The Plantagenet Vendetta (42 page)

At around that time, the small helicopter came down in the grounds of the large Scottish castle. Stephen left the cockpit immediately and jogged across the immaculate grounds toward the main building.

The sight was familiar. Green lawns were surrounded by ancient woodland, basking in the glow of the sun above the mountains. He had stayed there every year of his life. It was the Scottish home of the Royal Family.

The castle of Balmoral.

A large bald-headed man walked out to greet him. “Master Stephen.”

“Hello, Douglas, I have a favour to ask.”

The man listened attentively.

“I need to see the surveillance footage of the dinner on the 17th June.”

“The 17th?”

“Yes.”

He decided not to question it.

“You best be heading this way, sir.”

68

Jen rang back several minutes later to accept the invitation. Despite her concerns, the decision had been made. Had it been up to her alone, she would probably have declined.

But it was not up to her.

At least that was how it felt.

The car pulled up outside the gate. Jen checked her appearance in the mirror on the sun visor and began to fiddle with her hair. Showering had made a difference – that and make-up. Gone the ravages and dirt; even the cuts from the concrete were now completely invisible. Instead, the reflection was more what she recognised. The new do had actually lasted well in the circumstances. It certainly brought out the strengths in her appearance.

She looked to her right.

Not that anyone else had noticed.

Thomas checked his watch. It was approaching 3:30pm, and all was quiet. He had never seen the road before, but he felt as though he had – many times. Visually it was fantastic. Secluded but opulent.

Pretty – most would say.

He knew that the buildings represented much of what was to be loved of British history, but equally important was the knowledge that in such seclusion, evil and malcontent can spread. The houses were old; the trees older still. Despite the calm surroundings, he felt a sense of apprehension: not nerves, but something more permanent. It was instilled deep within the landscape, perhaps in time itself. He remembered Wilson had once told him, or perhaps it was Gardiner, his mind was confused, that the true lesson of history was not so much what happened, but why and, in certain cases, what happens next time. If one thing is to be learned from history, more often than not it is the following sobering truth:

Nothing is ever learned from history.

He looked at her. “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

She guessed he meant aside from breaking into vaults. “No. You?”

He grinned.

“My parents didn’t bring me up to break and enter.”

His grin became even wider. “Neither did mine. I went to school at Winchester College.”

“Well, la di da.”

He laughed, which made Jen feel better. He looked her in the eye, and a strange feeling of calm came over her.

“It’ll be okay, you know.”

The statement came from the mouth of a stranger, but with the concern of a friend. She looked at him and found the strength to smile.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Jen got out of the car and walked slowly toward the main driveway. The property was gated in two places, located approximately fifty metres apart. The one on the right was smaller, and perhaps older, whereas the one in front of her was modern, electric and seemingly impenetrable. Though it was modern, the design was classical and, to her eyes, vulgar. There were cherubim at either side, while the gate itself was symmetrical. Each side rose equally in height before reaching a pinnacle at the centre.

There she found the greatest peculiarity. A large animal, not quite a bulldog but not dissimilar. Had the last few days been different, the design might have left her confused. Today, however, the dawn of realisation was upon her.

It was not a dog, but a pig.

She was entering the home of the Hog.

The latest of a long line.

She walked toward the right side of the gate, her eyes on the intercom. There was a red sign with black writing saying ‘Strictly no trespassing’.

Perhaps this was a bad idea
.

A voice called from nearby. “Why, Miss Farrelly, what excellent timing.”

She couldn’t decide if she was scared or relieved. Lovell had appeared from along the road, dressed in white trousers and a smart yellow jacket.

At least he was alone.

She mustered the best smile she could. “Hi.”

“My dear, you look a trillion pounds.”

Though she held her smile, inside she was angry.

How could a man so charming be part of something so evil?

Were you one of those who stood around Debra Harrison that night?

“Are you sure this is okay? I really wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense.” He gestured with his hand. “As luck would have it, my dear friend Lord Jeffries is away for the day, along with his fine grandson. It seems we shall have the place to ourselves.”

She didn’t buy it.

“Shall we go in?”

Several hundred metres away, Thomas listened to every word.

Proof, at least, the wire was doing its job.

If his luck was in, the family was away, and all he would have to contend with would be the CCTV cameras.

Silently, he wasn’t convinced Lovell was being truthful.

Back in the boathouse, Caroline sat in the bedroom with Anthea, their eyes focused on the laptop.

The tracker was doing its job.

Jen had entered the house.

69

“What does it mean?” Jen asked of the hog symbol, on seeing it for a second time.

They were now standing outside the entrance, a fine wooden door flanked by two statues, both identical to the one on the gate.

“In celebration of the family motto,” Lovell replied. “By now I’m sure you are aware that every family in the village seems to have one.”

Jen smiled and nodded. The symbol was subtle, irrelevant to the average passer-by.

But its significance was clear.

The walk along the driveway had taken longer than she had expected. Though she was aware that the estate was by far the largest in the village, the walk itself was well over half a mile. Unlike most, the driveway zigzagged. The land to the front of the house was abundant in greenery, once part of an ancient forest, its trees reaching heights of well over fifty metres.

