Page 18 of A Murder on London Bridge
But as I met his gaze, I could not shake the sense that his promise was no more than courtesy. He would not dare say more—not when he feared he might be the next to fall.
As I was shown out, the footman didn’t offer his assistance. Nor did he volunteer to hail a cab for me. Odd, to say the least.
I reasoned there might be a cab stand on the far side of St. James’s Square, so I headed off in that direction. The fog hung low and even thicker than before, blurring the lamps into smudges of gold, dulling the usual noises to be found on the square. My footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
But at the corner of the square came a sound that set my nerves on edge—a footfall that did not belong to me.
A sharp turn of my head revealed only emptiness, the street behind swallowed in fog. As silence pressed close, a whisper of movement, no more than a shadow, skimmed the edge of my vision. But it was gone as soon as I sought it.
Wary, I quickened my pace.
The fog thickened, curling damp fingers through the lamplight until the square blurred into shapes half-formed. My breath rasped loud in my ears. I slipped a hand into my coat pocket, fingertips brushing the cool hilt of my little penknife—my one defense.
But then, a sharp crack of pain exploded at the back of my skull. The world spun sideways, my knees gave way, the pavement rushed up to meet me.
And darkness swallowed me whole.
CHAPTER 9
LONDON, 1666
AWAKENING IN ANOTHER TIME
Ahand gripped my shoulder, shaking me from darkness.
“Up, my lady. Pray, stir yourself! The queen asks for you.”
The Queen?Queen Mary? What could she want with me?
My eyes fluttered open to a chamber I did not recognize. Heavy damask hangings framed the bed, walls draped with rich tapestries, an air that smelled of beeswax and woodsmoke. A tall oak chair stood near the hearth, its carved arms gleaming in the candlelight. Nothing was familiar.
Could I be at Buckingham Palace? Why? How? The last thing I remembered was walking across St. James’s Park. I had felt—more than seen—someone shadowing me. And then … a blow. Pain. Darkness.
Obviously, I had been carried to this … place. Whatever it was. But what was it?
A maidservant bent over me, curtsying anxiously. She was plain, capable-looking, of middling height. Her dark hair wastucked neatly beneath a white linen cap. Her gown was serviceable brown wool, the apron clean though patched at the hem, her sleeves rolled above steady, work-worn hands. Nothing in her appearance was remarkable save her eyes—clear, grey, watchful, and quick to measure.
“The queen requires your presence, my lady.” Her tone held urgency.
Obviously, she wanted me to rise. But who spoke like that in this day and age? “The queen?” I managed, my voice rough.
“Her Majesty waits in her withdrawing chamber,” the girl whispered. “She grows impatient, my lady. You must make haste.”
As I pushed myself upright, the world spun. Swallowing hard, I willed myself to remain seated while I studied my surroundings. I was wearing a silk bedgown—quilted and trimmed with lace, finer than anything I had ever owned. Beside the bed, draped over a carved chair, lay a gown of crimson satin, its slashed sleeves and jeweled bodice unmistakably of an earlier age.
Surely I was dreaming. Or perhaps I was attending a masquerade? That would explain the gown. But I didn’t recall an invitation to such a thing. The blow to my head could have scrambled my memory, though. Could this be a charade staged for my benefit? I gazed at the door on the far side of the bedchamber, half-expecting Robert to stroll through it dressed as a courtier from centuries past. Yes, that had to be it. I wished I could remember.
The maid leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You are pale, my lady. Shall I tell them you are indisposed?”
“No,” I said quickly, my mind racing. Whatever this was, I needed to find out. “That will not be necessary.”
I steadied myself against the bedpost, studying her more closely. “Who are you?”
The maid dropped another curtsy. “Anne, my lady. I have been set to your service since your former maid is no longer with us.”
“No longer with us?” That could mean anything.
“She departed last month, my lady—married a cooper’s son and returned to her kin in Southwark,” Anne said briskly.
