The Elizabeth Tudor Conspiracy Read online

  “As ever, Alistair,” she said, forcing her voice to sound calm and reasonable, “you are eminently practical. While I concur about the day-to-day running of Marquess House, the issue we have is that there still seem to be secrets you’re keeping on Mary’s behalf, like our titles. We understand she was acting with our best interests at heart but we are now adults and it is up to us to make such decisions. From today, as the eldest, I give you permission to disregard all Mary’s instructions concerning secrecy. Whatever you know, we need to know. In trying to keep us safe, she may inadvertently be keeping key information from us that could be the difference between life and death.”

  Perdita fixed Alistair with what she hoped was a determined but approachable gaze. She had no wish to fall out with him but he did need to stop treating them as though they were the seven-year-old twins who had disappeared from Marquess House all those years ago.

  “Of course,” said Alistair with his usual smile.

  Kit quickly interjected: “In the new climate of transparency, let’s talk about the dig at Dale.”

  “The one Perdita was on in the summer?” asked Piper.

  “Yes,” he said. “You may not have realised but it was funded jointly by Jerusalem and Marquess House. Your grandmother hoped to visit but she was nervous about approaching you in case there was anyone from MI1 observing. Instead she had planned a large party to celebrate the end of the dig in order to meet you. Obviously, things didn’t go to plan.”

  Perdita felt a lump in her throat. She had been so close to meeting her grandmother.

  “Something that you won’t have known is that the land on which the dig took place is part of the Marquess House estate,” added Alistair.

  “Really?” said Perdita.

  “The reason we’re discussing this now is because I’ve had emails from both Dr Olaf Dade, who headed up the underwater team, and Professor Maggie Cartwright, who was overall dig director. We informed them immediately of the change of ownership of the land and while probate and various other legal requirements were observed, all work on the dig and its findings had to be halted. Now, though, all the paperwork is complete and restoration of the artefacts can begin. As the landowners, you have certain rights over the antiquities and what happens to them. There is also the question of the golden mermaid cup and Olaf’s request about returning to the site next year to continue the digs on both land and sea. He also has ambitious plans to raise the wreck.”

  “Would that be possible?” asked Piper. “Raising the wreck? It would cost millions.”

  “Between the two organisations I don’t see why we couldn’t put the funds in place,” said Alistair.

  “Wow,” murmured Piper. “Would we fund it or is that you?”

  “The companies would contribute equal amounts,” said Alistair. “I would suggest that after the wedding, when we can all think straight again, I contact Olaf and propose a meeting to discuss his plans. In the meantime though, he has made a suggestion: Piper, how would you feel about working on the golden cup? Perdita has told me your expertise is sculpture and you use clockwork a great deal. This cup has a strange mechanism within its stem which we think is an early form of clockwork — it was probably what drove the mermaid in the rim. There were also three keys in the box with the cup.”

  Perdita glanced at her sister, who seemed surprised but delighted.

  “Well, I could certainly look at it and see if it’s viable,” said Piper. “Will Olaf be co-ordinating it?”

  “Yes, although, Maggie Cartwright will be taking charge of the artefacts found on land. If you wish to accept the commission, I’ll contact Olaf on your behalf and we’ll draw up some contracts.”

  For the next half an hour, as requested, Alistair talked Perdita and Piper through the most recent events at Marquess House, including the requests for the artist’s flats and studios, the plans for repairing the roof in the Victorian section of the property and the annual cleaning of the attics. Although Perdita knew she had asked for this information, she was soon quite bored and found her attention wandering back to the account books that were waiting for her and Kit in her office. In fact, Alistair was being so dull, she wondered if it was deliberate.

  “And, finally, before you all scurry back to your research,” he said, “Izabel has brought with her the first of the transcripts of the letters your grandmother had been using for her unpublished manuscript, The Ladies of Melusine.”

  Perdita gave her full attention to Alistair.

