The Plantagenet Mystery

by Victoria Prescott

  Rob showed her the birth certificate and she copied down the details. Chris supplied the address in Audley Avenue and the registration of the Range Rover he had destroyed.

  ‘I bet he’s got a few speeding tickets, at least,’ he said.

  Claire stood up, putting the notes away in her bag.

  ‘I’ll get on to this tomorrow morning, then come and let you know if I find anything.’

  ‘Do you need a taxi? I think I’ve got a number somewhere,’ Rob said. Emily’s house was a couple of miles away, and it was late.

  ‘I’ve got Mum’s car. I went to their place first today, to check up, then drove here.’

  At the door, she turned back and looked at them.

  ‘Just remember, I’m doing this for Auntie Emily, not to get you two out of the shit you’ve got yourselves into.’

  Rob could not settle to anything the next morning while waiting for Claire to come back. He was distracted by wondering what she might discover, hoping she would have found something they could use against Pierson. Something that would convince him to abandon his scheme, whatever it was, and leave them alone. All of them.

  Chris was not there; he had promised to take his mother and sister shopping that morning. So Rob could not go and work off his restlessness on the house next door. There was nothing that he could do there, unskilled and unsupervised.

  Eventually Rob gave up the attempt to work on his research. He would go to the supermarket, he decided. Chris and Claire were likely to be at his house for lunch; for once he would offer something more than coffee, biscuits and takeaway. He shut the front door behind him and turned left, towards the main road and the shops. There was an elderly dark blue van parked near the corner, two wheels on the pavement, leaving little room for pedestrians to pass. Rob contemplated speaking to the driver, if he was there, making a few pointed remarks about his lack of consideration and breach of the law.

  While he was passing between the van and the side wall of the house that fronted on to the next street, Rob heard the driver’s door slam. The man had got out and was walking around the front of the vehicle towards him. They came face to face as Rob came level with the passenger door. Rob opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He was looking at one of Pierson’s goons, the one with the crewcut. The vicious one. He was shorter than Rob, but much broader; there was no way past him. Rob resisted the urge to look behind, to see if the other man was there, to see if he was trapped in this small space. He and Crewcut stood for a moment, Rob trying to match the other man’s unblinking stare. Then, with a smirk, Crewcut moved aside. Rob looked the man in the eye as he passed and said,

  ‘I see you got a new van.’ It was not the sharpest or wittiest comment, but Rob thought it was an achievement to have kept his voice steady. As he walked away, he expected at any moment to feel hands on him, seizing him from behind. He remembered Pierson’s words;

  ‘I’m watching you.’

  He continued to the supermarket, making his purchases without paying too much attention to what he was buying. He found he did not quite have the nerve to confront Pierson’s hired muscle again. Rather than skulk past on the opposite side of the street, and still risk being intercepted, he took a different route home, entering Gladstone Street from the other end.

  Back indoors, his shopping put away, Rob made a determined attempt to focus on his research. He resolved that he would not allow himself to be disturbed by Pierson’s attempts to intimidate. Sitting at his laptop and opening his database of farm produce, he began to work through his photocopied wills. He noted the produce of an orchard, carefully divided between a son, a widowed daughter and their stepmother. There were a dozen sheep left between three godchildren. One testator seemed more concerned with making provision for his soul than for his family.

  Item I bequeth a cow toward the mayntayning of one taper of wax of 4lbs to burn perpetually before the sacrament at the high aultar of the church Item I bequeth one cow toward the mayntayning of a taper of wax to burn before the Image of Saynt Peter patron of the same church perpetually Item I bequeth two ewes to the mayntayning of two tapers to burn perpetually before the Image of our blessyd lady in the seyd church Item I wyll that my executors shall have to be celebrated in the seyd church at my monthysminde a mass and at my twelvemonthys minde a mass also

  No sign of Protestant beliefs there, in 1531, Rob thought. He made a note to mention the bequests to Dr Kane. Richard Plantagenet had held to his Catholic faith to the end of his life, too, Rob remembered, thinking of the words he had written in 1548.

