The Plantagenet Vendetta (53 page)

Edward cursed aloud. Catching them in his condition was now impossible.

He came to a standstill on reaching the wall and took several deep breaths.

As he composed himself, he heard something. Was his hearing deceiving him? In the distance, he heard consternation.

He jogged in that direction. Access to the pathway was still restricted by the wall and various hedges, but a view across the churchyard presented itself.

In the distance, he saw it; it was happening around the church. The sun was setting orange and red, just as it said in prophecy.

He turned away, heading toward the castle.

88

They followed the same pathway Jen had taken with Anthea the night before. The rusty gate creaked as she opened it before doing the same as it closed.

They now had a straight choice, left toward the Ravensfield houses, or right toward the churchyard.

The answer seemed obvious.

Jen led the way into the churchyard and came to a sudden halt. The atmosphere was electric, shouts of terrified voices, anger and uncertainty.

It wasn’t until they reached the front doors of the church that they saw what was happening.

A large gathering had assembled, perhaps as many as thirty people.

“There she is.”

Jen felt her heart literally try to jump out of her mouth. She grabbed Thomas’s arm instinctively, her eyes cemented on the gathering. Although she was unsure who had spoken, the body language of the crowd was clearly hostile.

Martha Brown was standing amongst them, her expression like thunder.

“Where is she?”

Jen was absolutely wrathful.
You left me to die and did nothing.

She tried to compose herself. “Anthea? She’s fine. Look…just relax, I can explain.”

Martha moved closer, her expression even angrier than before. “Where is my daughter?”

Jen did not respond. Instead, her attention was taken by the large gathering. She recognised some but not others. Harvey Mitchell from the Hog was there, his arms folded and his expression stern, but none of the regular barflies were with him. There were several men she didn’t recognise, mostly dressed in black and white robes.

Another man stepped to the front. He was about five feet eleven in height and wearing a smart suit, despite the warmth of the summer’s evening. He had a fine head of distinguished grey hair, but his face looked like that of a gopher. Jen recognised him immediately.

Rowland Stanley.

Leader of the Democrat Party.

“Why don’t you let me handle this one, Martha,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. He smiled at her reassuringly.

Evidently convincing her.

He walked forward a few paces. “You needn’t worry, Miss Farrelly, nor you, Your Royal Highness. The phone call came through not fifteen minutes ago. Everything has been explained to us.”

His words made Jen even more nervous. As she listened to the man, she also found herself listening to the sounds of nature.

For the first time it dawned on her.

The helicopter had mysteriously disappeared.

“Someone needs to call an ambulance,” Jen said. “At least two people are injured – badly.”

“All taken care of,” Stanley replied calmly. “The police arrived several minutes ago; they have a few questions.”

Jen shrugged. “I’d be happy to. Where are they?”

“Inside the inn.” The politician gestured to the Hog. “If you would be so kind.”

Jen didn’t buy it. Worse still, Thomas was whispering something in her ear. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes on the pathway.

Three more men dressed in black and white robes had appeared by the gate.

Back in front of her, the gathering was encroaching. She heard a clicking sound, then several more.

Had the last hour been different, she might not have realised it was the sound of a gun being cocked.

She looked nervously at Thomas, then again over her shoulder. The friars by the gate were also moving toward them.

She moved a few steps to her right, the only option. The way ahead to the high street was blocked, as was the pathway behind.

She whispered nervously, “Thomas.”

The prince, meanwhile, was yet to move. Instead he remained focused on the gathering in front of him. He didn’t need any introductions, it was all too apparent.

This was the heart of the Sons of York: a secret brotherhood of friars and men, fifteen families whose allegiance had been tailored by history, money or geographical proximity.

Even to them, he knew such things were both a blessing and a curse.

Thomas saw several hands move at once, followed by the sound of another gun cocking. The gathering aside, what hit him most was how few other people were around, as if the rest of the village was turning a blind eye to what was happening. How on earth did the friar get away with shooting at Jen in the middle of the high street?

It didn’t seem possible.

Looking over his shoulder, the three friars were also armed.

He realised now he had only one option.

He removed his gun from his pocket and fired.

Stephen came to a sudden halt. Something had caused the birds to fly away. Whatever it was, it had left an echo.

He hadn’t heard the original sound.

West stopped alongside him, listening to the silence. They had been walking along the pathway close to the Jeffries’ estate.

“Did you hear that?”

West nodded. “These moors are like a plague. It could’ve been from anywhere.”

Stephen spoke into his mouthpiece. “Hello, can you hear me, Caroline…”

“We’re just getting out of the car now.”

He had no idea who was talking to him. “Where are they?”

“They’re in the churchyard. They seem to be heading toward the presbytery.”

He disconnected without saying goodbye and sprinted after West, stopping on reaching a gap in the hedge. He entered first before helping West through the brambles.

They were now in the grounds of the Jeffries’ estate, less than half a mile from the house.

“Stop.”

West did so. “What is it?”

