A Dangerous Inheritance

‘Let me see that marriage contract,’ I say, and Harry passes it to me. ‘It was dated 1484?’

‘Yes, sweetheart.’

‘The same date as the portrait downstairs, the one of the girl in blue. I wonder if this is her marriage contract.’ I read the tortuous legal script. ‘“William Herbert, Earl of Huntingdon, covenants with King Richard III to take the King’s daughter, Dame Katherine Plantagenet, to wife before Michaelmas of that year.” There is more, about the marriage settlement. Harry, it must be her, the girl in the picture! That could be her marriage portrait.’

‘It’s possible, my love, but we can’t know for certain.’

‘She isrichly dressed, and that pendant must have been costly – fit for a king’s daughter. I think it’s her.’

‘Well, it may be …’

‘She was your ancestress.’

‘I don’t think so. My father is the Earl of Huntingdon’s nephew. Huntingdon left only a daughter. I’m sure my father would be delighted to tell you more of the family history if you ask him. He’s inordinately proud of it.’

We are nearly finished now. Harry is poring over the family tree, absorbed in the lineage of his ancestors, so I carefully untie the rotten ribbon and begin looking at the yellowing papers, which are all written in the same faint hand. They are very thin and very fragile, and prone to tearing along the creases.

‘Look at this!’ Harry says suddenly. He is dangling something bright and shiny, a diamond-shaped pendant on a chain. Old-fashioned as it is, it is of gold, and cu

‘I recognise it!’ I cry. ‘It’s the pendant the girl is wearing – the girl in the portrait. The very same.’

‘Really?’ And before I can say anything, Harry leaps up and bounds down the stairs. ‘Yes, you’re right, my sweetheart,’ he says as he returns, a little breathless. ‘It is the same pendant.’

Now that I know it was hers, I want it for my own. I ca

Harry leans forward and clasps the pendant around my neck. ‘There, it suits you!’

Then suddenly, inexplicably, I am filled with a sense of despair, so powerful that I feel I might faint. I rip off the pendant, fearing it must be bewitched.

‘I ca

‘I suppose my parents would disapprove of it too,’ he concurs, ‘even though it was made long ago. You may keep it all the same.’

Reluctantly, I put the pendant in my pocket. But I am deeply troubled by the effect it had on me. That beckoning hand, my strange affinity with the girl in blue, the dream, and that dreadful feeling of despair … What could they all mean? Are they somehow co

Resolutely, I turn back to the papers.

The old-fashioned script is hard to read, and although I persevere, it is not easy to decipher the words. But suddenly it becomes clear that these are no mere letters, as I read something that strikes a strange chill into me, even on this beautiful su

Kate

13th June 1483. The Tower of London and Crosby Hall, London.

The guards at the entrance gateway to the Tower whistled appreciatively at the two girls. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening; in fact, the place was quiet. Kate approached one of the sentries.

‘My father is the Duke of Gloucester,’ she told him, as he eyed her sceptically. ‘Is he within?’

‘And my father’s the King of England!’ the man retorted.

‘Very well, I shall wait over there until the Duke comes, and then you shall believe me,’ Kate said with dignity.

‘Show him the pendant,’ Mattie whispered.

Kate drew the package from her velvet purse and unwrapped it. The large sapphire glinted in the sunlight. ‘Now do you believe me?’ she challenged.

The man was dumbfounded. ‘I crave your pardon, lady. We get all sorts of nutters here. Yes, the Duke is in council in Caesar’s Tower – the big white keep yonder. I was on duty when he arrived. He came out for an hour or so, with his henchmen – but then he returned. He didn’t look too happy.’

‘Oh, no!’ Kate said. Something was amiss, as she had feared.

‘Go on in, my lady. The public are allowed into the Tower. We’re just here to keep out troublemakers.’

The sentry waved the girls through the gateway, and they found themselves in the outer bailey, walking past the great barred water-gate where the Thames lapped at the steps. Mattie knew her way around the Tower well.

‘I’ve been here before, my lady,’ she revealed. ‘My uncle brought me to see the lions and other beasts in the menagerie; he’s one of the warders here. We’ve had supper at his house a few times.’

To their left was one of the i

‘There’s someone up there,’ she said to Mattie. ‘Is she a prisoner?’

‘I can’t see anyone,’ Mattie said. Kate was puzzled. The girl was still there. But Mattie was walking on, leading her through an archway, then along a narrow passageway. In front of them was a massive gateway, next to what was obviously Caesar’s Tower, built of white stone; to the right was a high wall with buildings behind it.

‘That’s the royal palace,’ Mattie said. ‘We’re not allowed to go in there. That big gatehouse ahead – that’s the entrance, the Coldharbour Gate.’

‘The King is in there somewhere,’ Kate said. Poor boy, she thought, spending his days in regal isolation, surrounded by a court of adults, and required not only to do his lessons but also to learn about the heavy business of governing his subjects. He was expected to attend council meetings, her father had told her, but had been excused of late because he was suffering from some malady of the jaw that his physician could not alleviate.

Things would be better for him when he had his brother for company. Her father’s determination to bring the Duke of York here was a wise resolve, and showed how much he had his nephews’ welfare at heart.

Kate and Mattie emerged from the passageway on to Tower Green, a wide-open grassy space in the Tower’s i

There were few people about. Some men-at-arms were sitting dicing on a bench. A couple of their fellows stood guard nearby at the Coldharbour Gate. On Tower Green, in front of the chapel, some workmen were sawing wood. There was no one else in sight, although Kate could hear horses neighing and snorting nearby.

Then suddenly there were shouts from the other side of the Coldharbour Gate.