, Tom. There’s nothing more dangerous in life than the shadow. It’s everywhere, stalking your every move. But it’s at its most dangerous the one time you can’t see it – at night. Nothing hides a shadow like darkness, Tom.

  “Everything in life casts a shadow. For over five hundred years the Royal Family has cast a shadow. We, Tom, are that shadow. You can’t always see us, but we’re always there – right alongside you.”

  “And if you’re our shadow, then where, might I ask, is your shadow? Huh. You are, after all, living things?”

  “I’ve got a riddle for you,” Jen said to Edward. “Why did the bubblegum cross the road?”

  Thomas looked at her, bewildered. Edward, on the other hand, was far more taken.

  “I have absolutely no idea. Go on, Jen, why did the bubblegum cross the road?”

  She hesitated, distracted by Morris standing with his gun at the ready. The other friar was lying on the floor, no longer moving. Close by, the old man was walking slowly toward
them; he had made it as far as the fourth pew.

  “Because it was stuck to the chicken’s leg.”

  Edward looked at her. Though he remained silent, his expression slowly began to change. He started laughing, softly then uncontrollably.

  “It was stuck…”

  Laughter got the better of him.

  Across the chapel, Morris started laughing, at first softly, then more farfetched.

  Jen grinned, albeit nervously. Edward had taken the joke far better than she had expected.

  Edward was laughing hysterically. He wiped his eyes; tears either real or fake, she was unable to tell.

  “That’s brilliant. Jen, you should be on Mock the Week.”

  She grinned, whereas Thomas was far more concerned. He edged closer to Jen, then closer still. He saw movement from Edward, followed by the noise of a gun going off.

  Standing by the altar, Morris fell to the floor, blood immediately appearing around his upper thigh.

  The man had been shot.

  By Jen.

  84

  It was impossible to know who was the most surprised.

  Standing near the fifth pew, the bang had caused Lord Jeffries to lose his balance.

  Morris had been floored, losing his firearm in the process. He cried out in pain while clenching his wounded thigh.

  Edward’s eyes were solely on Jen. Jen, meanwhile, looked to her right at Thomas. His expression was strangely normal, yet his eyes were inquisitive. She could tell what he wanted to ask her.

  Where did you get the gun?

  Jen blew her hair away from her forehead, finishing the job with her left hand. Her blood was pumping fast, intensifying her breathing. She felt alive. She was thinking straight, perhaps for the first time in her life.

  She had made up her mind.

  She would be leaving here alive.

  “Why did you kill Debra Harrison?” she shouted. “Do you always prey on teenagers?”

  Edward looked suspiciously at Jen, finally realising she must have taken the friar’s gun when it slid beneath the pews. Though momentarily stunned, he was still armed and in control.