The Disappearing Rose

by Renee Duke

  “’Tis true, Sister,” said Ned, laying his hand upon hers. “We are no ghosts. There were those who would have made us so, but our friends here helped us to escape them.”

  “These friends? Children like yourselves?” scoffed Cecily. “You cannot expect us to believe such a tale. Our brothers are dead and gone. You are impostors, like that wretched Simnel boy the rebels tried to rally support around earlier this year.”

  “Not so,” Ned said hotly. “We are your brothers. Did you not say so yourself, when you first beheld us? You recognized us at once.”

  “We did indeed,” said the queen, wavering. “They look exactly as Ned and Dickon did the last time we saw them, Cecey.”

  “And when was that?” Cecily argued. “Three years back? Four? Ned would be close to manhood now, and Dickon a lanky stripling. They are impostors. I shall call a guard.”

  She moved toward the door, but the queen put out a hand to stop her. “Nay, Sister,” she said. “They are very young. Others have put them up to this. I will not have them suffer because their heads have been filled with useless dreams.

  She turned back to the princes. “Naught can come of this deception. My royal husband has not yet won the hearts of his subjects. There is much unrest, and your strong resemblance to Ned and Dickon is certain to bring more. Even so, the House of York will not be reinstated. Henry will crush all attempts to do so. You must abandon those who think you can serve their cause.”

  “We serve no cause,” said Dickon, almost in tears. “We are truly your brothers, Bess. I can describe our mother and sisters to you; name all our aunts, and uncles, and cousins; even recall happenings at our father’s court. Ask me what you will. I can answer. So can Ned.”

  To illustrate, he rattled off an account of several events they had all been present for. Listening to him, the queen and Cecily exchanged worried looks.

  At last the queen bent down to put the baby on the floor. Straightening up again, she regarded the two boys with anxious eyes. “You have been well schooled,” she said. “’Tis that that will be your undoing. ’Twas different for the Simnel boy. He was so obviously an imposter, Henry did not consider it necessary to have him executed. He merely put him to work in the royal kitchens. He will not show such leniency to you. The two of you pose much more of a threat to him. Your appearance, your manners—everything about you lends credence to your claim that you are the missing sons of Edward the Fourth. If Henry were to think people would believe in you…” She shuddered. “You must leave London ere his spies learn of your existence.”

  “’Twas our intention to do so,” said Ned quietly. “We simply wanted to see you, to have you know we were all right.”

  The steady gaze he fixed upon his sisters unnerved them both. “He is so like Ned,” the queen murmured. “Could it indeed be possible?”

  “It scarce matters,” said Cecily. “Henry will dispose of them, whoever they are. He cannot afford to do otherwise.” Her face softened a little. “’Twould be in their interests to leave the country. As long as they are in England, men will seek to use them for their own ends.”

  “We have some money,” Dane ventured to say. “Maybe we could get them on a ship going over to France or Burgundy.”

  “I will attend to that,” said the queen, extracting the Keeper bracelet from the baby’s grasp. “Their crossing must be a secret one.” She gave a grim smile. “Most of the servants are now loyal to my royal husband, but there still be some who will obey me without question. And I know at least one knight who will always serve the House of York. He came for my coronation and is fortunately still in London.”

  She handed Ned the Keeper bracelet, saying he could use it for any expenses that might arise once he and Dickon were abroad. “I will find another coronation trinket for Arthur,” she added, scooping up its former owner and holding him close.

  Dickon got them out of Greenwich Palace as easily as he had got them into it. Having seen how well he knew his way about the place, Dane thought it strange that his sisters should have found it so hard to believe that he and Ned really were who they said they were. He supposed it was because the princes had not changed in any way. It was rather difficult to explain without bringing up the subject of time travel. And he was sure neither sister would have been receptive to that idea.

  They received hard looks from one or two people as they were leaving the palace grounds and hurried on their way before they could be challenged. A barge took them back to Westminster, and from there they made their way to an inn the queen had told them of. One of Jack’s coins secured them a room, and they had a meal before retiring to it to wait for further instructions.

