The Plantagenet Vendetta (50 page)

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.

“Is that what you think this is about? Sex?” He looked at Thomas. “Jen, his grandfather murdered my parents. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“That man murdered your king. My grandfather. You’re nothing but a common thug.”

Edward aimed the gun at Thomas. “And how about him? Huh. How many more innocent lives would’ve had to be lost before you finally understood? How many more mistakes need be made? It wasn’t just them, Tom; my father had intelligence on hundreds, perhaps thousands, ranging from pig farmers to nuclear scientists. The monarchy is a leach on this country.”

“They’re your relatives, too.”

“Aye, you’re right; they are – and that’s what makes it so tough,” he turned and looked at his grandfather. “That’s the rightful king, right there. But no, fate changed because loyalty had forsaken us. That’s the real history of this country.

“Do you know what they used to call the Wars of the Roses, Jen? They called it the Cousins’ War – see that’s effectively what it was. Did you ever hear what happened at Bosworth? The reason my ancestor lost? Because five of the families who said they would fight for him betrayed him. Worse, they watched on the sidelines until the battle was nearly over. Then they took the side of that Welsh prick Henry Tudor. It’s their descendents that govern this land. Their descendents who’ve ruined it.

“History is full of people like them: liars, traitors.” He looked at Thomas. “Kings who command other people to do their dirty work.”

He looked again at Jen.

“It’s not too late, though. The future is still unwritten; it can be anything we make of it.”

The photograph she had seen earlier that day continued to flash in her mind.

Edward Jeffries,

Edward XIV of England.

“The choice should be with the people.”

“You murdered the King of England,” Thomas repeated.

“He killed far more than me.” He laughed again, always the same laugh. “Would you do the same?” he asked of Thomas. “The same as your grandfather?”

Thomas bit his lip, trying his best to delay giving an answer. “You think it’s easy being king?”

“Sitting on the fence.”

“I am sorry about your parents. Whatever the circumstances.”

There was sincerity in his voice, which Edward found distracting.

“Why do you think you’re in the position you’re in: the invisible royal, the king’s loyal aid. In the past you’d have had another name: Henchman.”

Thomas straightened his shoulders.

“How many have you killed?” He looked at Jen. “Did he tell you what he did? On behalf of King and Country.”

She stood quietly, still with the gun held out.

“Your hand getting tired, Jen?”

She rose her arm, the gun aimed at Edward’s eye line. She loosened her shoulder, trying as best she could to remain vigilant.

Edward laughed, his eyes again on Thomas. His question of “how many have you killed?” remained unanswered.

“Not got an answer, Tom?”

“Being king is about priority. There are some th-things that can never be c-compromised.” He looked up at the raredos behind the altar. “Everyone makes sacrifices. Even he had his cross to bear.”

The parallel went down badly. “I was that pissing sacrifice. He robbed me of everything. My mother…father…I could have had a brother or sister; there was still time, they were only thirty-seven.”

Jen watched uncomfortably as tears began to fall from his eyes. She tightened her grip on the weapon.

“I heard a rumour once, Tom, that MI5 has a process for people like you: kind of like the royals’ own version of training. Basically, once you’re through Sandhurst, they take you to this place in Scotland, one of the castles or palaces, and simulate that your entire family is being held hostage. You have to choose the best way forward. Did you ever take that test?”

“It wouldn’t even be necessary. And besides, telling you would be a b-breach of official s-secrets.”

“Official secrets.” He laughed. “Okay, you’re right; that was naughty of me. The funny thing is, either way you’re guaranteed an admiral’s uniform and a brass chest; me: even if I were a war hero, I’d be guaranteed nothing but a shit pension and shrapnel in the arse.”

“Maybe you should try it first hand before making stupid insinuations.”

Edward grinned. “Have you ever seen the film
Bambi
, Tom? My least favourite bit is the part where his mum died. Even though that one event began his development as a man, he was robbed of his security. Just like I was.”

Thomas exhaled deeply. “I’ve never seen it.”

