“I think it’s likely to have originated in Belgium or the Netherlands as they were the major centres of production around that time,” he said, then beckoned Perdita over to look at one of the beautifully illuminated pages. “These borders are decorated with a design known as ‘swirling acanthus leaves’; it was typical of the Ghent and Bruges style. It would also explain the stylised drawing of the figures, which again leans to the Dutch style. It’s beautiful and an incredible find. I can’t wait to really get to grips with the contents.”
“Thank you, Kit,” she said, suddenly realising how useful it would be to have someone with Kit’s expertise helping her unravel the mystery of her grandmother’s work.
“No sweat,” he grinned. “And I promise, I’ll read the manuscript.”
She laughed and began to gather up her belongings. “How does it work here? Does Jenny put everything away?”
“It’s usually Izabel Barnes who clears up after us at the end of the day,” said Kit. “She’s Jenny’s assistant and, because we like to keep things in the family, her granddaughter, too.”
“Really?” said Perdita, surprised. “Jenny doesn’t look old enough. What does Izabel do?”
“Jenny’s training her to take over the running of the library one day but, at the moment, Izabel’s main function is co-ordinating research and working with myself and Dad on applications for research grants across both Jerusalem and Marquess House. She also liaises with the conservators and restorers in The Dairy, as well as assisting Jenny and, most importantly, returning all secure items every evening.”
“She must have an extensive knowledge of the archive.”
“Like Jenny, she’s passionate about the work we do here, which is why we’re not allowed to touch Jenny and Izabel’s beloved manuscripts and books more than is necessary,” he grinned. “I’ll give her a buzz.” He walked over to the phone and dialled an internal extension, while he waited for it to connect, he continued, “Then, do you fancy a drink on the terrace? It’s one of the more civilised pastimes Mary introduced. All summer, the end of the working day would involve an array of drinks: soft, hot, cold or alcoholic for everyone to enjoy and use to wind down.”
Perdita gave a sad smile, “What a marvellous idea,” she sighed. “I wish I’d been able to have a drink with Granny.”
Kit finished speaking to Izabel then returned to Perdita and for the second time that day wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s have a drink to her then,” he said gently. “It isn’t the same but it’s the best we can do.”
Swallowing the unexpected lump in her throat, Perdita nodded. There was a knock on the door and Kit released her. Jenny came in smiling.
“Izabel said you’re finished. As I was passing, I thought I’d put all these away,” she said, “then drinks on the terrace?”
“We’ll see you there! Come on, Perds.”
They made their way through The Dairy complex, along the winding path to the side entrance of Marquess House, down a corridor, across the Tudor Hall and into the Lady Isabel room where the huge French doors that led to the terrace were thrown open. Outside they could hear the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices and laughter. Kit stepped through but Perdita hesitated. This was one more thing that everyone had known about except her. It made her feel like a stranger again, an interloper in the lives of all the people who had known her grandmother. It was her house now, hers and Piper's, but so much was still unknown. I’d give it all back if it meant being able to have a drink on the terrace with Granny Mary, she thought. Swallowing her unexpected wave of grief, she stepped through the doors into the sunshine.
“There you are, safe and sound,” called Alistair. “Kit, fetch Perdita a drink. We’re on gin and tonics but we have a varied bar.”
“Gin and tonic would be lovely,” said Perdita, as Kit arrived with a glass.
“To your grandmother,” he said quietly, so only Perdita heard. He tilted his glass to hers.
“To Granny Mary,” she said, then she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for today, Kit. You’ve been wonderful.”
In the distance, Perdita heard the ancient bell at the front door ringing. “Will someone get that?” she whispered to Kit, still unused to being in such a huge house and not really understanding how it functioned. Kit nodded.
“Come and meet some more people,” he said, taking her hand and leading her across the terrace. “Some of the artists are back; they’d like to meet you.”
She had barely taken a step when she heard a voice that made her stop and, dropping Kit’s hand, she spun around.
“Perdita, I’m so sorry,” Warren said, striding across the terrace. Silence had fallen as all eyes turned to them. “If I hadn’t already asked you to marry me, I’d do it now. I’m a fool. I’m so sorry I upset you this morning. Please, my darling, please forgive me, I love you so much.”
Warren opened his arms and Perdita, not really knowing what else to do, stepped into them, raising her face automatically and feeling the familiarity of his lips on hers. But for the first time, her heart did not race. She did not want to forgive Warren yet, not without a proper discussion about his attitude towards her and his remaining emotional entanglement with his ex-wife. He had staged this so she would not be able to question him. Suddenly, she felt manipulated and a wave of anger washed through her.
Aware, however, of a huge cheer in response to Warren’s dramatic arrival, she felt her only option was to smile. When they were alone in her rooms later, she would give him hell, she decided. Releasing her, Warren bashfully took a bow as though he had not realised the impact of his apology. Forcing a smile, Perdita glanced around at the laughing faces. It was only then she caught a glimpse of Kit, his father and Jenny.
All three looked furious.