  “She will also be helping you and Kit,” continued Alistair, “and now that Deborah and her team have finished the project they were completing for Megan, she has offered extra help too.”

  “Thank you,” said Perdita. “It’ll help to speed things up.”

  “Once I’ve sorted out framing the painting, I can help,” offered Piper. “I have the algorithm I use when curating exhibitions. I could adjust it to search the Marquess House and Jerusalem databases to see if there’s any mention of either the ruby ring or the silver locket.”

  “Good idea, Pipes,” grinned Perdita.

  “And, once again, Perdita, I’m sorry you and Piper have had such a difficult transition into your new life at Marquess House. There are no more secrets to be told, I promise.”

  Even though he was smiling and she no reason to doubt him, Perdita felt that Alistair was lying.

  Perdita, Piper and Kit made their way up the stairs from Alistair’s office to the floor above. Once again, Deborah’s librarians had laid out the account books but there was also the welcome addition of Izabel Barnes. She was seated at one end of the long table, reading the report Perdita had begun to write concerning the relevant information they had gleaned so far.

  “Hi guys,” she said, as they entered. “These books are fascinating.”

  Perdita put her computer bag down on the desk and pulled out her laptop, but then she noticed a pile of box files and a small leather case. It was identical to one Jenny had given her months before that had contained USB sticks holding her grandmother’s published and unpublished works.

  “Izi, what’s this?” she asked.

  “A present from Nan,” Izabel replied. “Rather than email it, she thought it would be more secure to give you a USB stick.”

  “What’s on it?” asked Piper.

  “The transcripts of the first section of the Lady Pamela letters, as well as the research from Mary’s other unpublished work and the first draft of the manuscript that was in the box. She had begun writing it, then she abandoned the project.”

  Perdita knew the reason why her grandmother had put all this information into storage: her mother’s tragic death, orchestrated by The Watchers, the name Mary had used for MI1. Yet she could not quash the rush of anticipation she felt at delving into this hidden treasure trove. In Mary’s other unpublished work, The Catherine Howard Anomaly, she had helped them to uncover a huge historical secret. Was it possible her grandmother had discovered even more, perhaps what had happened next? Maybe the inflammatory nature of what she had discovered was the real reason she had hidden this research.

  “If you like,” said Izabel, considering the vast amount of work spread out around the office, “I can cross-reference the report Nan made of the early Lady Pamela letters with the dates you’re researching here?”

  “Wouldn’t that be a massive task?” asked Perdita.

  “Not really. If you remember, the Lady Pamela letters cover quite a broad time period from 1541 to 1662. There aren’t many from the earlier time period, so I could probably do it this morning. It certainly won’t take longer than today.”

  “It might help us to clarify a few points,” agreed Perdita.

  “How many letters were there from 1543 until 1545?” asked Kit.

  Izabel went back to her laptop and, after checking the details, said, “The first year we have an actual dated piece of correspondence is 1541 and there are three letters for that year, then in 1542 there are only two, however, for 1543 there are 15, the nex
t year has 12 letters, then in 1545 there are nine. These numbers are fairly similar until we reach 1586, when there’s an absolute explosion of correspondence which continues until 1589, after that there are only a few per year again until 1648, and then there are loads every year until 1662.”

  “There must be thousands of letters,” said Piper.

  “It’s an incredible resource,” said Izabel. “Nan thinks it could be as important as the Paston letters.”

  Piper threw Perdita a quizzical look.

  “It was a collection of letters discovered by Major Thomas Weldon, the son-in-law of William Paston, the second earl of Yarmouth,” Perdita explained. “Before his death, the earl had been struggling against bankruptcy and after he died, it was down to Weldon to sort through the detritus. Anything of value was sold, but the letters, which were sorted into several sacks, were set aside for burning with the other rubbish until their historical importance was noticed by antiquarian and local historian, the Reverend Francis Blomefield, in late spring 1735.