  I find no joy in a world in which we may not pray to the Blessed Virgin or the Saints and the churches lose their glory and holy men and women are driven on to the highways

  Not surprising that such an old man should have been conservative in his beliefs, Rob thought. But he had had a Catholic burial; Sir Thomas had found a priest to read the old service for him.

  Rob turned to the next will, skimming through the opening paragraphs, looking for the first bequest. This man had been quite specific about his place of burial.

  ...my body to be buryed in the church yarde besydes my chyldern behynde the hygh aultar of the same church

  Rob’s mind suddenly completely focused. Where was Richard Plantagenet buried? Why had he not thought about that before? The remains of a possible illegitimate son of Richard III, previously unknown – that would be a discovery. What exactly had Sir Thomas said in his letter? Rob had been distracted on first reading it, by the story of the ring, and trying to think of a way to circumvent Pierson. He had never made a transcript of it. He pulled the photocopy from the pile of papers on the table.

  Wee buryed hym ystrday heer att Ashleigh in a place as neere fitting hys trew state as may bee, that hee himself dyd make, not knoweinge mine intent regarding ytt. My Brother Fynch and hys sonne and I did attend his corps to its grave and found one who wd read the service as hee wd wish.

  At Ashleigh? What did that mean? At Ashleigh church? Would he have been buried publicly, the event recorded in the burial register? Bringing up his web browser, Rob logged on to the record office’s catalogue. Parish registers of baptisms, marriage and burials were ordered to be kept by Thomas Cromwell in 1538, but only a small proportion of registers actually survived from that date. Ashleigh’s registers began in 1558, the year of Elizabeth I’s accession, eight years after Richard Plantagenet’s death. In any case, it was surely unlikely that his burial would have been written down openly, for all to see, Rob thought. What else did they know? He brought out his printed transcript of Richard Plantagenet’s story, to consider it side by side with Thomas Mildmay’s letter.

  Rob’s train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Chris, complaining about the blue van.

  ‘Parked right at the corner, not leaving room for anyone to turn.’

  ‘Did you see who was driving it?’

  ‘What? No. Who?’

  Rob told him. Chris swore eloquently.

  ‘Yes,’ said Rob.

  ‘Let’s hope Claire finds something then,’ Chris said.

  ‘Yes. But listen, I’ve just realised something – ’ Rob was beginning, but was interrupted by a banging on the door. Claire had arrived. When Rob opened the door to let her in, she was looking back down the street. Rob wondered if the man in the blue van had approached her, but she said,

  ‘Laura’s following, in her own car. She wants to know what’s going on.’

  Rob thought Claire did not look too happy about it. He did not especially want Laura there himself, but he could hardly refuse to let her into the house. He and Claire stood on the doorstep waiting until Laura arrived.

  ‘I had to park round the corner,’ Claire said. ‘There were no spaces along here when I got here.’

  ‘There’s one now,’ Rob said, indicating where a car was pulling away from outside the house opposite. Laura arrived and reversed into the newly vacated space.

  Rob was anxious to tell the others about his revelation, and to hea
r what Claire had discovered about Pierson. Almost before they were all seated, however, and before anyone else spoke, Laura asked – demanded, really, Rob thought – to see the document they had found at Ashleigh.

  ‘It isn’t here,’ he said.

  ‘The transcript, then. Claire said you’d done one.’

  Rob hesitated, very much aware of the blue van still parked at the end of the street.

  ‘I’ve got as much right to see it as Claire,’ Laura said. ‘Auntie Emily is my aunt too.’

  ‘Later,’ said Claire, sitting with a folder open on her knee, clearly waiting to speak. Laura sat back and folded her arms, face set in resentful lines. For once Rob felt some sympathy for her; he was eager to tell them about his realisation about Richard Plantagenet’s burial, but Claire was taking over. It was easier to give way than to try to oppose her.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘What did you find out about Pierson?’

