At the end of the gallery she decided to buy some time. So she grabbed the last two iron rails, swinging them both around and blocking the path crosswise. The people behind her stopped at the velvet rope, which caused traffic to congeal, her two pursuers trapped at the rear. She caught the quizzical looks, visitors thinking she was someone official and that they could not proceed any farther.
But she didn’t hang around to explain, darting into a doorway and turning left, hustling down what was labeled the Cartoon Gallery. Fifty more people filled the gallery admiring the ambience. She caught sight of a video camera high in the corner at the far end, right of the exit doorway, and realized she was going to have to avoid those.
She heard a shout from behind and saw Pazan and her pal appear twenty meters away. She turned another corner and passed through one elegant room after another, identified as the Queen’s bedchamber, dining room, dressing room, and drawing room.
In the last one she hooked right.
A man blocked her way.
MALONE SLIPPED PAST THE CROWD AND REENTERED THE CUMBERLAND Suite, finding Tanya Carlton and asking, “What happened?”
“She snatched the papers you gave me and left. Threatened to arrest me.”
He’d wondered what Richards would do, so he’d provided her an opportunity. True, she had the information from the unprotected files but, to his way of thinking, there wasn’t much there.
Nothing at all, in fact.
“You don’t seemed surprised,” Tanya said.
“I’m not.”
“I must say, Mr. Malone, I think you are a bit of a conjurer.”
“Comes from getting burned by dishonest people.”
“What will she do now?”
He shrugged. “Go back where she came from. Or at least we can only hope.”
He had a new problem.
Helping the CIA.
“Mary told me that you and young Ian might have saved that woman’s life,” Tanya said. “Strange way for her to repay the debt.”
“But not unusual in my former line of work.”
“I managed to read the papers before she took them. Nothing there shocking. Not to me, anyway. But I have long been familiar with this legend.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’d like to talk with you some more, but with fewer people around.”
“Then we must see the gardens. They are magnificent. We can have a lovely walk in the sunshine.”
He liked this woman, just as he’d liked her sister.
They exited the Cumberland Suite and returned to the outer gallery, which remained noisy and crowded.
Two men appeared to their right.
Both faces he recognized.
The officers from the bookstore, out of uniform, dressed casually, both of whom appeared not to have forgotten what happened earlier. One had a nasty knot to his left forehead.
“We have a bit of a problem,” he whispered. “Seems there are some people here who would like to detain us.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Can you get us out of the building?”
“I worked here for many years as a guide, before being assigned to the gift shop. I know Hampton Court intimately.”
He pointed out the two problems. A small camera hung from the ceiling in one corner of the gallery. He’d seen others throughout. That meant people were watching, and dodging those electronic eyes would be tough.
“Angry-looking chaps,” she said. “Who are these men?”
Excellent question. Probably MI6. “Some type of police.”
“I’ve never been arrested before,” Tanya said.
“It’s not fun, and usually leads to a lot of other bad things.”
“Then it is no bother, Mr. Malone. No bother at all. I can make our escape.”
Forty
HENRY VIII FATHERED AT LEAST TWELVE CHILDREN. EIGHT OF those were either stillborn or miscarried, six by his first wife, Katherine of Aragon, and two by his second wife, Anne Boleyn. Three were legitimate. Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward, all mothered by different women. One was illegitimate, Henry FitzRoy, born in 1519 to Henry’s mistress Elizabeth Blount. FitzRoy itself is a surname that meant “son of the king” and was commonly used by the illegitimate sons of royalty. Henry openly acknowledged FitzRoy, his firstborn child by any woman, calling him his worldly jewel, making him at age six the Earl of Nottingham, Duke of Somerset, and Duke of Richmond, the title Henry himself held before becoming king. He was raised like a prince in Yorkshire and Henry held a special place for the boy, especially considering, at the time, his wife, Katherine of Aragon, had failed to give birth to a son. FitzRoy was proof, in Henry VIII’s mind, that the problem did not lie with him. Which was why he pressed so hard to have his marriage to Katherine annulled—so that he could find a wife who could actually provide him a legitimate heir.
Henry took a personal interest in FitzRoy’s upbringing. He was made lord high admiral of England, lord president of the Council to the North, warden of the marches towards Scotland, and lord-lieutenant of Ireland. Many believe that if Henry had died without a legitimate son there would have been a Henry IX in the form of FitzRoy, his illegitimacy be damned. An act made its way through Parliament that specifically disinherited Henry’s first legitimate born, Mary, and permitted the king to designate his successor, whether legitimate or not.
But fate altered that course.
FitzRoy died in 1536, eleven years before his father. The same tuberculosis that would eventually claim Henry’s second son, Edward, at fifteen stole the life from FitzRoy at seventeen. But not before FitzRoy married Mary Howard. She was the daughter of the second most senior noble in England, her grandfather the most senior. They were joined in 1533 when Mary was fourteen and FitzRoy fifteen.
Henry VIII’s older brother, Arthur, had died at age sixteen, never ascending to the throne. Henry always believed that too much sexual activity hastened his brother’s death, so he forbade FitzRoy and Mary from consummating their marriage until they were older. That command was ignored and Mary became pregnant, giving birth to a son in 1534. The child was raised in secret by the Howard family, far from London, his existence concealed from the king, who never knew he’d become a grandfather.