At first the idea seemed ridiculous. Lord Howell tried to ignore it, but it returned to his thoughts time and again. The great blue jewel even glowed in his dreams. It was as if the stone had somehow enchanted him from afar. Finally he allowed himself to examine the idea in the cold light of reason.
He wanted Queen Anne’s opal more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. If it was in the Tower, he was going to steal it.
It was not that he needed the money. Rather, he craved adventure, for he was becoming increasingly bored with his life. Unable to enter politics in a serious way because of his past political affiliations, he thought himself condemned to a life of luxury without purpose. This would never do for the adventurous John Howell. Consequently the idea of undertaking so extraordinary and dangerous a venture as stealing the opal from the recesses of the Tower appealed to both his sense of adventure and his need for personal achievement. The idea was also attractive for another reason. The opal was technically in the possession of the German Elector who sat on the throne of England. Howell was a Jacobite at heart: as far as he was concerned, King George was a usurper. Lord Howell might be tolerated at Court, but the King had effectively blocked all his hopes of advancement. That fact alone would make it a pleasure to steal the opal.
Not for a moment did he consider the consequences of failure. Howell valued his life very highly, but at the same time he could not have cared less if he were to die tomorrow, provided the cause was just. In the circumstances, he decided to seek out the sailor again. Together with Tom, he would attempt the impossible: to whisk the opal out of the Tower in such a way that no one would notice its absence until they were safely out of reach. Fortunately, it was not difficult for one in his position to gain access to the fortress itself, provided he could offer a reasonable explanation for his visit.
His first requirement, however, was to find Tom; a colleague would be essential for the scheme he had in mind. He tried the Pig and Whistle without high hopes, for he knew that Tom had been considering a voyage to India.
But he struck lucky: he found Tom propping up the bar. The sailor was very nearly penniless; he was happy to postpone his journey in return for the handful of gleaming guineas which Howell tossed onto the bar.
Within a week of formulating his plans, Lord Howell arrived at the outer gates of the Tower, dressed in his richest, most fashionable clothes. He sauntered gaily into the gatekeeper’s lodge, and requested an interview with the governor of the Tower.
“Are you expected, m’Lord?” the gatekeeper asked unemotionally. Evidently he was not impressed by his visitor’s rank—nor by his appearance.
“Nay,” Lord Howell replied, unruffled, “but pray present this note to His Lordship.” With that, he handed the gatekeeper a letter of introduction which had been provided by a mutual friend at Court.
A few moments later, the gatekeeper returned with a somewhat friendlier expression on his face. “His Lordship will see you now. Follow me.” Leaving his mount outside, Lord Howell followed the gatekeeper into the recesses of the Tower. The air inside was heavy, the atmosphere one of doom. Lord Howell had been inside the Tower before, and although that was several years ago he had never forgotten how depressing the place had seemed.
Shortly they arrived at the entrance to the governor’s apartments. The gatekeeper withdrew, and Howell was ushered into the governor’s study by a footman.
“What can we do for you, Lord Howell?” the governor asked, offering his hand in greeting.
“A mere whim, if you please,” Lord Howell replied lightly. “If you will do me the great favor of showing me through the treasury, I would be much obliged to you, sir.”
“The treasury?” the governor asked. “What is the purpose of such a visit, may I ask?”
“Very simple, sir,” Lord Howell said. “I am an avid collector of precious jewels, and I would like to know just how insignificant my own collection is in comparison with what you have in this fortress.”
“Very well, I see nothing wrong with that,” the governor replied, and rang the bell. After a moment, a guard appeared. “Will you tell the Keeper of the Keys that Lord Howell is permitted to be shown through the treasury,” the governor said, and nodded to Lord Howell.
Howell followed the guard along the winding corridors of the fortress until they arrived at a heavy iron gate. The gate formed the border between that part of the fortress where prisoners were kept and matters of government were taken care of, and that part which served as a treasure house.
The guard rang a bell by pulling a handle to the right side of the iron gate. After what seemed an eternity, heavy, shuffling footsteps could be heard approaching the other side of the gate. An elderly man appeared; his face was deeply furrowed, and he wore the peculiar uniform of the Keeper of the Keys. His name was Geoffrey London. Much had been made of the fact that his name was the same as that of the city. He was a well-respected man who had served the Crown all his life. By now he was nearing retirement age; his eyes watered and his back was stooped, for the many years spent in the dark recesses of the fortress had left their mark on him. The guard explained their mission, and the Keeper of the Keys nodded.