  “They were mostly personal correspondence and covered the period from 1422 to 1509 — many of which were written during the Wars of the Roses. When they were published they caused a sensation, as they gave a whole new interpretation of the period as seen through the eyes of a family who had lived through the conflict. They were and remain one of the most important sources of Medieval history. If the Lady Pamela letters are anywhere near as informative, then Jenny’s right, they could provide a new interpretation of events, one that MI1 would probably prefer to bury.”

  “Who would have collated them, though?” asked Kit, who was scanning the list Jenny had compiled of the names they had collected from the letters. “These letters are from a wide selection of women who were more likely to be friends than relations.”

  “Yes, but at least one of them was a Paston,” said Izabel. “I wonder if she collected them and created an archive. She may have understood the importance of their letters or it could even have been by chance and she collected them because that’s what the Paston family had always done.”

  “The letters cover 121 years, so she couldn’t have overseen all of them,” pointed out Piper.

  “Who was the woman you were referring to, Izi?” asked Kit.

  “Her name was Katherine Paston and she married Sir Henry Newton, MP for East Harptree in Somerset. What’s fascinating is her connection to the work you’ve been doing.”

  “What do you mean?” said Perdita, a stillness coming over her.

  “Katherine Paston was the daughter of Agnes Leigh,” said Izabel, her eyes not leaving Perdita’s face. “Agnes Leigh was the daughter of Sir John Leigh…”

  “And Sir John Leigh was the half-brother of Catherine Howard,” interrupted Perdita. “This is our link.”

  “How though?” asked Kit.

  “Lady Pamela is descended from the Baynton family,” continued Perdita. “Sir Edward Baynton was married to Lady Isabel Leigh, who was the sister of Sir John Leigh and the half-sister of Catherine Howard, making her and Catherine Howard great-aunts of Katherine Paston. Isabel had three children with Edward: Henry, Francis and Anne.” Perdita glanced at one of the lists of correspondences Jenny had provided and pointed to one name. “I thought so — Elizabeth Talbot, Countess of Shrewsbury, better known as Bess of Hardwick is one of our letter-writers. There’s a crossover here, because Edward’s daughter, Jane, from his first marriage, married William St Loe of Chew Magna in Somerset, who subsequently married as his third wife, Bess of Hardwick. Not only that, the Anne Cavendish who married Edward and Isabel’s son, Henry, was the daughter from Sir William St Loe’s first marriage.”

  “They’re all entangled,” said Piper.

  “It’s quite incredible,” said Perdita. “All these connections and all leading to Lady Pamela. Katherine Paston must have understood the importance of what they were doing and collated all the letters from this particular group of women. Is Penelope Fitzalan on the list of corresponders?”

  “Yes,” said Izabel, after consulting the list. “Her letters appear in the later sections, but we haven’t transcribed those yet.”

  Perdita looked triumphant. “‘A secret she was prepared to die to protect’,” she quoted. “I bet the Lady Pamela letters contain a secret, too, and I suspect the packet of letters Penelope hid behind the portrait will fit perfectly into the timeframe and dates with this collection.”

  “But if these letters hold such a contentious secret, wouldn’t it have been discovered before now?” asked Kit.

  Perdita looked into his blue eyes. “Spoken like a man,” she said, although her tone was not unkind. “You forget, Kit, women’s chatter was deemed unimportant. Letters written by women were unlikely to have been taken seriously — after all, what could they write about that would be of interest to men? Yet these women were at the heart of the courts of England. They were often married to high-ranking members of the privy council. Many of them were ladies-in-waiting to the different queens. These women can give a unique perspective on what was happening and, if they were involved in keeping a secret, don’t you think it might include what happened after Catherine Howard gave birth? The very fact they were written by women is what has protected that secret for so long.”

  Perdita turned away to stare at the long boardroom table. It was covered in ancient books, piles of notes, reports and the box files Izabel had brought with her. For a moment, Perdita felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information they had to assimilate into some kind of coherent whole. Looking for references for a ruby ring and a silver locket could take them years.

