The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 4

  “It would also explain why, after he died, the letting agency told us the rent was paid until the end of the year so there was no need to worry about clearing it. We could take as long as we needed. It belonged to our grandmother. She’d given us a beautiful home and never taken any credit.”

  “It does explain things, Perds. I always wondered how Dad afforded the rent on a five bedroom house in Chiswick on the money he earned from selling his paintings.”

  “It makes me feel a bit queasy, though. Mary gave us somewhere to live, perhaps paid our bills, maybe even supported Dad financially — but she didn’t come near us. Why?”

  “I suppose the only way to find out is to ask Mackensie, but I suspect he won’t tell us…”

  “Or, I could move into Marquess House and see if Mary left an explanation somewhere for us to find,” suggested Perdita.

  “Do you want to?” asked Piper in surprise. “Aren’t you going to France with Warren?”

  “Yes, but that isn’t for another month and only for a two-week holiday at the end of his tour. The dig finishes next Friday and term doesn’t start at the university until September, that’s if I go back.”

  “But you love your job!”

  “Yes and no,” said Perdita. “I spend most of my time chasing sponsors and funding. It’ll be even worse this year as they’re discussing reducing the staff in my department. Mary’s inheritance gives us both the opportunity to follow our dreams. For me, that means I can do my own research rather than having to crowbar it into something deemed useful by the university, and for you, well, you can finally set up your own studio. We might even be able to sponsor other people too.”

  “But Perds…” Piper interrupted.

  Perdita shook her head and kept going. She was concerned that, if she stopped, she might change her mind. “Let me finish. I’ve been thinking about it since I left Marquess House this morning. You’re in America for at least another eight months, maybe longer. Warren will be back in Bristol, there’s no need for me to go back to Dad’s, especially as it’s our house anyway.”

  “What about your flat?”

  “Rory has finally bought me out,” she said, referring to her former fiancé. “So, apart from collecting my things, which are minimal, a few books and clothes, I have no reason to go back to London. Anyway, if I’m at Marquess House, I can sort out all the paperwork, explore the house and…”

  “Maybe understand our grandmother’s motives,” finished Piper.

  “Yes.”

  Perdita lifted her hand to touch the screen and Piper did the same. More than anything, they both knew they were looking for any trace of their mother, Louisa, in their grandmother’s life.

  They continued to talk, catching up on each other’s lives. Piper was in America with her husband, Jeremy Davidson, a computer analyst who was on secondment with the US arm of the large blue-chip company he worked for in London. Piper was a talented artist, specialising in sculpture, but to earn a living, she used her other talent, IT, working at the Tate Modern helping to curate exhibitions. She had been given a year’s sabbatical to accompany her husband to Austin, Texas, and had been gone three months; it was the longest the twins had ever been apart.

  “Will you come back for the funeral?” asked Perdita.

  “Yes, I think so. You said it wouldn’t be for another week or so, which gives me time to sort a few things out here.”

  “What things?” Perdita noticed a dip in her sister’s tone.

  “Oh, you know, things,” sighed Piper, then her smile faltered and she took a deep breath. “Jeremy and I are finding America difficult.”

  “Meaning?” said Perdita, alarmed.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing, just pressure of work. I’ll tell you when I see you,” said Piper, not quite meeting Perdita’s eye.

  “If things aren’t going well with you two, do you really want to come all this way? Wouldn’t you rather stay there and sort things out?”

  “Honestly, Perds, he’s being so horrible, I could do with a break. Anyway, I’d like to see the house, meet everyone, speak to the horses…”

  Perdita managed a smile, despite her concern.

  “So, what’s your next move, Perds?” asked Piper, changing the subject.

  “I’ll call Mackensie, tell him that we, of course, graciously accept our inheritance and that I’ll be moving in next week. Once I’m there, I can go through the will properly and try to find out what happened between Granny Mary and Dad to cause such a devastating fracture in their relationship.”

  A shadow passed over both their faces.

  “We haven’t called her that for years,” said Piper.

  “Not since Mum died,” replied Perdita, her voice tight with unshed tears. “I wish you were here, this is so — unbelievable.”

  “I’ll be home in a week, you won’t have to hold the fort for long.”

  Perdita nodded. In the background behind Piper, she heard a door slam and Jeremy’s voice.

  “OK, Perds, I’d better go, keep me posted,” said Piper, her face tense. “Maybe Mackensie could book me some first class tickets home.”

  “Of course,” replied Perdita. “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you more,” said Piper and, with a brief touch of the screen from them both, Perdita watched her sister’s face disappear.

  Chapter Two

  For some time after she had spoken to her sister, Perdita gazed out of the window, watching the land-based part of proceedings. Although her eyes slid over the activity, she took very little in; her mind was on the strange events of the day. There was a tentative tap on the door and Olaf peeped in.

  “All OK?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes, come in,” replied Perdita, jumping to her feet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to commandeer your office.”

  “It isn’t only mine,” he replied. “Was Piper OK?”

  She and Olaf had been work colleagues and friends for years. She knew he would never pry, but she felt she owed him an explanation.

