The Plantagenet Vendetta (49 page)

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Edward had entered, carrying a semiautomatic pistol pointed at Thomas’s head.

“All right, Tom? You find the place all right?”

Thomas couldn’t believe his stupidity.

“No sudden movements, mate.”

Thomas dropped his Glock and watched it bounce away, still less than a metre from his foot.

“Kick it away.”

Reluctantly Thomas did as instructed. His eyes on the altar, he felt himself being frisked, far harder than necessary.

Edward turned his attention to Morris.

“Hey,” he said, gesturing to a sign on the far wall that said ‘Peace, perfect peace, is the gift of Christ our Lord.’ “Can you not read? This is a house of prayer.”

“Edward.” The old man was still standing against the altar.

Edward looked at his grandfather, concerned. “You need to take it easy.”

Edward turned toward Thomas and laughed nervously. “Got me through a lot of tough times this chapel. And my family. Did you know that this was the first new Catholic Church since emancipation in the Riding?”

Thomas really didn’t care. “It’s magnificent.”

“I’m glad you think so, Tom. It was also the site of the first new Dominican convent, three hundred years after the last. Just think, my ancestors were building this when good Queen Vicky was telling our troops to charge the Light Brigade.”

Thomas found the inaccuracy irritating.

“And do you know what else–”

“Edward,” the old man interrupted, shaking his head, “perhaps it would be wise to leave this in the hands of the authorities.”

Edward eyed his grandfather, then Thomas. He laughed again.

“You know, my mum used to work for the authorities. She was eight years working in the magistrates before she met my dad. She was brilliant, Mum was. She could have been anything she wanted to be.”

Thomas glanced at his gun, trying to remain circumspect. Unfortunately Edward noticed.

Jen had made it to the middle of the pews, so far unnoticed. Progress was only possible beneath the pews, and that required moving the kneelers. She moved the next one gently, trying her best to keep quiet.

Her nerves were starting to get the better of her.

One wrong move and it could all be over.

“Oi, oi, oi,” Edward said, picking up the gun and pressing his own weapon firmly into Thomas’s neck. “I’ll frogmarch you in front of a beak myself if I have to. Better yet, how about the vaults beneath the church?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thomas said after a while. “The secret’s already blown. One wrong step, your entire family will be serving time.”

“You royals with your stupid threats. You’re not even real military. You’re chocolate soldiers in every sense of the word.”

Edward licked him on the side of the face.

“Um. I was wrong. Butterscotch.”

Thomas flinched. Edward responded immediately, again pressing the gun into his skin.

“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.