The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 3

  “I’m so sorry, my dear,” said Alistair. “Seeing you at last quite overwhelmed me. Please, let’s sit and I’ll get to the point.” He steered Perdita towards a large wooden carver opposite his desk. Warren followed, seating himself in a smaller, less grand chair that had been positioned next to Perdita’s.

  Kit nodded to his father. “I’ll leave you,” he said. “Good to meet you, Dr Rivers, Mr Dexter. I’ll have Mum organise some refreshments.”

  “Thank you, son,” Mackensie said as the door closed on Kit, then turned back to Perdita. “We’re something of a family business, my wife often acts as my assistant.”

  Perdita did not reply. Her nerves were so taut, she felt she would soon reach screaming pitch if this man did not start to explain himself. The solicitor unlocked his top drawer and pulled out a brown paper folder. Very hi-tech, she thought sarcastically and shot Warren a conspiratorial glance. He, however, was rigid, watching Mackensie, and missed her look.

  “Dr Rivers, I apologise for the speed in calling you here, but as you were in the vicinity, it seemed the safest option,” he began.

  “Safest?” queried Perdita. It seemed an odd choice of words.

  “Yes, my dear, safest,” he said with a gentle smile. “In time, of course, we will have a full reading of the will, but it is very long and detailed. So, would you mind if I summed up the salient points?”

  Perdita nodded, alert now. Had their grandmother acknowledged them in death? If so, why?

  “Your grandmother was an extremely wealthy woman and, with the exception of approximately twenty personal bequests and some trust funds for charitable organisations, you and your twin sister, Piper, are her main beneficiaries.”

  “Which means, what?” asked Perdita, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

  “You inherit Marquess House and its contents, your grandmother’s personal and professional assets, including the copyright to all her work, published and unpublished, several large trust funds set up for you by both your mother and grandmother, a number of other properties worldwide, your grandmother’s art and jewellery collections, the Louisa Woodville Trust, the research centre which is in the grounds, your grandmother’s horses, in fact, more or less everything, to be divided equally between you both. Approximate worth, after inheritance tax, give or take, is £150 million each.”

  Perdita laughed.

  Mackensie smiled. “It is faintly ludicrous, isn’t it? When read out as a list of bald facts.”

  Perdita dropped her head in her hands, allowing her long dark hair to cover her face, grasping for a moment of composure. Then, with a well-practised sweep of her hand, she flicked her hair back into place and stared calmly at the solicitor. This news was so unexpected. It seemed her grandmother had known about her and Piper all along, and cared enough to leave them her estate, making them incredibly wealthy women. So, why had she ignored them in life?

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “We’ve heard nothing from our grandmother since we were seven years old, yet we’re the main beneficiaries of her will. You knew her, Mr Mackensie, why would she behave so irrationally?”

  Alistair met Perdita’s fierce gaze.

  “That’s a question I’m afraid I can’t answer,” he replied. “Old friend of Mary I may have been, but in matters of her will, I was merely her solicitor.”

  Staring into Mackensie’s blue eyes, Perdita was convinced he was lying, but she was equally as sure this was not the moment to press him. She decided to change tack.

  “Could you give me the details of my grandmother’s death?” she asked.

  Alistair nodded.

  “Our housekeeper, Sarah Eve, was concerned when your grandmother didn’t come down for breakfast at her usual time. After ringing Mary’s room and getting no response, she and her husband Alan went to investigate. Using her passkey, Sarah let herself in and discovered your grandmother sitting in an armchair by the fireplace. She had been dead for some hours. The attending doctor has suggested her heart may have given out, but a post-mortem will confirm the cause of her death.”

  Perdita allowed these words to wash over her, each one slowly sinking in to her teeming mind.

  “Your grandmother’s body is currently with the undertaker’s in town, if you would care to see her. I can make arrangements,” Alistair continued. “Her funeral will be here in our private chapel, as she requested in her will, obviously at a date that suits you and Mrs Davidson.” He was watching Perdita closely, her ashen face, the sadness in her eyes. “This must be a terrible shock for you, my dear, Mary’s death, your inheritance…” His voice tailed off as he looked her with concern.