Chapter Three
Perdita and Warren left hand-in-hand. Drinks had turned into an impromptu party with Perdita being introduced to the remaining members of the Marquess House staff and the artists who were once more inhabiting the workshops. Had she not felt the constant brooding presence of Warren, it would have been a wonderful evening. Once the crowd created by his dramatic arrival had dispersed, her chilly manner had made it clear to Warren that he was not forgiven. Unmoved, he had walked off, intent on charming the crowd instead. In the end, Perdita was so irritated she had sought Kit out.
“Is it me,” she had muttered as she splashed liberal amounts of gin into their glasses, “or is he behaving as though he owns the place?”
Unable to help himself, Kit had grinned, delighted to see Perdita so angry with Warren. “A bit,” he admitted, aware it might be dangerous to say much more.
“Pompous git,” Perdita had scowled, making Kit snort with laughter. But as she mingled back among the crowd, she was aware that she must stop treating Kit as though he were a substitute for Piper. He’s so easy to talk to, though, she mused. Then, seeing Warren heading in her direction, she made a beeline for Alistair Mackensie in order to avoid her fiancé.
Now, as Perdita collected her computer bag from where she had left it in the Lady Isabel room and slung it over her shoulder, she dropped Warren’s hand.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“Here?”
“No, in my rooms. The party is breaking up, we won’t be missed.”
A few people passed them, calling good night. They replied in kind, then Perdita led the way into the Tudor hall and up the huge staircase.
“This house is amazing,” murmured Warren gazing around. “The art collection is staggering.”
Perdita opened her door and he followed her in.
“Stunning,” he said. “Is that original William Morris wallpaper in the corner? The piece covered in protective Perspex?”
“Yes, it is,” replied Perdita, flicking on a few lamps. As she did, the light over the huge portrait came on. Warren turned to look at it and raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking from the painting to Perdita and back again.
“It’s uncanny
,” he said, moving nearer to examine the picture in more detail. “The likeness between the two of you is startling.”
Perdita was not in the mood for his saccharine charms. She stalked into the kitchen where she made two mugs of tea before returning to the sitting room. Warren had fished his glasses from his pocket and was still scrutinising the portrait.
“I think this could be a John de Critz painting,” he said as she sat on the sofa, placing the mugs on the long, low table in front of her. “He was the Serjeant Painter for James I. The clothes are the right era and it’s certainly his style. Who is she? Do you know where Mary bought it?”
“I have no idea who it is and no, there are no records of its provenance,” she snapped. “What’s going on, Warren?”
“What do you mean, darling?” he asked, joining her on the sofa and picking up a mug with a genial smile.
There was a time, thought Perdita, when I would have played along with this, pretended there was nothing wrong so as not to upset him and risk him storming off, but things have changed.
“You really have to ask?” she said. “You ring me this morning to tell me the holiday is off because you need to nursemaid your ex-wife and her mother. You order me to stay here before turning up, uninvited and declaring undying love to me in front of a group of complete strangers, who also happen to be my employees. You then proceed to work the crowd all night as though you own the place. That, however, is irrelevant. The real issue is, what’s going on between you and Jacqui? Until you answer, Warren, there is no hope for us.”
Perdita wondered if he would respond. Throughout their relationship, she had never challenged him, always allowing herself to be swayed by his charm and his ability to twist situations to his advantage. Now she had seen through his emotional manipulation, she was aware his usual tricks would no longer work. Warren, staring at her through narrowed eyes, seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. He placed his mug back on the table, then fixed her with a cold look.
“Jacqui and I are still married.”
Perdita felt sick.
“So, why did you propose to me?”
“I fell in love with you and knew that when Jacqui and I were divorced, I wanted us to be together.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“Would you have gone out with me if you’d known I was still married?”
“As long as you were separated, yes,” she replied, then seeing the expression on his face, she shook her head in dismay. “I’m such a fool. You weren’t even separated. Are you now?”
Warren sprang to his feet and walked to the window, looking out towards the black wildness of Llyn Cel. Perdita’s eyes followed him. She was beginning to realise their relationship was nothing more than a web of fantasy.
“Answer me, Warren,” she demanded. “Are you and Jacqui separated?”
“No,” he said, turning to face her. “We were for a while, then her mother became ill and, somehow, we drifted back together. I do love you, Perdita. If you can give me some time, I’m sure things will work themselves out.”
“Work themselves out? How? Or are you asking me to be your mistress?” she said, cold, hard fury rising in her. “I don’t understand. If you and Jacqui are back together, what was that performance of undying love about earlier?”
“Because I saw you holding hands with that smug Mackensie kid and I wanted to show him who you loved,” he snarled.
“And you think that’s you, do you?”
Warren was about to speak, then he checked himself. “Perdita, I’m sorry, this is a mess and it’s my fault.”
“You’re right, it is your fault.”
Turning away from him, she bit back her tears.
“Would you like me to leave?” he asked. “I’ll do whatever is best for you.”
“Best for me?” she repeated. “Don’t you think being honest would have been for the best?”
“I’m sorry, Perds,” he repeated. Perdita looked away in disgust.
“You can stay tonight,” she said, her voice low, “but I’d like you to leave in the morning. I need some time to think about what’s best for me.”