  “Piper is fine,” she said. “I wanted to talk to her about our inheritance.”

  Olaf sat at another desk and placed a cardboard box on the table.

  “Inheritance?” he asked in surprise. “I thought you’d dealt with all your dad’s things. Has something else been found?”

  “Not Dad, my grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?”

  “Mary Fitzroy, the eminent historian, was our estranged grandmother, and she’s left Piper and me her estate.”

  “She was … what? Your grandmother? You’ve never said.”

  “We haven’t seen her since we were children. Mentioning our connection seemed irrelevant,” she replied, glancing at the box.

  He followed her look but to Perdita’s irritation, refused to take the hint and change the subject. Instead, he continued on the more fascinating topic of her unexpected inheritance. “What do you mean by estate?”

  “A massive manor called Marquess House with its own library, chapel and lake with an island, a research centre, houses all around the world, oh and horses. And lots and lots of money.”

  “My God, Perdita, that’s unbelievable!”

  Perdita bit her lip and nodded, saying it aloud to Olaf made it more real.

  “I have to ring the solicitor and tell him we accept, then I suppose there will be endless paperwork, inheritance tax and stuff to sort out. We’ve barely finished dealing with Dad’s estate and that was tiny in comparison with what Mary’s left us.”

  She turned away, gazing out of the window, lost in thought.

  “I’m not sure if this is appropriate,” said Olaf tentatively after a few moments of silence, “but would you like to see what was in the treasure chest?”

  “What?” She spun around in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be able to get inside it until you were back in the lab!”

  “Ordinarily, we wouldn’t, but the box was nearly rotten and it disintegrated once it was out of the water. It’s a real shame but we man
aged to save a few of the pieces. On the positive side, there were still items inside.”

  “Items? Plural?” said Perdita in excitement.

  Olaf nodded and opened the cardboard box.

  “Most are too delicate to handle at present, but there is one we thought you might like to cast your expert eye over, and Maggie wondered if it would cheer you up too.”

  Perdita was touched by the consideration. She took the cotton gloves Olaf proffered then leaned in to look at the treasure where it nestled in layers of protective packaging.

  “Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I’d say seventeenth century…”

  “Very good, it’s June 1642,” interrupted Olaf.

  “That’s extremely precise,” laughed Perdita, “is it engraved somewhere?”

  “On the side.”

  “May I?” she asked, her hand hovering above the item. Olaf nodded.

  With great care, Perdita removed the exquisite cup from the box. It was small, approximately the height of a sherry glass, but with a deeper, wider bowl and a thicker stem, giving it a slightly squat appearance. From its weight, she guessed it was made from solid gold. Around the outside of the rim was a row of tiny red gems set flush into the metal so it was still smooth to drink from, and inside, slightly lower down, was a matching row. Many were missing but there were enough left to give a hint of its former magnificence.

  On one side was the date “June 1642”, and on the other, the initials “PF”. However, the most unusual thing about the small vessel were the engravings of mermaids. Endless numbers of the mythical creatures streamed up the short stem and around the bowl, leading to a tiny golden mermaid who sat on the inside of the bowl, poised as though ready to swim. Perdita looked at it for a few moments then carefully turned it over and inspected the base.

  “What do you think?” Olaf interrupted her contemplation.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. It seems to have a clockwork mechanism in the stem which, I imagine, must have made the mermaid swim. Were there any keys in the chest?”

  “Actually, there were three — tiny ones.”

  “I doubt the mechanism works anymore,” said Perdita, “but we might be able to get funding to have a replica made.”

  As she said it, she realised she did not have to worry about such things. Depending on how the research centre worked, she might be able to provide all the necessary money to recreate this beautiful item. It was a strange and not altogether pleasant thought, although she could not explain why it made her feel so apprehensive.

  “On the downside, though,” she said, carefully replacing the cup, “this proves the ship wasn’t from the Armada. The date on the cup is far too late to be part of the Spanish fleet.”

  Olaf shrugged. “I think this could be more interesting, particularly as it looks as though the ship was deliberately sunk with all its cargo but no crew.”

  “But why would anyone do that?” she said. “Ships were worth a fortune. If that’s the case, though, it would be amazing for us. Who knows what other treasure there might be aboard?”

  Her phone buzzed and, glancing down, she saw Alistair Mackensie’s name on the screen.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, “I’d like to get this…” Olaf nodded and wandered from the office to give her some privacy. “Hello…”

  “Dr Rivers, I’m sorry to bother you but…”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Perdita. “I was about to call you. My sister and I have discussed the matter and we’d like to accept our inheritance. In fact, if it’s appropriate, when this dig finishes I’d like to move into Marquess House.”

  “My dear, that’s wonderful news,” he said. “We’ll have your room made ready immediately.”

  “Piper and I would like the date of the funeral too,” added Perdita. “And perhaps we should discuss the details?”

  “Mary left full instructions. She and I had often discussed her wishes. It will be a small service in the chapel here. She’ll then be interred in the family vault. You will, of course, be chief mourner, at Mary’s request, you understand.”

