Miss Mary smiled in her warm way. “Of course. I’m as curious as you seem to be.”
WHEN MY FATHER SERVED THE QUEEN I, ALONG WITH A GREAT MANY, WONDERED why she never married. King Henry was obsessive in his desire to secure a male heir. Queen Mary likewise tried and failed to birth a child. There were many offers of marriage toward Elizabeth, both domestic and foreign. Lord Robert Dudley seemed the favorite, but my father openly despised him and the queen publicly bowed to his will and did not marry Dudley. The queen also rejected Philip II of Spain, Archduke Charles of Austria, and two French princes. When Parliament urged a marriage or the nomination of an heir, the queen refused to do either. Since my father knew the truth, he understood why that could not be. But every offer, every insistence, every Parliamentary urging was maximized for political advantage. She told the House of Commons that, “in the end, this shall be sufficient, that a marble stone shall declare that a queen, having reigned such a time, lived and died a virgin.”
For the poets she became the virgin queen, married to her kingdom, under the divine protection of heaven. “All my husbands, my good people,” were the words used on more than one occasion. But the queen was not unmindful of the duty to ensure that the kingdom survive. The fear of civil war was great. So it came to be that he urged me to correspond with James, king of Scotland, son of Mary, Queen of Scots, whom he’d executed for treason. In conciliation of that unavoidable act I was to offer that James assume the throne of England upon the queen’s death. In return, James would cease all opposition and threats toward the English crown. The Scotsman harbored deep resentment for what happened to his mother, but the prospect of the throne eased his anger. He was a shallow man, with few principles, easily swayed. So, when the queen died, the succession occurred without one drop of spilled blood.
I came to admire and respect the imposter. He governed with care and wisdom. My father likewise held him in high esteem. I often wonder if the true Elizabeth would have faired better or worse. What England received was a monarch who ruled forty-five years, providing much needed stability. The imposter was blessed with a countenance unlike his Tudor ancestors, one that provided him long life and reasonable health. In the only other time we spoke of his substitution he told me of his mother and father.
“Our dear mother died before we became queen. We regret she never lived to know. We never saw each other again, once Thomas Parry returned us to Overcourt and we became the princess.”
“But twelve years passed before you rose to the throne.”
“That it did. My mother lived for eleven of those. Lady Ashley and Parry kept me informed as to her life and health. I was told that she was pleased with all that happened. She loved my father dearly, but hated my grandfather, King Henry. On the day Parry took me to Overcourt she told me that it was right and just that this be happening. I would finally become a Tudor, in every way. Her wish was that I would one day become queen. That thought frightened me. But I have since become accustomed to my duty and comfortable with my charge.”
I noticed that when he spoke, for the first time, the label for himself became not “us” or “we” but “me” and “I.” Here was a man, a son, who’d never asked for what befell him but who likewise had not failed in his duty.
“You are the ruler of this nation. Your word is our command,” I told him.
“Except for one fact, dear Robert. One fact that might one day become overriding.”
I knew of what he spoke since I too had considered that since he was not the princess Elizabeth, he was not the rightful and lawful ruler of England. Every act done in his name would be void ab initio, from the beginning, as more of the fraud.
As if he never existed.
Fifty
GARY USED THE CROWD, MAKING HIS WAY TOWARD THE EXIT gate, still a hundred feet away from Antrim. Though clearly aware of the woman and man behind him, Antrim had not, as yet, noticed the two men at the gate. If he did, why keep heading straight toward them?
While Antrim had been inside the Jewel House, Gary had roamed the walks, admiring the White Tower rising to his right. He’d listened to the colorfully dressed Beefeaters as they entertained groups gathered around one spot after another. Everything here seemed attached not to the present, but the past. History was not a subject he enjoyed in school, but here it was all around him. What a difference from words on a page, or images on a video screen. Surrounding him was one of the oldest fortresses in England, where men had died defending the walls, and something was happening.
Right now.
Right here.
He focused again on Antrim, who continued to hustle toward the exit. The two men still stood at the gate, and Gary watched as one of them reached beneath his jacket. He caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster, similar to one his dad owned, and knew what was there. No weapon was displayed, but the hand stayed beneath the jacket, tucked away, out of view.
Ready.
Antrim kept coming.
Gary was now fifty feet away, still among the crowds.
No one had noticed him.
Antrim stopped, his gaze now focused ahead at the two men.
Surprise and concern filled his face.
The woman and the other man were closing from behind.
Time to act.
ANTRIM SAW THERE WAS NOWHERE TO GO. THE ONLY EXIT from the Tower grounds was blocked by two men. Any retreat would take him straight to Denise. He’d made a deal with the devil and now the Daedalus Society had decided he, too, was a liability. True, he had several million of their dollars in the bank, but none of that would do him any good dead. He was mad at himself for all of the mistakes he’d apparently made. This operation, which he’d hoped might be his salvation, had turned into a nightmare.