  Looking out the window, Dane was surprised to see a golden eagle perched on the roof of the building opposite. “Look at that,” he said, as the others joined him. “The middle of London’s a strange place for one of those.”

  “Mayhap it has escaped from a mews,” said Ned. “’Tis rare to use such a bird for hunting, but not unknown.”

  Late that night, a servant came to tell them that a man was downstairs asking for young Master Wolverton and his party. Receiving him in their room, they listened intently as he told them of the queen’s arrangements.

  “A ship has been found,” he said. “’Tis moored up the coast a ways and ’twill sail this very night. Its captain once took Her Majesty’s father across the sea to Burgundy. A Yorkist still, he is more than willing to help her young cousins reach its refuge.” He ran his gaze over Ned and Dickon. “Plantagenets, indeed,” he said with a satisfied nod. “I dare say more of you will have to seek shelter in other lands before this reign is out.”

  Dane knew several had, and were later lured back to England with promises of amnesty, a move that ultimately sealed their fates.

  “We must hurry,” the queen’s man told them. “Her Majesty is by no means certain your visit to her was not observed. Come. A page stands without, guarding our horses.”

  He led them down the stairs and out into a small courtyard behind the inn. At first glance, it appeared to be empty of all but the man’s teenage page and the horses he held. Then, suddenly, a large bird swooped down from the sky and screeched at something in the shadows.

  “Beware!” shouted the page as the eagle they had seen earlier flew off.

  The boy swung his lantern to reveal the shapes of three men now moving quickly toward the queen’s man and his young charges. None of them were wearing armour, but all of them were armed, and one had already drawn his sword. Drawing his own, the queen’s man moved to engage him. One of the other men leapt toward Jack and Dickon, while the third made a grab at Dane and Ned, who both recognized him as the bearded man who had drawn his dagger on them in Rosebank’s secret passage. Ned immediately threw himself sideways, out of his reach. Dane was not so lucky. Stumbling, he was taken by the wrist—but only for a moment. He broke his assailant’s hold easily, blocked his next move, and twisted away before he could seize him again.

  Cursing, the man lunged at Paige and attempted to pin her from behind. Almost without thinking, she stamped on his foot, viciously rammed her elbow into his solar plexus, and yanked him off balance. It was a takedown technique she had practiced at karate class, but she was almost as astounded by its success as her adversary. The element of surprise, and the man’s comparatively small size, had provided her with an advantage she might not have had in modern times. Springing away before he could recover and resume the attack, she headed for the horses with Dane and Ned at her heels. The page leapt forward to help her mount, but she waved him aside and scrambled up without assistance.

  The man she had accosted was still on the ground when the queen’s man brought down his own opponent and went to help the two youngest boys, who were vigorously kicking the shins of their captor. The man swore at each kick but did not let go of either of them until the queen’s man reached him, and he was forced to defend himself.

  “Flee,” the queen’s man called out to the page. “Get them out of t
own and follow the coast. Someone will meet you.”

  Nodding, the boy tossed Jack and Dickon atop their horses and vaulted onto his own. By then, the man from Rosebank had regained enough breath to catch its bridle as the page attempted to pass him. For a moment, their eyes locked. Then the page’s hand shot out. The slender youth was obviously stronger than he looked. Falling back with a cry, the man crumpled to the ground and lay still.

  At that point, three more ruffians appeared, brandishing pikes and staves. They were on foot, however, and unable to give chase when the page led Dane and the others out of the yard. They set their horses to a steady canter and did not slacken pace until the streets of London were far behind them.

  Riding through the dark countryside, Ned turned to Dane and smiled. “Were I still king, I would knight you and Jack for the valour you have shown this night. And you, stalwart page,” he added with a nod to the older boy.

  “What about our Paige?” Jack piped up.

  Ned’s eyes twinkled. “I would find her a wealthy husband.”

  “Thanks a bunch,” Paige said, her voice laden with sarcasm.