  ‘He’s not squeaky clean, by any means.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Rob saw Laura lean forward, as if about to speak, then seem to change her mind and sit back in her chair again. Claire continued,

  ‘He’s lost jobs because of suspicions of dodgy financial dealings.’ She mentioned a couple of dates and places. ‘Spent some time on the fringes of the antiques trade. Suspected of selling fakes to credulous Americans, but no complaint was ever made.’

  ‘No-one wanted to admit they’d been fooled,’ Chris said.

  ‘Probably. Anyway, he’s never been charged with anything.’ She closed the folder. ‘That’s about it. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with the money for the Sunday School outing, but there’s nothing there that’ll help us.’

  ‘Look, never mind that right now,’ Rob said. ‘I thought of something just before you got here. I think I know what Pierson is after.’

  ‘Oh, right. I risk my career to get this, and you say never mind?’

  Rob ignored her.

  ‘There’s something we overlooked. Richard Plantagenet died. They buried him secretly. We never thought to ask where.’

  ‘Why have you only just thought of this now?’ Claire said.

  ‘Well, I had other things to think about before. Like being kidnapped,’ Rob retorted. ‘Anyway, neither of you thought of it either,’ he added, including Chris in his counter-charge.

  ‘Not our job to think of things like that,’ Chris said. ‘That’s your department.’

  ‘If I’d thought about it at all, I’d have supposed he was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere. Or would there have been a chapel at Ashleigh?’ Claire looked at Chris.

  ‘Why are you looking at me?’

  ‘You’ve been working there all this time.’

  ‘Never heard any mention of a chapel.’

  ‘There probably isn’t one there now,’ said Rob. ‘It would have been a Catholic chapel. It was probably done away with in the reign of Elizabeth when nearly everyone turned Protestant. Anyway, that’s not where I think he was buried. This is what Thomas Mildmay wrote to William Amory.’

  He read aloud.

  Wee buryed hym ystrday heer att Ashleigh in a place as neere fitting hys trew state as may bee, that hee himself dyd make, not knoweinge my intent regarding ytt.

  ‘So what does that tell us?’ said Claire.

  ‘This is what Richard Plantagenet wrote.’

  Rob read again.

  For that Sir Thomas hath set me on work in building a tomb for himself and hys kin I have thought much on mortality in especial mine own

  ‘But Sir Thomas meant it for him all along. He wanted to bury him proper-like, because he was the king’s son,’ Chris said, pleased to have worked it out.

  ‘Is that it? The document?’ said Laura, leaning forward. Rob held out the printed sheets. She almost snatched them from him, and sat back again, reading eagerly.

  ‘So where is this tomb? Supposing it still exists?’ Claire said.

  ‘It’ll be in the church or churchyard,’ said Rob. He went back to his table and searched through more papers, coming up with the pages he had photocopied on Ashleigh church.

  ‘Twelfth century – flint construction – simple nave and chancel – ah, here we are – memorials – in the chancel, on the south side, alabaster tomb, probably sixteenth century, reputed to be that of Sir Thomas Mildmay who died in – ’

  ‘So you think that’s what Pierson is hoping to find? The remains of an unknown illegitimate son of Richard III?’ Claire said.

  ‘It would be a significant discovery. Put together with the document and the ring – ’

  ‘Significant to you, perhaps. But worth killing for?’ Claire said sceptically.

  ‘Killing?’ Laura had been silent so long Rob had almost forgotten she was there. ‘What are you talking about? Who’s been killed?’ Her voice was high and unnatural.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ Claire muttered. Rob remembered her saying that Laura seemed to be easily upset recently. ‘We don’t know for sure,’ Claire went on. ‘But we think we know who broke into Auntie Emily’s house. One of them was found dead from a blow to the head. It’s possible Pierson killed him.’

  ‘No! He wouldn’t do that!’

  Chapter Twenty One

  There was silence after Laura’s declaration. Rob noted that Claire looked astounded, while his own mind was working, putting together seemingly unimportant pieces of information, seeing them fit together like a jigsaw.