“Wait here a moment, m’Lord,” he said, and returned to where he had come from.
Now what? Lord Howell thought. How long is this going to take? But he did not have to wait too long. A moment later, steps resounded once again from inside, but they seemed much lighter than the ones he had heard before. Then there appeared at the gate a young woman, fragile and slim, with long, flowing, blonde hair. In her right hand she held a large key.
“I am Merryn London,” she said when she reached the gate. “My father has asked me to take you around the treasury. He begs to be excused for he does not feel well today.”
With that she opened the gate from within, and let Lord Howell inside. The guard saluted, and went back to his post.
Intrigued by the lovely appearance of the young woman, Lord Howell did not know what to think. Gaining access to the treasury had been much easier than he had anticipated. But whenever he tried to strike up a conversation with his guide, she seemed oddly silent, though perhaps she was only shy. Under the circumstances he thought it best to concentrate his attention on the task at hand, looking with feigned collector’s interest at the fabulous treasures now before his eyes.
Eventually they came to a glass box, within which an enormous blue stone rested. Lord Howell’s heart beat faster: could this be the fabulous opal he was seeking? With a casualness that belied his excitement, he pointed at the blue stone in the glass box and asked what it was.
“Oh that,” Merryn said. “It comes from Tibet, I believe. Someone wanted to give it to Queen Anne for her coronation, but it came too late.”
Lord Howell could scarcely suppress his feelings of jubilation. He had located the precious jewel. Quickly he thanked Merryn for the tour she had given him, bent down to kiss her hand, rather to her surprise, and then made his departure. But when they arrived back at the iron gate something within him made him halt once more.
For the first time he took a good look at the girl. She was perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five years old. Her figure was elegant and her face was very beautiful, with those blue eyes and that cascade of blonde hair. With a start, Lord Howell realized the color of her eyes was almost identical to that of the opal. “Merryn,” he began.
“I am Lady Merryn,” she corrected him with a smile and took the edge off the remark. “My father has been made Earl of Whitechapel.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lord Howell replied. He should have known he was dealing with a gentlewoman. He began again. “Lady Merryn, may I express my gratitude to you for this remarkable tour by inviting you to dine with me some evening?”
Clearly the invitation came as a total surprise. Her face displayed a kind of pleasant shock, and for a moment she seemed flustered. “You’re very kind, m’Lord,” she finally managed to say, “but I don’t know—”
“That is, of course, if you are not married or betrothed?” Lord Howell continued.
“I am neither, m’Lord.”
“Then I see no difficulty.”
For a moment she hesitated. “Perhaps,” she said carefully, “perhaps if you will speak to my father?”
“By all means,” Lord Howell said. He walked through the archway into the courtyard. “I shall speak to Lord Whitechapel anon.”
Without looking back again he made his departure. He left behind a very puzzled young woman, who stood fixed to the spot for a long time after Lord Howell had disappeared from her sight.
Howell himself was puzzled, as he strode across the courtyard to the gatekeeper’s lodge. Why was that young, attractive woman neither married nor engaged to be married? And why did she need to have her father’s permission to dine with him? But then other thoughts entered his mind, thoughts of high adventure, and perhaps also of the dangers that certainly lay ahead.
When Lord Howell awoke the next morning he realized that the encounter with Lady Merryn was a perfect gift from fate to help him accomplish his ends. Consequently he immediately dispatched a short note to Lord Whitechapel, requesting the pleasure of his daughter’s company at dinner.
The request was soon granted, and, before the week was out, he sat opposite Lady Merryn in the dining room of his town house, admiring her fragile beauty even more. Her shyness was not something she displayed to impress him, he realized now, but an affliction from her childhood that she had never been able to overcome.
The conversation revolved around historical treasures and kings and queens of England, and nothing romantic passed between them. Much as he wanted to take her in his arms, for he felt rising within himself a great desire for the woman, he behaved like an old-fashioned gentleman. He sensed that it would be better to bide his time. Eventually, he took her back to her father’s apartments at the Tower.
By now he had learned two things about Lady Merryn: that she had been engaged twice to men of rank but had declined to fulfill the engagements for reasons of her own, very much to the distress of her father; and that she had a mind all her own which would not permit her to marry a man unless she felt deeply in love with him. This not having been the case in the past, she was still unwed.
Lord Howell also discovered that she was a widely read woman, extraordinarily so for someone in her position. Her learning could have put to shame that of many men he knew who had attended university. Merryn, it seemed, was fond of books and spent most of her time reading.