  Perdita knew he had seen the tears welling in her eyes and was angry with herself for losing control in front of this man, this stranger who was treating her like a long-lost daughter. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice tight with emotion, “What if we don’t want it?” she snapped, hurt and anger mingling. “What if Piper and I don’t want Mary’s money? She didn’t want us, why would we want anything from her?”

  Beside her, she felt Warren stiffen. He reached for her cold, rigid hand, but she moved it away.

  “Well,” said Mackensie calmly, “the money will be held in trust until you either decide to claim it for yourself or give it away. The house will continue to be run under the terms of various charters created by your ancestor Lettice Hawkland, and if you or your sister have any children, it can be passed to them. Unfortunately, it would be a lengthy legal process if you wished to sell the estate as there are various long-term covenants and protection orders on the building, particularly the library and the tower on the island in the lake, all of which are recognised as having important historical value.”

  Certain words dropped through Perdita’s shock: library, important historical value, lake… “There’s a library?”

  Mackensie nodded. “It is of huge historical importance as it contains some Tudor graffiti, as well as a vast collection of books and manuscripts. There’s also a dedicated research centre that Mary had built in the barn complex. The more delicate documents are housed here, where the atmosphere can be controlled to protect them.”

  “And there’s a chapel?”

  “Yes, it’s Tudor. I’m sure Kit must have mentioned it, it’s his favourite part of the building.”

  Perdita nodded, hardly hearing Alistair’s last comment. Now the shock was receding slightly, excitement was building inside her. This house belonged to her and Piper! The stately home she had thought they had visited as children was actually their family residence. Not only that, their grandmother had left them a fortune, as well as a vast collection of historical documents and their own research centre. It was the last thing she had expected. She had hoped for something small, maybe a book or a piece of jewellery that had once belonged to her mother, Louisa. She had not anticipated the size of the bequest, but then, she had not known the estate existed until an hour ago.

  Before she could say any more, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” called Mackensie, rising to open it, but Warren beat him to it. An attractive woman in her early sixties pushed a laden trolley into the room.

  “Ah, thank you,” said Mackensie. “Perdita, this is my wife, Susan.”

  Susan Mackensie was a petite woman with dark hair that fell in soft curls to her shoulders. She smiled at Perdita, extending her hand. Perdita took it but quickly dropped it when she saw tears well in Susan’s soft brown eyes.

  “Leave the trolley, I’ll sort everyone out,” her husband said in a gentle voice. After staring at Perdita with an intensity that left her unnerved, Susan Mackensie walked swiftly from the room.

  “Just like her mother…” Perdita heard as the door closed behind Susan.

  Suddenly, anger flared inside her again. Their behaviour was making her feel like an exhibit in a zoo.

  “Is anyone else going to come in and stare at me?” she asked coldly as Mackensie handed her a cup of coffee.

  “No, my dear
,” he said in an avuncular manner. “Everyone here is very excited to finally meet you, that’s all. Now,” he continued before Perdita could ask why, “this must all be something of a surprise, and I imagine you’d like to discuss things with your sister, Mrs Piper Davidson. If you’re in agreement, I can email you both with more details of your inheritance, then, when you’re ready, you can instruct me of your wishes. In the meantime, perhaps you would like to see the house and estate?”

  Perdita placed her cup on the edge of Mackensie’s desk and looked at Warren who was white-faced and appeared angry.

  “No,” she replied, surprising both men with her answer. “You seem to think that, now we’ve inherited Mrs Fitzroy’s estate, everything is forgiven and I can wander around as though nothing has ever happened. My grandmother cut us from her life. Of course, I’m grateful for what she’s left us, but why didn’t she invite us here when she could have shown us around herself?”