  Two hours later, a lantern flickered in the dark up ahead of them.

  “There,” said the page, pointing. “I can assist you no more this night.”

  Without another word, he turned his horse and was off.

  As they moved forward, a man stepped onto the path they had been following and ordered them to halt. Seeing no one else about they reined in their horses, prepared to spur them on again if his next action seemed at all threatening.

  “Alone?” he queried, catching hold of Ned’s bridle. “Why be you alone? What has happened to Sir James?” Seeing their hesitation he said, “Do not be afraid. I, too, serve the queen.”

  “Some men attacked us as we left the inn,” Ned explained. “Sir James stayed behind to hold them off.”

  The man nodded. “So, the king does know of your visit. Her Majesty feared he would be informed. His people watch everyone, even her. There is little that escapes him. But you shall. All is in readiness. Yon ship but awaits my signal.”

  A ship was bobbing up and down in the moonlight. Upon receiving a lantern signal from the queen’s second man, a smaller boat put out from it. As the sound of splashing oars drew closer, the man took his lantern down to the water’s edge to meet it.

  “’Twould seem our new life is about to begin, brother,” said Ned.

  “Abroad, in some unknown land,” Dickon replied.

  “We will return to England,” Ned promised him.

  “And when we do, are we truly to make no attempt to end the Tudor’s rule and restore the House of York?”

  Ned sighed. “History cannot be changed. The House of York fell with our uncle at Bosworth. ’Tis only our own fate that we are at liberty to determine.”

  “I suppose you are right,” said Dickon. He did not sound entirely convinced.

  After a moment, Dane said, “Well, whatever happens to you after tonight, I guess we’ll never know about it.” He found the thought saddened him. “We won’t even know, for sure, whether or not you get to Burgundy.”

  “We will,” Ned said confidently. “And if we take care not to let anyone know who we are, we should be able to dwell there in safety. Later, when we have become men, we might return to England. But I, for one, will do naught to call attention to the fact.”

  “We don’t want you to, but it would have been nice to know that you did.”

  “There might be a way,” Jack said as the boat they’d been waiting for scraped ashore. He looked at the princes. “Some letters my father found at Rosebank came from your time. If they could last over five centuries so could one from you. If you do manage to come back and can somehow get to Rosebank, you could leave us a message—a hidden message that wouldn’t be found unless someone was looking for it. Nothing much, just something to say you were all right, and that nothing awful happened to you.”

  “We will try,” said Ned.

  When the man with the lantern called to the princes, Dane and the others walked down to the boat with them.

  “Fare thee well,” Ned said as it pushed off.

  “And you,” whispered Dane.

  They stood on the shore and waved until another lantern signal told them the princes had reached the ship. Then Dane tossed his head and started to finger the medallion.

  “That thing irritating you or something?” Paige asked.

  Dane nodded. “It’s sort of tingling. I think it wants us to go home.”

  A few minutes later, the connecting rhyme returned them to Westminster Abbey and their own time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mr. Dexter would have thought it strange if they wanted to leave the famous abbey almost as soon as, from his point of view, they had got there. To avoid awkward questions, Dane suggested they wander around it for half an hour, pretending interest.

  Even then, the chauffeur was surprised to see them back at the entrance so soon.

  “Blimey, you’re quick,” he said. He then scanned the crowd. “Where’re your mates?” he asked Jack.

  “They’ve already left. I forgot to say someone would be picking them up here.”

  “Oh? We might as well head for the car then.”

  Mrs. Purdom had supplied a packed lunch for the return trip. Climbing into the back of the Rolls, Dane opened it up and distributed the sandwiches and lemonade. Mr. Dexter declined a share, obviously preferring to concentrate on the London traffic. Dane figured it probably wasn’t as heavy as it had been before the city started charging people to drive through its congestion zone, but it was still quite intense.

  This thought did not hold his attention for long. By the time they reached the motorway, the food was finished, and he and the others were ready to discuss, in low tones, the possibility of finding a message from the princes somewhere in Rosebank.