The following week, he called on her again, this time without first asking her father’s permission. Once more they dined together, and the conversation became somewhat livelier, involving some of the legends attached to the great treasures guarded at the Tower. Lord Howell skillfully brought the conversation around to the opal, and enquired whether Lady Merryn had ever heard of a curse being attached to it. To his utter surprise, she knew of it and assured him that the story was based on fact.
“I wouldn’t touch that jewel for anything in the world,” she said with a shudder.
That evening, when he brought Lady Merryn back to her apartments, he asked her to take him once again to view the opal. He made it sound like a casual whim of the moment. Somewhat surprised by his sudden request, she nevertheless assented. She fetched the huge iron key. Together they descended into the treasury.
“Remarkable, remarkable,” Lord Howell murmured as he viewed the object of his desire again. And he meant it.
The treasure house was dank, and Merryn shivered as she gazed at the opal. Lord Howell noticed, and courteously insisted that he should escort her back to her apartments.
At the iron gate they paused to relock it. Lord Howell chivalrously took the key from her. There was a screech of ancient metal as he turned the tumblers in the rusting lock. Under cover of darkness, it was an easy matter to press the notches of the key into the pad of wax concealed in his left hand. He returned the key to Merryn with a bow. She noticed nothing amiss.
The following evening he met Tom again at their usual rendezvous, the Pig and Whistle.
“That’s easy, m’Lord,” Tom assured him when he saw the wax impression, “I’ll have me friend have it ready for you by tomorrow night. He’s a skilled locksmith—and always happy to make a little money on the side.”
“Splendid,” Lord Howell said. He congratulated himself on his foresight in hiring Tom: the sailor had many acquaintances in London’s underworld. “Then perhaps we can proceed this coming Saturday?”
“Right you are, sir,” Tom said. A slow smile spread across his face.
Shortly afterwards, Tom excused himself to attend to the business at hand. Lord Howell decided to linger on a bit and finish his glass of wine. As he sat there in the tavern, contemplating what lay ahead and the possible dangers that might be lurking in the depths of the Tower, his eye fell on a table at the far end of the inn. It was occupied by a small, dark-haired woman in her fifties or early sixties. For some reason his gaze was attracted by her and he asked himself whether he might not have encountered the woman somewhere before. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he got up from his table and sauntered over to hers.
“Begging your pardon, madam,” he said with a polite bow, “but it appears to me that we know each other from somewhere.”
“Not likely,” the woman replied, and looked him straight in the face.
No, Howell thought to himself, I’ve never met this woman before, and yet why is it that I seem to know her?
It was as if she had read his mind. “Care to sit down and share a glass of wine with me?” she said, pointing to the chair opposite hers.
“You are most kind, madam.” Lord Howell sat down and looked across at her. “Who are you?”
“I am Maureen Grayner,” the woman replied. “They call me the seeress of London.”
Of course, Howell thought, the seeress of London! He had heard of this extraordinary woman whom the church could not touch because many of the leading clergy were her clients. A pious woman, she had always ascribed her powers to God and no one in London had ever dared accuse her of anything in the nature of witchcraft. She lived in a modest cottage at the outskirts of town. Maureen had the reputation of not wanting much from anyone, spurning wealth and invitations to reside at the mansions of the great. As yet, so the story went, the king had not commanded her presence, but it was rumored that some of the royal family had visited her in secret.
“So you are the seeress of London,” Lord Howell said. “I’m honored to share this wine with you.”
“Give me your hand,” Maureen commanded, and he obeyed immediately. As she touched the lines of his right hand, a serious expression crept over her face. Her dark, sparkling eyes widened considerably as she looked at him with an expression of utmost urgency.
“Lord Howell,” she began, and he wondered how she knew his name without him having offered it. “Lord Howell, you must be very careful. I see the greatest of dangers surrounding you. Do not tempt God.”
Immediately he withdrew his hand. “What exactly to you mean? What sort of dangers do I face?”
Maureen made an evasive gesture with her right hand. “I can’t give you any more details than that. But I see great danger to you and your loved ones, if you are not very careful. I sense some sort of high adventure, and while I do feel that you will succeed, m’Lord, I also feel no good will come from it. Whatever it is you are planning, I urge you not to do it. But if you will not listen to me, and you do go ahead, remember that I warned you. From it will come great tragedy for you, from it will come a total change in your life that you had never anticipated. Beware.”
While Lord Howell stared at her, not sure what to say next, Maureen rose abruptly, waved at him and quickly left the inn.