It was warmer than it had been; the sun was beating down through the densely covered branches, causing long shadows across the muddy ground. The forest was alive with nature, the sound of birds a permanent feature. Rabbits, squirrels, and perhaps other things scampered through the undergrowth. Most of what she could hear, she couldn’t see. She guessed there were at least ten different types of bird, chirping, singing, and wailing to one another. The forest was timeless.

Just like the situation.

Close up, the house surpassed her expectations. Unlike most in that part of the village, it was a hotchpotch of various eras. The exterior was mainly a yellowy sawdust hue, but mixed with several other colours and a variety of features. The property was described as a manor house, yet if it was, it had certainly developed. The oldest part was the centre section: not quite Tudor, but not far off. According to Lovell, every part was constructed of Yorkstone, four types in total, and with its countless turrets, the elaborate roof was highly picturesque. The exterior had something of a Gothic feel. To Jen’s surprise, the east wing had one even greater peculiarity.

“Is that a church?”

“It is the chapel of Lady Jeffries. Commissioned in 1872.”

“What was it built for?”

“It is used as a private place of worship; even today the family are staunchly Catholic. In years gone by, another, less elaborate chapel existed. In its day, it was the heart of recusancy for this part of the Riding. It might also interest you to know that since the early 1900s, a small brotherhood of Dominican friars has lived in the adjoining building.” He pointed to the second smaller building that joined onto the chapel. “In their day, the Dominican order was staunchly loyal to our families.”

She nodded, not knowing what else to do.

The explanation made sense. From her studies, she knew that every Plantagenet up to Richard II had a Dominican for a confessor.

Lovell unlocked the door and allowed Jen to take the first step. She followed the hallway past a sitting room and into a large foyer, comprising a large staircase, bright blue walls, countless antique pieces of furniture and more paintings than one would normally find in a gallery.

“Wow,” she said, gaping at the vast interior. For a moment she almost forgot the implications of her visit.

“Are you musical, Miss Jennifer?”

She nodded. “Yes. I love music.”

“Then perhaps you would care to try Lord Jeffries’ piano.” He gestured to the corner of the room. Sure enough, a fine Steinway was located in an alcove beneath the main stairway.

She walked toward it, slightly nervously. It was clearly 19th century.

Probably priceless.

“It’s amazing.”

“Restored it myself not two years ago.”

Jen forced a smile. “You’re clearly a man of many talents.”

“A most pleasant way to begin one’s retirement…perhaps you would care to give it a try.”

She dismissed the idea, but felt conflicted. She walked toward it and pressed middle C. The ping resonated for several seconds, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. In her mind the sound made the entrance hall feel even larger, as if the nearby staircase would never end. She composed herself and tried a D, then an E.

Then she played the beginning of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata 14 in C sharp.

She looked at Lovell and laughed.

He applauded, five short claps. “Bravo.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, her focus returning to the task at hand.

She wondered how Thomas was getting on.

Thomas had entered the grounds via the Catesby estate and was making his way north. He had parked in a secluded area and continued on foot toward the grounds.

Both estates were outstanding. The grounds comprised more outbuildings than a hamlet, ranging from an aviary and dovecote to a small mill.

He spoke to Caroline using the hands-free facility of his mobile phone. “How’s she doing?”

“They’re just exploring the ground floor.”

“Good. Keep this line open. Tell me when they get up the stairs.”

He continued on foot across the Catesby estate, suddenly confused. He could hear something nearby.

It sounded like birds.

He changed direction, heading toward a red farmhouse building surrounded by woodland. For the first time he realised there was no partition between the Jeffries and Catesby estates except for a small fence among the trees.

He approached the building and stopped. A well-built man was dressed in large overalls, his face disguised by an all-in-one protective suit. The man walked up and down the concrete several times, his trips to replenish whatever was in the bucket he carried.

He guessed some form of bird food.

The prince stopped by the next wall. He could smell something, strong but not obviously recognisable. He looked at the birds. The nursery rhyme he had heard the other day began playing in his head.

He didn’t need clarification he’d found the source of the poison.

70

Jen walked to the other side of the kitchen and stopped in front of the largest window. In the distance, she could see the remains of the castle, the site of her recent late-night escape. She muttered to herself as she moved; to Lovell the sound was little more than mumbling. Every now and then she spoke to him as well. While many would forgive the former headmaster for assuming this was just part of her charm, to Jen it served a purpose.

If all was going well, Thomas was hearing every word.

Thomas’s progress through the grounds had been without obstacle. The land in between the mansion and the wider greenery that adjoined the Catesby estate was mainly a series of lawns, the latest of which was a bowling green. There were hedges on either side, most featuring topiary of different styles and designs, depicting anything from ornamental archways to figures from mythology. There were pathways in between, leading to a swimming pool, two large tennis courts and other immaculately cut lawns. The sports facilities had surprised him.

He couldn’t believe anyone in the family would use them.

The final lawn was the most open, and the most exposed. He crouched behind a hedge and considered his options. The grass area offered no cover apart, possibly, from a medium-size stone birdbath located at the centre. He considered moving toward it, but decided against it.

Knowing Jeffries, there was probably a camera there.

He moved to his right, circling the lawn instead of crossing it, and approached the patio. The windows were small and Gothic, clearly not meant to be opened. From what he had learned from Bridges and MI5, his best options were either the kitchen or the garage.

As he waited by the hedge, he saw movement. A man had left the house, white hair, bearded, clearly the butler.

He saw him walk in the direction of the lawn.