The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1) (22 page)

Owen patted his brow with a handkerchief and Erastus gripped his glass of brandy. Renee could scarcely breathe. Cassandra had drawn her knees up in her chair and her fingers were laced tightly together. Owen turned the delicate page over and picked up a new one. “This one is not dated and part of it is missing.”

“Go on,” urged Erastus and Owen began to read.

...Alfred and George stand against me in favor of Frederick. They plead for mercy on his behalf and demand an explanation, and the falseness of their words belies their demeanor of brotherly concern. I quiver when I think of how I have been betrayed. Alfred, always so hot-headed, has declared that if Frederick is not released from his prison chains, that he shall go in there and free him himself. I wished him luck and that chains are reserved for him as well. My youngest brother George, attempts to make peace between Alfred and I, but their deception is too much to bear. He counsels that I should shut out whichever wicked voice is whispering in my ear, but he is still a boy and easily turned. I know the truth and I shall stand by the truth. The burden your king carries is heavy indeed….

Another page. The ink on this one was unclear and splotched as if tears had been shed over it.

Trust dearest mother that I have not put you out of my heart, but I have not allowed your admittance for I know your purpose: to plead for the lives of your sons. The one thing you want is the one thing I cannot do, for it is done. Frederick is dead. The heart of the one who bore him cannot be rent more fully than the one who got into mischief with him, who received punishment with him, who learnt to ride and scrape and meet the world with him, side by side, always. You can cherish the memories of your second son and let them warm you like a flickering candle, but I no longer have even the consolation of my memories. His betrayal has struck me twice: first in the infamy itself, and second in the infamy I am forced to commit to save the kingdom. His brothers are soon to follow for the testimonies against them are damning. Pray for their souls, dearest Lady, for I know your voice is heard in Heaven. And pray for mine.

Renee wanted to shout at William that he shouldn’t take someone’s word over his brothers’, that he was being blind and bullheaded and that it would ruin him…. But there was no one to shout at and she knew how it ended, for the actors had long since turned to dust. She put her head in her hands. Owens continued to scan pages and the sound of them quietly turning cut through her agitated thoughts. Those pieces of paper held the story of life and death. And betrayal. She couldn’t count that out. Either the younger brothers had betrayed the eldest or someone had lied to get the younger ones in trouble and out of the way. Owens mumbled quietly as he looked through the materials. “Remarkable, remarkable. We’re the first to read this, I dare say. Remarkable.” His mutterings stopped suddenly and he held up a page that even Renee’s untrained eye could see was not written in William’s fine, dense script.

“This one was written by Alfred,” said Owen.

The letters sloped and looped wildly as if written by a person in a hurry. Or someone hot-headed with a temper, thought Renee.

Mother,

I write this to you with a hasty hand to urge to stay in your country lodgings and not return to Town just yet for it is unknown who are yet loyal to the former king. Yes, mother, I write ‘former’ for I have avenged the death of my brother Frederick who was always so noble of heart and strong in body. Frederick’s death was murder, but William’s death was justice. I will spare you the details mother for I know how it must grieve you. The eldest is never replaced, but I hope I shall fulfill my duties as the oldest son admirably…

Quickly, I will tell you that our rescue was like the aid that never came to Thermopylae. The clang of metal on metal, the shouts of men, the brandishing of muskets, and the chaos of gates thrown open and chains struck from our wrists. And then a sword in my hand and George and I fighting our way out to find that a multitude had joined us! My heart has never soared so high in my entire life. A man who I recognized as the royal stable keeper led us through the Palace and to the very room where William—but of this I shall speak no more for what is triumph for me is a lit candle in the Church tomorrow for you, but my life and George’s are owed to him and for this and I have made him my Lord of the Bedchamber. He is noble-born, from one of the many families who once were exalted, but like so many find themselves richer in name than in gold….

Erastus interrupted. “There’s that man again, the stable keeper. Wasn’t he mentioned before? The one who first warned William there was a plot? And now he’s the bloody Lord of the Bedchamber after William is killed? Something is not kosher.”

