The Plantagenet Vendetta (11 page)

16

Riverton, Lincolnshire

Riverton Court was an imposing sort of place – even in the mist, it was often visible from a distance. Located on the banks of the River Ancholme near the villages of Cadney and Hibaldstow, lying against the picturesque backdrop of the Lincolnshire countryside, it was the type of place where tourists, ramblers, or members of the National Trust might pop in for a couple of hours to admire the architecture, investigate the portraits or the bedrooms, or roam the gardens, enjoying the sparkling scenery.

Or at least they would if it was open to the public.

The word was that the owner was quite eccentric – reports varying from a bit of a crank, an egotistical bigot, or simply a complete and utter wanker. Either way, not one for outsiders.

So went the local talk.

It was approaching 11:00am when Thomas arrived. He had seen the property before, at least in photographs, and immediately recognised it on leaving the main road. Like many of England’s finest, the mansion was a stunning Elizabethan country estate long used by the lower gentry for fishing and game. As a minor royal, he was used to much bigger, but he wasn’t as snobby as some. Since joining the army, he had got used to the barracks’ life, and since taking on his new position, he had taken to living as and where. In his second year at Oxford he had shared a house with four others, two girls and two guys: none of whom were aware of his exact background. Despite the lies, that year had been his personal favourite.

Now, low-key was often his aid.

The village of Riverton was in keeping with the mansion – picturesque but slightly in decline. Its Saxon church and quaint buildings aside, it was the type of place that had prospered from tourism and fishing enthusiasts in the boom years, but fallen off the pace ever since. Most of the shops on the high street were closed, including the pub, either due to the time of year or because of the economic climate. He watched the river from the window, instantly drawn to the lack of boats
despite it being July with the sun beating down and a temperature of around 23 Celsius.

It was like driving through a ghost town.

The entrance to the mansion was easy enough to find: like most properties of its type, it was situated off a quiet side road and gated from the outside. Large areas of woodland surrounded it on either side, its thick vegetation prohibiting the sun from shining through.

Thomas stopped in front of the gate, surprised to find it unlocked. He opened it and then continued driving along the driveway unhindered to the entrance of the mansion.

An elderly man, probably in his early seventies, was busy gardening. He looked up from his duties as Thomas shut the door to his car.

“We’re not open to the public.”

The prince continued. “Kindly inform Sir Jack that an emissary of the Duke of Clarence is here to see him.”

The comment seemed to alert the man.

“Quickly now.”

Though riled, the man took an age to get to his feet. He removed his gardening gloves as he walked toward the front door, throwing them down on the driveway before entering.

“Excuse me, won’t you?”

The gardener walked quickly through the large entrance hall and entered the library, second on the right. An elderly disabled man was sitting in a chair, his head tilted to one side and his eyes closed.

“An emissary from the Duke of Clarence to see you, sir.”

The man snorted as he came to. “What? What?”

“I said there is an emissary from the Duke of Clarence who requires an audience, sir.”

The man was confused. “Does he have an appointment?”

“I believe not, sir.”

The door to the library opened. “Expecting better company, Jack?”

The man laughed in disgust. “You call this an emissary? I might have known. Why pay someone to do a job when you’ve got a son to do it for free?”

The gardener seemed unnerved on hearing the news. After all, he didn’t look like a royal.

“I suppose you’d like some tea, wouldn’t you? It would be proper, after all, wouldn’t it? English noble hospitality and all. Patterson, Earl Grey for His Majesty here, and see if we have any more of those lovely biscuits – you know the ones I mean.”

“Immediately, sir.”

The man bowed, more a half bow than anything, before both men as he retreated from the room. He caught the side of the door as he left, causing furniture to rattle.

An awkward silence followed as the two men were left alone for the first time.

“Fourteen years he’s been with me; still can’t do a bloody thing right.”

Thomas stood with his arms folded, his focus on the man in the chair. Talbot looked older than he had – though four years had passed. The frizzy white hair, the flabby skin…

A large portrait in the corner of the room distracted him. Talbot was in it, standing not sitting, dressed in the uniform of the British Army – a colonel, no less.

“I was younger back then,” Talbot said.

“We all were.”

“You don’t think about it when you’re young. You never think that it might happen to you.”

Thomas walked slowly around the room, his footsteps echoing off the hard floorboards. At times the wood creaked beneath his feet, affecting his balance. He watched the furniture, silently fearing one bad step would cause a breakage somewhere.

“Are we alone?”

“Of course not, you’ve seen the butler with your own eyes.”

The prince smiled. “Beside him?”

The old man shrugged. “I don’t get many visitors – I used to, back when Elsie was alive, bless her. They always came back then.”

The door to the library opened. The butler returned carrying a large tray containing an antique teapot, two cups, a plate of biscuits and all the usual trimmings. The old man looked at him as he placed it down on the table, but said nothing – no sign of acknowledgement.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Would that be all, sire?” the old man asked the prince.

Thomas bit his tongue. “Quite all, th-thank you.”

The butler left the room, this time taking care not to collide with anything.

The old man looked at the young royal. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. Sit, relax, make yourself at home. That’s what most of your family do.”

Thomas walked toward the nearest chair, dragging it slowly as he sat down. For several seconds he waited, as if enjoying the silence.

To Talbot the pause was infuriating. “Well? State your business. Normally your family have the opposite problem.”