  ‘How would you know what he would do? You don’t know him,’ Claire said to Laura, evidently not making the connections Rob was making. Laura had realised she had given herself away; she was looking around wildly, as if seeking a way of escape.

  ‘You do know him?’ Claire said then. ‘He's this mysterious boyfriend we’ve never been allowed to meet? And you’ve been passing everything on to him! Everything I’ve told you!’

  ‘He hasn’t done anything bad. He just wanted to help his uncle.’

  Rob was still following his own train of thought.

  ‘You used to teach at a school on the Greenway,’ he said. ‘That’s where Wayne and Jason are from,’ he added to Claire. Claire understood quickly what Rob was suggesting.

  ‘You? You sent those two thugs to break in to Auntie Emily’s house? They could have killed her!’

  ‘I didn’t! I didn’t know they were going to do that! He just said he wanted some lads to do some odd jobs for him! And I’m sure he didn’t mean Auntie to be hurt.’

  ‘Didn’t you realise he was using you to get information?’ Claire said.

  ‘I thought he was just interested. He said he wanted to know all about me. I’m not like you, always suspicious, always looking for the worst in people.’

  ‘You told him exactly when Auntie Emily would be out, and where she keeps all her family history stuff,’ Claire went on, relentlessly.

  ‘I thought he was just interested,’ Laura said again. ‘He told me all about his aunt, and – ’

  ‘And he played you like a violin,’ Claire said, disgusted.

  ‘Well, what if I did tell him things? I haven’t done anything worse than any of you have done. You’ve been trying to cheat him,’ Laura said, turning on Rob.

  ‘Weren’t you listening? Didn’t you understand what I said? He might have killed someone!’ Claire almost shouted at her.

  ‘No! I don’t believe you! You’re just trying to ruin everything for me, like you always do! I’m not listening to any more of this.’

  Laura was stumbling towards the door. Claire put out a hand to try to stop her, but she angrily shook it off, hurrying out of the room, head down.

  There was an awkward silence, then Chris said,

  ‘We better stop her, hadn’t we?’

  ‘We can’t keep her here against her will,’ said Rob, although he wondered whether Laura was in a fit state to drive.

  ‘Yeah, but what if she goes straight to Pierson? I mean, now she’s seen the document, and – ’

  ‘She didn’t just see it, she took it with her! And
she heard what we said about the tomb.’ Rob swore. He did not often use bad language, but the situation seemed to call for some profanity. ‘She’ll tell him everything.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Claire furiously. ‘My sister might have run off to hand herself over to a killer. I think that’s slightly more important than your damn tomb! We have to go after her!’

  She grabbed her bag, pushed past Rob and was out of the door, Rob and Chris following. They reached the pavement in time to see Laura’s car turning at the end of the street. Claire set off at a run.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Rob called after her.

  ‘My car,’ she called back over her shoulder, gesturing towards where Rob presumed her car was parked.

  ‘We’ll take the van,’ said Chris, pulling the keys from his pocket. Rob slammed his front door and they piled in, Claire between Rob and Chris in the front seat.

  Chris put the engine in gear and his foot down on the accelerator – then had to slam on the brakes, as the blue van pulled out into the road and stopped, leaving no room for Chris to pass.

  ‘What the hell is he doing?’ Claire said. ‘If you’d let me go in my own car, I could have got past him on foot. God, move, damn it!’ She shouted the last words, although the van driver could not hear her. Rob was glad Claire had not attempted to reach her own car; he was afraid Crewcut might have tried to stop her by more direct means.

  Chris sounded his horn and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. There was no room to turn the van in the narrow street. Chris looked to see if he could reverse, but now there was another vehicle behind him, blocking the way. Passers by stopped to watch and people appeared at windows and doors, looking to see what the disturbance was. A motorist trying to turn into Gladstone Street joined in, leaning out of his window to abuse the driver of the blue van.

  At last the van straightened up and moved away. Chris followed, abused in his turn by the driver of the third vehicle, who thought he had the right of way.