“Patience, Hughes,” said Owen. “We’re almost to the end.”

Indeed, Renee could see that there were only a few sheets left unread in the folder.

Renee held her breath as Owen read silently. He shook his head and raised his eyes in a sorrowful expression and then lowered them again to the paper as he began to read.

Mother,

Upon receipt of this letter, you must flee immediately. Do not pause to gather your valuables for your life is more valuable than gemstones. Indeed, by the time you read this, your son and your king is likely already dead and a usurper sits in his place. Do not weep for me, Mother. Spare your tears and hopes for the one of your sons who still lives—if he lives. I have been chastened and humbled, humbled lower even than Saul whose sins were revealed to him on the road to Damascus. Mine own follies are clear to me now and I pray to God to forgive me for I have committed the gravest of sins: I have murdered my eldest brother, the king, in a moment fueled by vengeance, and I have likely killed my younger brother also. We were all deceived. Only George did not allow the shades to cover his eyes. He questioned me about the motives of my Chamberman and said not to reveal too much to him, a stranger to our household, but I proclaimed that I would trust him with my life. He was the one who freed us and to question his integrity was to question the King himself. George’s eyes grew wide and he said, “Yes, your Majesty,” and bowed out of the room. The next morning George could not be located and I suspected the worst: that he had betrayed me, just as we had been betrayed by William. My Lord of the Bedchamber, the man whom I trusted above my own blood, begged to be of service and to be allowed to lead the party to hunt my brother. I agreed for I trusted this man as our savior and had grown reliant on his counsel. He departed at the head of a group of soldiers and a week later I received word that George had been stopped at Winchester. I asked for his body to be brought for Christian burial, but the guards informed me that he had already found his resting place, though they could not provide a single token of his. I breathed easier now for the kingdom and planned to reward the Chamberman with an exalted position for his service, but now I see the error. A few hours ago I received word that he has been gathering forces in his family’s name to oust me. Now I realize that it is not the Montshires who have been saved, but who have been hunted one by one by this clever man, who, rather than raising the sword himself, turned each brother’s hand against the next.

They are nearly at the gates and I send this letter with a rider. Read it and run, dear Mother. I shall stand and fight. In the name of my brothers and the Kingdom, I shall not let the forces of Beelzebub prevail.

Your son in humility,

Alfred Montshire

Owen looked up. His fingers rested lightly on the page.

“It’s so sad,” said Cassandra in a small, strained voice. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Indeed,” said Owen. He held up the last item in the folder. “It’s a bill for £200; quite a lot of money in those days. It doesn’t specify for what and it’s unsigned, but what is most interesting is that it’s from the Rossboro Inn in Winchester.” Everybody looked up. “The Rossboro Inn was burnt to the ground in the fighting following Alfred’s overthrow. Perhaps we can conclude that Prince George received assistance here? Needless to say, they never received payment.”

Owen closed the folder. “It has always been thought that the Montshires killed each other over jealousy and greed, but now we find that they were misled and that Alfred understood it at the end. Indeed, this will completely rewrite the history books. ” His eyes gleamed at the thought of the book he would write and the accolades he would receive.

“But who was this man, the stable keeper?” asked Renee.

Owen frowned. “There is no recorded ringleader of the mob that ousted Alfred, though some of the participants are known, none of whom held positions in the royal household or were even remotely connected with it. It was always thought to have been a spontaneous riot. This man, whoever he is, has done well at hiding his identity and making sure he was always behind the scenes.”

Owen stood up and began browsing the shelves of books in Erastus’s library. He climbed a brass latter to get a closer look at something and called down, “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of the ‘Palace Concordance,’ would you? It lists all the household staff for the Tudors and Stuarts. Perhaps it includes the Montshires, as well.”

Erastus shook his head. “I don’t know what I have on these shelves.”