He blanched at her sarcasm, hanging his head.
“Where shall I sleep?” he asked.
“There’s a guest room,” she replied, nodding towards the door. She slid off her engagement ring and placed it on the table, then gathering her handbag and her laptop case, she walked slowly into her bedroom and shut the door, locking it behind her.
Flinging herself on to her bed, she managed to hold back her tears until her twin appeared on the screen, then she let her misery erupt.
Chapter Four
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
Perdita looked up. Kit was standing in the doorway, smiling.
“I thought I’d have an early start.”
“Things didn’t go well with Warren last night, then,” he said dumping his bag on a chair before perching on the desk and looking sympathetically at Perdita. It was a statement rather than a question.
“Nope, it turns out he and Jacqui are still married. They’re not even separated.”
“What?” Kit sounded furious. “For God’s sake, Perds, you’re engaged. How could he have got that wrong? It’s quite a major oversight.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? Anyway, past tense now, ‘were’ engaged,” she held up her ring-free left hand. In an attempt to hide her despair, she forced her voice to take a lighter note. “He doesn’t like you much,” she continued, knowing this would amuse Kit, who grinned, delighted.
“Really?”
“He said the reason he staged his dramatic entrance was because he wanted to put you in your place.”
“What had I done?”
“He’d seen you take my hand and, even though he hasn’t admitted it, he was jealous. He called you: ‘that smug Mackensie kid’.”
Kit burst out laughing. “Kid! Doesn’t he know I’m older than you?”
Perdita shook her head. “I didn’t bother to enlighten him. I thought I’d leave him to wallow in his seething envy. I also decided not to tell him that you have a girlfriend.”
Kit’s dancing eyes shadowed slightly. He retrieved his bag before settling in the chair opposite Perdita. “Actually, I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Have a girlfriend. Lydia and I decided to gracefully call it a day when we went to Di and Stephen’s wedding.”
“Oh. Why?”
“We realised we’d grown apart and, while we still cared about each other, it wasn’t the same. I think it’s been a long time coming but it was the best decision for us both.”
“You didn’t tell me,” said Perdita, confused as to why this was upsetting her so much. “You could have confided in me, I’d have been able to support you like you’ve helped me.”
“Perds, there was nothing to tell,” he said, “it didn’t seem important.” She turned away from him, strangely delighted by his unexpected announcement. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, quashing the rising tide of joy and forcing her emotions back to her wrecked relationship with Warren. “I’m not too bad. Sad and a bit shell-shocked but deep down, I’ve always suspected he wasn’t being honest. Our relationship often felt slightly unreal, as though he were playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. I knew there were problems but I’d had so much unhappiness, I couldn’t bear the thought of examining it and maybe destroying it. Fool’s gold was better than no gold for a while. Maybe it’s like you and Lydia, I was hanging on to something because it was there rather than because it was doing me any good.”
Kit seemed about to say something, then changed his mind and instead said: “Is he still here?”
“No idea. He slept in the guest room and the door was shut when I crept out. I haven’t been around the front to check whether his car has gone.”
Kit squeezed her shoulder in an affectionate gesture and she gave him a watery smile.
“You’ll be please
d to know, I read the manuscript last night,” he said, changing the subject and producing his now well-thumbed copy with a flourish.
“It’s so long, you must have been up all night!” she said, but her relief that they were no longer discussing Warren was palpable.
“Speed reading,” he replied. “It was a very useful skill I acquired at university.”
Perdita raised her eyebrows, impressed.
“What did you think?”
“You’re right, the claims Mary makes are quite astounding, but it does all hang on the codex,” he replied. “I’m intrigued to know what conclusions she drew in the final chapter. It’s a shame she removed it.”
Perdita pushed a few sheets of paper towards him.
“It is but if we have to guess, then these are the updates she made. I found them in her boxes of research and a few of them do corroborate some of her theories. However, unless we can find something tangible, the codex is our only source and, as Jenny pointed out, it could be a fake. Following all logical reasons, this is probably the reason why Granny pulled the manuscript.”
“But you don’t think so, do you?” said Kit.
“No and, to be honest, I don’t think Granny did either.”
“No, nor do I,” he said. “I spoke to Dad about it last night after you and Warren had left the party. He told me that if Mary ever had even the slightest doubt about an item, she would send it to us at Jerusalem, and it was removed from the public domain. She would have done the same with this if she had even the tiniest misgiving about its authenticity. When we’re given a document, there are loads of processes we put them through before they’re accepted as genuine, but Dad said Mary didn’t put the codex forward for anything other than dating evidence, which is our most basic test.”
“Did your dad give you any more information?”
“Not about the codex, no,” replied Kit. “He did explain some of Mary’s working method, though. When Mary was researching and writing a new book, she usually pulled together a very rough first draft to see if there was enough evidence to make a viable publication, and if there was, she would then involve Jerusalem to authenticate and validate any new documents. While this was happening, she would find her secondary source material and gradually piece it all together. However, it seems that, at the point she was about to use our services, your mother died and Mary abandoned the manuscript.”
The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 22