  “Where do we even begin to unravel all this?” she sighed. “There’s so much to search through.”

  Walking the length of the table she took several deep breaths and forced herself to calm down. Prioritise, she told herself, what’s the most important task? Finding references to the jewellery to see if that can give us any clues to the identities of Catherine Howard’s children, she thought. However, even that splits our attention — we need to focus on one thing at a time. But, which one: the ring or the locket?

  “Perds?” asked Kit, tentatively.

  “I’ve got a plan,” she said, turning to face them. “We’re nearly through the books for 1543, perhaps between us —” she pointed to herself, Kit and Piper — “we can go through the rest and see if there are any references to either the ring or the locket and which piece of jewellery was given to which child. While we’re doing that, Izi, perhaps you could do the same with the letters we have for this time period, cross-referencing with the information we’ve already found?”

  There were general nods of agreement and movement towards the table as they began to organise themselves.

  “These books are our best clue as to what happened in the immediate aftermath of the birth of the twins,” said Perdita. “Hopefully the letters will pick up the continuing story.”

  Perdita returned to the book she had been working on the previous week and consulted her notes. Opening it to the correct date, she once more began the painstaking work of searching for clues.

  An hour later, as Perdita turned one of the pages and a cloud of dust puffed into the air, she sneezed. It was the first noise any of them had made since they had begun. There was a flurry of murmured “Bless yous” but nobody stirred, such was their intent on finding something relevant. Perdita closed the account book for June and after placing it to one side, moved to July. As she once again worked her way through the orders for grain, milk, barley and linen, she began to wonder if this was a waste of time and whether she would be better off reading the letters Jenny and her team had begun to transcribe, when something caught her eye.

  “Kit, may I borrow your magnifying glass?” she asked.

  “Here,” he said, passing over a large, plastic-handled glass. “Have you found something?”

  “Not sure, give me a moment.”

  She lined up the glass and squinted through it. Reading the words, her heart began to race.<
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  “Perds, use this,” said Kit, appearing by her side. He flicked a few switches and the huge computer monitor in the middle of the table buzzed into life. He was holding a camera-pen. “Hold it over the words and it’ll come up on screen.”

  “Perfect,” she said, and with great care she pointed the sleek silver tube at the words written over 400 years earlier. Kit, Piper and Izabel crowded around to share her discovery.

  “The tiny writing at the bottom,” said Perdita. “I think it says: ‘Paid the same day by her ladyship’s commandment to the engraver, Jacob Bryers, for the repair and decoration of Master Nicholas’s locket…’”

  “It does,” breathed Kit, leaning close to the screen to study the magnified image. “It isn’t conclusive proof, but I think we can assume with some confidence that this is a reference to the missing silver locket. Unless we find something to contradict this, we can presume the locket went to the son and the ruby ring went to the daughter.”

  “Which means, if we can find references to either piece of jewellery in other letters or documents elsewhere, we know approximately where each child was situated,” said Perdita, her voice bubbling with excitement. “The question is, which one do we search for first?”

  “Can’t we do them both together?” asked Piper.

  “I think it would spread our resources too thin,” replied Perdita. “We have one reference to the locket — do we have any to the ring in the letters, Izi?”

  “Twelve,” replied Izabel.

  “What?” asked Perdita, astounded.

  “They’re mentioned in the letters from this time period,” she said. “The letters don’t say much, only that the child went on a journey and this one —” she pointed to short note — “confirms the ring was with the child when she left ‘Lady A for the North’.”

  “Which corroborates what we found in the account books,” said Kit.

  Perdita considered the information for a moment, then made a decision.

  “I think we should search for the ruby ring and Catherine’s missing daughter first,” she said. “It makes more sense to focus on one at a time, and if there are already that many comments about the ring in the letters, I suspect there will be more. We need to discover who Catherine’s daughter went on to become. The biggest explosion of letters is between 1586 to 1589, which would be in the reign of Elizabeth I. By then the baby would have been 45. I think this is where we might discover her true identity.”