Renee felt gutted. She tuned out the back and forth conversation between Erastus and Owen. The knowledge that the ill-fated Montshire brothers acted from pure motives did not comfort her even though it went far to clear their reputations. Each one had been so brave, but each one had put their trust in someone else and it had led to disaster.

Owen continued to peruse the dusty shelves, occasionally taking out a volume, thumbing through the pages and replacing it. Cassandra pushed the ladder so he could continue to browse shelves without having to climb down each time and roll the ladder to a new spot.

“This one looks promising. ‘The Royal Equerry,’” he read aloud. He opened the book. “Hmmm, it lists breeds of horses and some famous steeds owned by monarchs. Here’s a list of equerries—Oh my.” Owen shook his head. “This is quite astonishing.”

“What did you find?” asked Renee.

Owen cradled the open book in the crook of his elbow while he balanced on the ladder. “Well, now we know the name of the royal stable keeper.”

Renee looked at him blankly.

“It was Rafe Bretton.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RENEE FLED FROM the table. She ran through the hallway, past the ballroom and past her mother who had finally stirred from her late slumber and was asking if there was any bacon and froot loops. Renee ran across the yard without knowing where her feet were taking her and pounded up the lane until she was on the crest of the hill, staring across the valley at the ruins of her ruined family. All she could see was the inferno that had leveled the proud manor to the ground, lit by the hand of Rafe Bretton himself. She could still smell the smoldering cinders. Her voice echoed through the valley and bounced off the blazing hills. “Son of a bitch!” she screamed until her throat was raw. Ravens lifted into the air with a startled caw.

Erastus wheezed slightly as he tried to catch up with her.

“Lady Montshire,” he said breathlessly. “Please come back to the house. It’s far too cold to be out here.”

“They’re rotten,” said Renee, not taking her eyes off the dark, hulking building. “All of them. The Brettons haven’t changed in 500 years.”

“That was a long time ago,” he said gently.

She shook his hand off her shoulder. “Is it? It certainly isn’t to Ammon Bretton. He sees the throne as his birthright. I wouldn’t put it past him to have engineered this whole thing—the tragedy at the Reunion.”

“Lady Montshire, that is a heavy charge, indeed!”

“And why not?” said Renee, cutting off his objections. “What’s a few thousand people in exchange for a kingdom? Or four brothers and a family’s good name before that? The charges of murder in America were never—”

“They were never proven,” said Erastus.

“They weren’t disproven either,” said Renee. She wiped the tears from her eyes, took one last look at the far off home, and turned abruptly back to Highlowe House. “I’ve got to get back to London.”

“But why the hurry?” said Erastus, matching her purposeful stride.

“It’s time for the heels to come off and the boots to come back on. I’ve got a lot of ass-kicking to get started on.”

She found Leanne in the hall still in her slippers and a sleeping mask pushed up on her forehead demanding to know when breakfast was.

“Forget breakfast. It’s almost tea time and we’re leaving. Get your things.”

She ran up the stairs while Leanne stared after her open-mouthed. Roberts winced at Renee’s sudden appearance. She told him of her plan to leave over her shoulder as she searched for her purse in her room. She spied it on the dresser and snatched it up, found the small bottle of ibuprofen she kept in the small zipped pocket, tossed it at Roberts and told him to take three pills followed by strong coffee—not tea—and the greasiest food he could find. They could stop for fish and chips on the way to the city. Roberts looked like he was about to be sick, although she didn’t know if it was because he was feeling ill or because she had suggested he try common street food. She didn’t know why, but Renee felt that she simply must get going. Bretton was certainly not sitting at home licking his wounds or drinking tea. He was on the move, amassing his allies. Instead of archers and knights, he had celebrities and reporters. But she would not be chased out of London like Agnes, nor did she want anyone to think she had slunk off to the countryside to hide.

She rummaged in her purse and her fingers closed around what she was looking for. Renee had allies too. She pulled out the business card that said Audrey Finch, Publicist. It was time to go to war.