PROLOGUE
LONDON – APRIL 1538
Blood.It is on my kerchief when I cough, it is the metallic taste in my mouth which nothing can cleanse and yet, every day, I feel there is blood on my hands. Invisible to all but me.
I have lived without them for two years – my daughter, my son. My other daughter, for her own safety, lives away from our family with its tainted lineage and its cursed name.
He did this to me as an act of revenge. He destroyed us all, one by one by one, in a myriad of devious and wicked ways. None challenge him. None know the truth, but one day, my tale will be told. I shall reveal his villainy, his cruelty and the evil blackness of his sorcerer’s heart.
My words are written and hidden inside the book from Cerensthorpe Abbey. When I die, which will be soon, the book will pass to my remaining child. Her guardianship will endure, as will her line, until the day, when one shall come who will hear the curlews without fear, who will watch the white falcon rise again and catch her feathers as they drift across time. When this woman arrives, our truths will be told and the real reason behind the fall of the Boleyns will be writ large at last.
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
With the death of my girl
And my boy,
So dies your line,
So dies your name,
By Tudor blood the Tudors slain.
In broken faith, in broken trust.
Crown and cradle, dust to dust.
—ELIZABETH BOLEYN, COUNTESS OF WILTSHIRE.
1
CERENSTHORPE ABBEY, HAMPSHIRE – SEPTEMBER, PRESENT DAY
‘Gulliver is coming home.’
Tabitha Mundy looked up from her spreadsheet as Edith Swanne entered the long room that had been converted into an office and workspace. ‘When?’ she asked, saving her work and smiling at the older lady.
Edith hovered beside her, a battered iPad clutched to her Aran cardigan as though it were a shield. Her knuckles were white above her perfect red nails, painted the same shade for decades, showing her nervousness. Edith placed the device on the table and, after a few grumbles, managed to reopen her emails.
‘Today,’ she replied.
‘Does he say how long he’ll be staying?’ Tabitha asked.
‘No,’ replied Edith, a hint of concern in her voice, ‘unless he’s put one of those attachments on the bottom. Would you check please, dear?’
‘Of course,’ she said and glanced at the message as Edith pushed the tablet towards her. There was no tell-tale paperclip symbol to indicate more information, simply two terse lines stating an estimated time of arrival at Cerensthorpe Abbey and acommand not to wait up. ‘There’s nothing,’ she replied, confused at the abruptness of Gulliver’s message. He was usually very kind to his great-aunt. ‘Perhaps he’ll ring you when he’s on his way,’ she said, trying to calm Edith.
‘It’s concerning though,’ mused Edith. ‘It’s unlike Gulliver to be impulsive.’
‘He might be coming to check the security cameras are fully operational again,’ said Tabitha. ‘He was worried when you rang him a few days ago to tell him about the fault.’
Earlier in the week, the sophisticated safety measures around the house had blacked out for twenty-four hours. The security firm who managed the system had been unable to find an obvious cause but had since assured Edith, the house was, once again, fully protected.
Edith gazed into the middle distance, her eyes out of focus for a few seconds before she came back to the present and smiled. ‘You’re probably correct, dear. He is very protective of his home and us,’ she said. ‘I’ll check his room is ready. We all know how particular Lucia is when it comes to bedding.’
‘Nothing less than 800 thread Egyptian cotton,’ said Tabitha and Edith gave a wicked smile.