Stephen strained to hear any sign of life.

“I thought I just heard gunfire.”

89

Jen sprinted across the field and dived into a depression close to the wall.

Her breathing was almost out of control. In the fading light she could sense but barely see Thomas coming in next to her.

Unmistakeably the crowd was getting nearer. She could hear voices, several people speaking at once. For the first time she could hear individuals distinctly, Martha Brown, Rowland Stanley…

She saw movement near the entrance to the presbytery, just to her left. Lights glowed like a series of small halos, spookily reminiscent of a 15th-century mob carrying torches.

She cursed herself for getting into this mess.

Thomas was ready to move. “Come on.”

Jen felt herself being dragged to her feet. Thomas was keeping close to the wall, heading for the priory ruins.

They stopped on reaching the next wall, crouching down as low as possible.

“Which way?” Thomas asked.

Jen focused on the presbytery. The masses had scattered and were starting to cover the grounds. She guessed they had less than ten seconds.

“The vaults – it’s our only chance.”

This time Jen led the way. She moved through the trees, trying to remember the entrance from the day before. Guessing the gate was still locked, she climbed the tree and helped Thomas to the top of the wall.

“There they are.”

The voice was that of a woman, not Martha Brown. In the distance, Jen could see a blonde lady leading the rest. There was energy in her charge.

Jen had no idea what she’d done to upset the woman.

They made it over the wall and headed straight for the ruins. Jen remembered from the night before that the opening had been covered by thick vegetation, and located close to both the south wall of the former dormitories and a small cluster of trees.

She found it almost immediately, exactly the same as the night before.

Thomas was alongside her. “Is this it?”

“Come on.”

West led Stephen to the castle ruins. Although the light was fading, he was convinced by the outline that he was looking at what the mystery girl had described.

“Have you seen this before?”

West shook his head. “No. The meeting place was beneath one of the houses.”

Stephen accepted the answer. Through his mouthpiece, he spoke to Anthea.

“I’ve found the entrance.”

“We’ll be with you in two minutes.”

“Are the squaddies with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I think we might need them.”

At least this time Jen knew the way. Despite the darkness, the tunnels were definitely lighter than they had been the day before, the outline of the walls visible thanks to the lights on their phones and the last rays of daylight that crept in through the partially hidden doorway.

On reaching the bottom of the stairway, she followed the tunnel, ignoring the side chambers.

“Where are we heading?” Thomas asked.

“The main vault. It comes out in the castle.”

They could hear noise coming from the grounds nearby.

Someone clearly had access to the locked gate.

“It’s this way,” Jen said.

They increased their pace. The further they continued, the darker it became, the light coming from the flashlight facility on their two iPhones now the only aid. It was hardly as good as a regular torch, but, for Jen, enough at least to jog her memory.

Thomas kept his distance, watching the rear. He could hear, but for now he was still to see, the large gathering that was pursuing them.

Judging by the sound, they were still some way behind.

A steady jog had taken them to the priors’ vault. On any other day, the plethora of stone tombs, wall patterns, and ornate architecture would have attracted the prince’s interest, but today they just kept running.

On the other side of the chamber he saw an elaborate doorway, vaguely reminiscent of the sort that usually leads into a medieval great hall. The chamber was dark, but he was able to see outlines, mostly of tombs and wall decorations.

He didn’t need clarification that this was the place in question.

“Look here,” Jen said, pointing to the four tombs at the head of the room. She shone the light on the one at the far left.

“Edward V,” Thomas read what was in front of him.

“This was Richard III.” She pointed to the next one.

“But his body was found r-recently in Leicester.”

“That’s right. I think this is just a memorial.”

Thomas read the inscription. It agreed with what she said.

“This one made less sense to me,” Jen said.

“Elizabeth.”

“I thought she was married to Henry VII.”

He looked at her philosophically, deciding against an explanation.

She led him to the final tomb. “This was the killer.”

Thomas read the words under the torchlight. “Richard IV.”

“The other Prince in the Tower.”

The dates made sense.

Now he knew that Gardiner was right.

The King was alone when he heard a knock at the door. He answered come in, and waited for the person to enter.

Gardiner entered gingerly, aided by a walking stick. He nodded at the King as he closed the door, and continued toward the desk.

The King waited patiently, gripping the desk with both hands.

“Now then, Jim. You’d better have some bloody good explanations.”

90

They could tell from the sounds that their pursuers had almost caught up with them.

“Come on,” Jen said, grabbing Thomas by the hand. She led him to the next passageway, the same one she had taken with Anthea the night before.

They started up the slope, expecting to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Something was different.

On the other side of the same tunnel, Stephen started the descent. Two soldiers guarded him on either side, while six more followed, all of them armed.

Anthea led the way, the only person who had seen it.

Or so she had thought.

She stopped almost immediately.

“What’s the matter?” Stephen asked.

Anthea was confused. “It’s different.”

“What’s different?”

“This. Someone’s closed it up.”