  “Where do you think we should look?” Paige wanted to know. “The secret passage, or the room the princes had both times they stayed there?” Now that Ned and Dickon were no longer with them, she was in the back seat too.

  “The room,” said Dane. “They’d know it would take us forever to search the passage.”

  As soon as they got back, they called out a hello to Grantie Etta, changed into other clothes, and headed down into the cellar. Hurrying along the passage, they cast their flashlights along the sides of it from time to time, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  The princes’ room was their real objective, and a twist of the eagle’s beak gave them access to the little chamber. The tapestry the boys had seen in the fifteenth century had been donated to a museum some generations back, so nothing blocked their entry. Jack went over to the room’s proper door and flicked on an overhead light. The four-poster bed and other fifteenth-century furnishings were also gone. The dustsheet-covered bed, chairs, washstand, and chest of drawers were all from Victorian times.

  “With luck, they didn’t put it in anything that’s been taken out of here,” said Dane.

  With only loose stones in the walls and floor to consider as possible hiding places, they started to move around the room looking for some. But even when they pushed objects aside to see what lay behind or beneath them, they did not find anything. Intent on their search, the sound of a key turning in the lock made them all jump.

  “So it’s you rummaging around up here,” said Grantie Etta, shuffling into the room on her stick.

  “Grantie, you’re not supposed to climb stairs!” Jack cried, running to her. He yanked a dustsheet off a chair and helped her into it.

  “Thank you, dear. I am a little breathless, but I came up the modern stairs, not those awkward old spiral ones.”

  “You shouldn’t have come up any stairs.”

  “Possibly not, but, I did, and I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  When she was feeling better, she said, “You didn’t say much when you came in. I’m anxious to hear how things went in London.”

  “Oka
y, I think,” said Dane. She was giving him another of the steady looks that had so unnerved him before. He decided to take the plunge. “You know about the medallion, don’t you Grantie? You know it can transport people through time. And you lent it to us knowing that it would.”

  “Might,” she corrected. “It doesn’t work for everyone. But when it does, it can take you on some very interesting journeys. Did you enjoy yours?”

  “Most of it,” said Paige. “We did have some problems.”

  “Two, to be precise,” said Grantie Etta. “Are they back where they belong?”

  “As close as we could manage,” said Dane.

  “Who were they?”

  “Edward the Fifth, and his brother, Richard.”

  Dane told her the whole story. When he had finished, she sighed happily. “I knew he could never have had anything to do with their disappearance.”

  “Who?” asked Paige.

  But Dane knew. What had King Richard said about the Wolverton he had known? That she’d been a comely maid? Dane had never seen a picture of Grantie Etta when she was young, but he was sure she had been pretty. He pulled off the medallion and handed it to her.

  She refused to take it. “No. It belongs to youth. Says so on the box. It’s yours now for as long as you can use it.”

  “When does it stop working for people?” Paige asked.

  “When they’re sixteen. And I mean exactly sixteen—as in the very day of that birthday. Edmond found that out on his. He only managed an additional trip because he handed the medallion to Avery and let him say the rhyme.”

  “So they were time travellers, too,” said Paige. “You’d think Uncle Edmond could have worked that little piece of information in when he was telling us the story behind the medallion.”

  Grantie Etta smiled. “He would have loved to, but he wasn’t sure you’d used it. If you hadn’t, telling you what the medallion really was might have stopped you from being able to use it. The medallion likes its users to make their initial discoveries on their own, to figure things out for themselves. They mustn’t be told how to work it. Uncle Edmond and your grandfather made that mistake with their own children. It seems that, if someone says the rhyme for the first time with the expectation that something will happen, nothing does. And because it didn’t respond to them, your mothers and their cousin, Trevor, never really believed in its powers. They thought their dads were just pulling their legs. When Augusta wrote out the medallion’s rhyme for you, she’d probably forgotten all about what she and Tania only ever thought of as a game.”