  Perdita could feel her control slipping again. She needed air, a chance to think and to talk to her sister.

  “If you could email those details to Piper and myself, we’ll discuss them and I’ll contact you when we’ve made a decision. Do you have a card?”

  “Of course,” he said, handing her his business card, which she slid into her handbag.

  “One last thing, Mr Mackensie, how did you know I was at The Orwell Hotel?”

  Alistair Mackensie reached for a file on his desk and opened it. Perdita looked at the list of names, hers was near the top.

  “Jerusalem and Marquess House have been funding your dig in Dale,” he said. “Mary knew you were here too. I think she was hoping to visit the site, maybe see you, but…”

  He let the sentence hang. Perdita’s eyes filled with tears as she turned away.

  “Let me show you out,” said Mackensie, and led them back to the front door.

  “Get me out of here,” Perdita muttered as soon as they were in the car. Gunning the engine, Warren roared down the drive, leaving an impressive shower of gravel in their wake.

  “Are you OK?” he asked as they turned out of the gates and back into the lane. “Did you know about her estate?”

  Perdita shook her head. “I’m stunned,” she replied. “I had no idea she was so rich. Where did all the money come from?”

  “It wouldn’t take long to do a genealogical sweep, you might have had some rich ancestors. Money like this is usually inherited not earned,” he mused. “The basics of your family tree will be in the censuses but I have a friend who could look into it for you. It might offer a few clues as to where it all came from. You might still find your title!”

  Somewhat reluctantly, Perdita smiled. “Interesting idea,” she said. “There might be a family tree in the library…” She broke off, staring out of the car window at the sun-dappled Pembrokeshire coastline as the reality of the situation filtered through her numb brain. “Oh my God, Warren,” she whispered. “It’s got a library! Piper and I own a house with a Tudor library.”

  “You do,” he said, relieved Perdita was sounding more like herself again. “Why didn’t you want to look around? I was itching to nose about.”

  “I need to talk to Piper first,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “She’s my twin sister, we’ve always done everything together — I can’t start exploring the house until she knows about it. Anyway, she has a right to say what she wants to do with the inheritance too. It isn’t only mine.”

  Back at the hotel, Perdita walked across the bedroom, flinging off her clothes as she went, and dragged out her shorts, a T-shirt, sweatshirt and her boots from the wardrobe.

  “What are you doing?” asked Warren, watching her from his vantage point, leaning on the closed door.

  “Going to the dig,” she replied. “I need to do something normal while I try to make sense of this and wait until a decent hour to ring Pipes.”

  “OK,” he said. “I get that…”

  “And, much as I hate to say it,” said Perdita, walking to Warren and putting her arms around him, “you, my darling, need to go home. You’re supposed to be in France in three days’ time on a research and lecture tour.”

  “Perds, you’ve had a huge shock…” he began.

  “Yes,” she interrupted, “but I’m also a grown up and able to look after myself.”

  “You’re right,” he said, then unable to contain himself: “Are you going to accept the legacy?”

  “Of course I’m going to accept it!” she said, laughing as she disentangled herself from their embrace, before finishing getting changed.

  “What if Piper doesn’t want it?” he continued.

  “She will. Anyway, we’d be mad not to grab it with both hands. How many people are ever offered the opportunity to own a property like Marquess House? Practically no one! Imagine what’s in its archive, the scope for research is incredible.”

  “Perhaps your grandmother has already exhausted the Tudor papers,” he said. “After all, she switched eras to pre-Conquest women.”

  “Maybe she did, but I might spot something she missed.” She scrutinised his face. “Is that relief in your eyes, Professor Dexter, Mediaeval weapons expert?”

  “Absolutely, did you see the armour in the entrance hall, and the swords? Some of them were definitely Mediaeval. One could have been a fourteenth century French estoc, if it’s original — and if the John Singer Sargent portrait of your ancestor is anything to go by, it could be — it might be one of the few surviving examples. Not only that, imagine the art collection…”

  “Indeed! Imagine the art collection and the research centre and her horses? What’s that all about? Did she own racehorses or something?”