Edward laughed again. “Why do people do it? Why all the hurt?”

“A strange comment from a man who is aiming a gun at an unarmed man.”

He pointed it at Jen. “Better?”

“At least she’s armed.”

Jen shot him a look of disbelief.

“Can I offer you a seat, Jen?” Edward asked softly.

Jen blew out forcibly. Nerves had now completely left her, but the uncertainty was greater than ever.

“Who was responsible for killing the politicians?” Thomas asked. “You?”

Edward shook his head. “Not me, Tom. I understand you’ve met Morris.”

Thomas looked at the recently escaped prisoner still nursing a bullet to the thigh.

“Why do it? I still don’t understand. I mean, it’s not as though you have any chance of actually claiming the throne.”

“Well, you know what they say, Tom. If I tell you, I’ll have to…” He tapped twice against the side of the gun.

“Are you sure? Okay. Well, you see, the thing is, Tom, it’s like you say, really. I have practically zero chance of becoming King of England. It’s not going to happen, even if I am the rightful heir. I’m what, eighteenth in line? Perhaps seventeenth.”

“You’re twenty-second,” Thomas replied.

Edward nodded. “Okay, so twenty-one graves stand in my way. Including yours…

“But there is one thing the Sons of York can do. Stand for parliament.”

Thomas laughed. “So that’s what this is all about. Your father, S-Stanley, Lord Ratcliffe–”

“Historically, Tom, their families have always been involved. It goes back six centuries. But it’s not just about the Whigs, Democrats, or any other party. The goal is England.”

Thomas lowered his eyebrows. “You want to conquer England?”

“Not conquer, Tom. Reclaim. Ever since the Tudors, England has become contaminated. The Tudor rose was supposed to be a symbol of purity, but it was contaminated. The true heir still lived, and the marriage between Tudor and Elizabeth was a sham. But, worse still, less than fifty years later things were damaged beyond repair when one fat arrogant pig couldn’t have a son. Throughout Plantagenet England, we saw nothing but evolution. When Edward IV came to the throne, it developed even further. Had Richard and the princes ruled, the progress could’ve been out of this world. England could’ve had its own Renaissance: great commerce, a thriving art scene, geniuses like da Vinci and Michelangelo. The Tudors didn’t create; they destroyed. Then if that wasn’t enough, it was taken over by Scots. When Cromwell failed to take on the job, it was taken over by Germans.”

He laughed.

“The situation may change, but the scenario is always the same. Contamination. England was once the greatest country in the world. Look at what’s happened. Great Britain, I’ll give you that, but the EU, human rights, gay marriage, mass immigration…that isn’t the country my ancestors fought and died for. In the last twenty-five years, the EU has torn this country apart.”

“What do you want? A referendum?”

Another laugh. “When my ancestor Henry II sat on that throne, he ruled an empire that stretched from here to the Pyrenees. But do you know what the best part was? Come a century later, people finally knew what it meant to be English. That still exists; every time I go to Wembley, I feel nothing but pride. Then it goes, all gone in the drop of a hat.

“The new world we were promised is disintegrating before our very eyes; to deny that is to look upon the truth and lie,” he said, conviction in the statement. “To be fair, fifteen years ago I even bought into it: a united Europe, single currency, the end of boom and bust…I mean, it’s brilliant, isn’t it when you hear it like that…but it’s not real, is it, Tom?”

“And just what exactly do you propose to put in its place? A Fourth Reich? A police state? Fascist England? Surely you’re not planning ships to invade Normandy?”

“Europe has the potential to be anything we want it to be. I bet you didn’t know that once upon a time even Tories like Bates and Trenton agreed with us. Hundreds do in the Commons. Only sadly those two decided they were unhappy with our plans; both knew far too much of our existence. But, since their deaths, the bi-elections have already gone to plan.”

Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Who do you even support? The Democrats or the Tories?”

Edward’s smile widened. “Perhaps I’m not the right person to answer that question.”

Thomas turned to his left. Two newcomers had entered the chapel.