Thomas poured tea into his cup, collecting the leaves in the silver container. He added lemon and sugar, and stirred the liquid carefully, tapping the spoon against the rim. He sipped it slowly before placing it down on the saucer. The sound of the clink was disturbingly loud, emphasising the quietness.

“Ahhh.”

Talbot’s face was reddening. “Well? What is it that you want?”

Thomas continued to bide his time. “Tell me everything you know about the Sons of York.”

“Never heard of them.”

The answer came far too quickly. “I never said they were a them.”

“You said sons. That’s plural, isn’t it? Or perhaps they didn’t teach you that at Winchester College?”

Thomas smiled. “Well, quite,” he said, avoiding a stutter. “Very well, l-let’s try this another way. What do you know about them?”

“I’ve told you before, I’ve never heard of them.”

Thomas continued to bide his time. “Does the name Andrew Morris mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing. What’s this got to do with anything?”

Again, the answer came too quickly. “Well, you tell me.”

“Enough of this drivel. Get to the point.”

The prince gripped both sides of the chair with his fingers. The chair was antique, wooden with a sculpted lion’s head on both armrests. “Two men have recently died, Jack – I’m s-sure you know the chaps I’m t-talking about. A man has confessed – seems convinced of the crime.” He paused for longer. “He claims he was working for something called th-the Sons of York.”

Thomas looked at him seriously. “He also claimed that it was he who killed the King.”

That seemed to affect him. “Killed the…you mean to say he was…”

“Claims to have carried out the wicked act on b-behalf of the Sons of York.”

“I’ve told you already, I don’t know any Sons of York.”

Thomas rose to his feet and began to pace the room. He sipped from his tea intermittently. He could tell Talbot found the sound annoying.

“How do you know he is even telling the truth?” Talbot asked, his hands fidgeting. “For all you know, he could be just another loony.”

“As a matter of fact, the man is absolutely barking – I visited him myself. Surely being mad makes one even more dangerous.”

The prince walked closer to Talbot.

“He mentioned you personally, Jack,” he said, speaking into Talbot’s ear.

“Rubbish.”

“Is it? I thought so, too. Then again, they were all friends of yours.” The prince circled the man’s chair. “Who was he working for? Who g-gave him the or-orders?”

Talbot’s face brightened. “I see you never did get rid of that stutter, Thomas.”

The prince was angry with himself.

“It only ever seems to happen to the royals. It’s like a curse, a plague as Shakespeare put it: a plague on both your houses.

“I can’t say I blame you. Being out in that dreadful war, it’s enough to make anyone lose the power of speech. I suppose losing your grandmother made it even worse. It could’ve been worse still, you know. You’re lucky it wasn’t more; it could have been an arm or leg – no, you got off lightly.

“But they never go away – the things you see. It’s enough to make one go completely mad. I’ve seen it happen; mad as a brush they were. Perhaps they got you, too; perhaps you’re a bit mad. What’s the matter, Thomas? Cat got your tongue?”

The man laughed, louder and louder. After several seconds he started banging his fist, causing the table to jump.

“Dammit, Jack!” Thomas shouted, his voice loud enough to wake the dead. “I know that you’re involved; I know that you gave Morris directions.”

The prince removed his Glock 17 pistol from his belt and aimed it at Talbot’s head.

“Your family have a history, Jack. Talbots always have a history. Do I really need to remind you?”

He checked the gun was loaded. “Or perhaps you would rather I just shoot you here and now? At least that way we can give you an honest traitor’s death.”

The room fell silent. For several seconds Talbot remained rigid, visibly startled. Thomas watched him, this former soldier, now an old man. The man’s lips seemed to quiver. It reminded him of a guppy.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing for nothing, waving that gun won’t help you – I’m already dead anyway.”

The prince cocked the trigger. “Well, let’s not waste any time, then, Jack.”

Talbot looked up, alarmed. “All right, all right, I’ll talk. For all the good it will do.”

“Let me be the j-judge of that.”

This time it was Talbot’s turn to struggle with words. “Very embarrassing for me, you know. There have been many proud moments in my life, you know. Sadly this isn’t one of them.”

Thomas’s hand remained rigid, gun at the ready.

“It was back in the late ’60s I first heard of them for sure, back when all this business of Europe began – prior to that, like most people, I assumed the Sons of York to be merely a myth, a socialist’s fantasy, so to speak.”

“They’re socialist in nature?”

“Not necessarily.”

“So what are their aims and objectives?”

“No idea.”

“Jack…”

“I’m telling you the truth; I was never involved in such things.”

“Tell me about this organisation. How did you first become involved?”

Talbot’s face was visibly sad. “You don’t find them; they find you.”

“Wh-who asked you?”

“I don’t remember.”

The prince aimed the Glock again at Talbot with renewed emphasis.

“It won’t do you any good: he’s dead anyway,” Talbot said, his eyes on the ground. “And they weren’t all traitors, by the way – at least not intentionally. Most were patriots.”

“Who recruited you? Who’s in charge?”

“I don’t know who’s in charge – I never did. They work through intermediaries.”

“Who?”

“These are not the type of men who leave calling cards.”

The prince’s frustration was reaching boiling point. “What was in it for you? Money?”

“Not being killed was surely more important. Though it’s the family that are most at threat – you’re no use to them dead.”

Thomas returned to his chair, now sitting directly opposite Talbot. “Listen to me, Jack. Right now in London we have a man who many believe to be mad, who c-claims to have murdered the King and two members of the C-Cabinet. For what purpose?”

“I’ve already told you, I was never involved in such things.”