  “Who knows?”

  Perdita picked up the smart handbag she had taken with her to the meeting and began decanting things back into the battered leather rucksack she used on digs. Picking up her car keys, she slung the bag over her shoulder and headed to the bedroom door. When she reached it, she turned to Warren and said, almost as a peace offering, “You could come down later. Olaf is convinced the ship is part of the Armada. He might like your opinion on the ordnance they’ve found inside. Personally, I think it’s a bit later, possibly Jacobean. Anyway, there don’t seem to be enough cannons on board for it to be a warship.”

  Warren walked across the room loosening his tie. “I’d be happy to take a look, as long as I’m not stepping on any toes,” he said. “And, if you’re sure dealing with this alone is what you want, then I’ll stay tonight and go home tomorrow.”

  Perdita nodded, her hand already twisting the door handle, such was her eagerness to be out in the sunshine and back to her normal life for a while.

  “See you this afternoon,” she said and blew a kiss as she darted out.

  The main reason Perdita wanted to call her sister from the dig was that she wanted complete privacy. Much as she loved Warren, she did not want him pacing about in the background while she spoke to Piper. The two had never got on and she could do without his tutting. The computer buzzed. Perdita pressed accept and her sister’s face appeared on the screen.

  “Piper!”

  “Hey, big sis!” replied her twin, who was younger by fifteen minutes. “Is this real?” She waved a few sheets of paper at Perdita. “I printed out the email like you suggested. This is a joke, right?”

  “No joke! Did you see the pictures of the house?”

  “Yes, it’s the one, isn’t it? The one she took us to when we were kids. Although, she didn’t take us anywhere, did she? We were visiting Granny at home!” Perdita nodded, allowing her sister to babble. “Perds, this is madness. The woman never spoke to us, why would she leave us her estate?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it and I wondered whether it was some kind of primogeniture thing, only through the female line, rather than the male, giving her no choice but to leave it to us. When I asked the solicitor, Mr Mackensie, what would happen if we were to refuse the estate…”

  “What?” she yelped.

&nb
sp; “I had to ask, he was so pleased with himself, I wanted to ruffle his feathers,” continued Perdita, and Piper grinned, understanding Perdita’s motives. “He said the estate would continue to be run under various covenants and trusts that were put in place by our great-great-great grandmother, Lettice Hawkland, so perhaps Mary had to leave it to us.”

  “It’s possible, but equally, we were estranged from Mary and she had plenty of time to change the covenants and trusts. She also had enough money to ensure they were acted upon once she was dead, but she didn’t. From what you’ve said, and from what Mackensie wrote in his email, she left a detailed will which made it absolutely clear we were to get everything and it was signed on our eighteenth birthday.”

  “But why?”

  Piper shrugged. “It is peculiar. By the way, Lettice? What a great name! And, what’s this about horses?”

  “No idea,” grinned Perdita. “Maybe we own a string of racehorses too!”

  They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “This is crazy!” exclaimed Piper. “What are we going to do? Accept it, obviously?”

  “Of course! Pipes, you should see the place, it’s incredible, and it has a library and a research centre and a lake with an island…”

  “We must have loved it when we were young,” said Piper. “Before she walked out on us, of course, and Dad stopped talking about her.”

  The words cut through their excitement and for a moment they were little girls again, flinching as their father berated them for asking about their maternal grandmother, forbidding them to raise the subject or mention her name.

  “There’s something else too,” said Perdita, her voice hesitant.

  “What?”

  “Have you looked at the list of properties we now own?”

  “Not closely no, why?”

  “Dad’s house, our home in London, it’s on the list. It belonged to Mary.”

  “No way?” said Piper, running her eyes down the list until she found it. “We moved there after Mum died and I assumed Dad rented because he didn’t want to tie himself to anywhere permanently. You know what he was like.”