  “My sister will be here too, so we can both be chief mourners,” announced Perdita. “Do you think it would be possible to book her some air tickets? She’d like to see the house and meet everyone, as well as pay her respects.”

  “Of course, my dear,” replied Alistair. “We’ll organise her flight immediately.”

  “Did you want something else?” asked Perdita. “You called me.”

  “No, nothing of any importance. It was merely an enquiry to see if there was anything I could help with while you made your decision,” he said and for some reason Perdita sensed he was lying again. She mentally shook herself, aware she was overreacting. Out of the window she saw Warren arriving.

  “I’ve got to go now, Mr Mackensie. I’ll call you tomorrow to finalise the details.”

  “Of course, my dear, I’ll be here all day.”

  Perdita clicked her phone off and hurried out to greet her fiancé.

  Perdita took one last look around the hotel room, hoisted her rucksack onto her back, grasped the handle of her wheelie case and headed outside. The room had been her home for the past three weeks and her next stop was Marquess House. Now it was happening, she was strangely reluctant to be leaving the sanctuary of the hotel for this new and unexpected world, but as both Piper and Warren had pointed out, if she found Marquess House too overwhelming, she could always leave. The house in Chiswick was still there, as were the numerous other houses, flats, villas and apartments she and Piper now owned.

  Checking out, she forced a smile when the receptionist said, “Good luck with everything at Marquess House, Dr Rivers.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, trying to quash her natural nervousness at someone knowing her business, then reminded herself of what Warren had said: this was a village, not London, and it was considered normal for people to know what was going on around them. Nevertheless, she was relieved Piper would be with her the following day to share this strange adventure for a while.

  A quarter of an hour later, Perdita pulled into the driveway of Marquess House. Following the winding driveway through the grounds, she slowed down enough to be able to gaze around as she drove. It was still hard to believe this was all hers and Piper’s: the undulating lawns, the avenues of rhododendron, valleys of woodland and the lake glinting in the distance. Madness, she sighed to herself, then turned a final corner and the magnificence of Marquess House was revealed again.

  Once more, the scale and grandeur took her breath away. Reaching over for her handbag, she slid out of the car and appraised her new home. Marquess House was a hotchpotch of styles, but despite the varying shades of stone and the obvious age of the tower at the centre of the house, there was a strange cohesion to the different wings. Staring at it, she could not help but like the house. It was so unusual and strangely friendly. Stop it, she told herself, it’s a building, it doesn’t have emotions, it’s stone. Yet, by the time she rang the bell, she realised her sense of trepidation had morphed into excitement. Like a child at Christmas, she could not wait to unwrap this unexpected gift and discover what was inside.

  “Perdita!” exclaimed Kit as he flung open the huge front door. “Welcome home!” He was grinning broadly and Perdita had the feeling he was going to hug her but her natural reserve made him hesitate. “I’ll have someone fetch your luggage from the car once you’ve decided which room to have.”

  He took her arm and led her into the beautiful Tudor hall. Again, the intricacy in the decoration made Perdita gasp. It was even more beautiful than she remembered.

  “This place is like a fairy tale,” she said, her eyes taking in the sumptuousness of the handwoven carpet, the streams of coloured light flowing from the rose window and the swags and posies of flowers carved into the panelling, winding their way up the banisters like a golden rope.

  Kit laughed. “Yes,” he said. “And like a fairy tale, there are hidden perils, particularly with so
me of the plumbing. The downstairs cloakroom in the East Wing is Victorian and it’s an original Thomas Crapper. Like so many other things in the house, it’s listed, so Mary could never replace it. She had it refurbished, as much as she was allowed to anyway, but I’d only use it in an emergency if I were you.”

  Perdita grinned. “Thanks for the tip!”

  Kit led the way through to the working part of the house and once more, Alistair Mackensie greeted her like a long-lost relative.

  “My dear, here you are, safe and sound. Welcome home at last,” he exclaimed, echoing his son. Perdita smiled in response. Safe, she thought, there it is again. “Now, what would you like to do first?”

  “I’d like a tour of the house so I can get my bearings, then I’d like to see where I’m going to live and maybe meet the people who work here.”

  Even in the short time she had been inside she had noticed people whisking about cleaning, walking purposefully from room to room, all of whom had offered curious glances and smiles in her direction; she could also hear the purr of lawn mowers in the garden. “After that, I’m interested in my grandmother’s work. Do you have her manuscripts in the library?”

  “In the research centre,” said Kit. “There are copies of her books in the library but if you want the originals and her research, we’d have to talk to Jenny. It might take her a few days to have it all brought out of storage.”

  “Who’s Jenny?” asked Perdita.

  “Jenny Procter, she runs the research centre and is our chief archivist and librarian,” replied Alistair. “There’s very little Jenny doesn’t know about the house and its history. I can call her now to request she finds Mary’s manuscripts, she’ll be able to give us a rough idea of how long it will take.”

  Perdita nodded and wandered over to the large window with its cushioned seat while Alistair dialled an internal number. Kit joined her.

  “How about we start with a tour of the house? If we have time, maybe some of the grounds to give you a rough idea of where everything is?” he suggested. “That’ll take most of the day. You may even find you remember some of it.”