Page 25 of A Murder on London Bridge
At his side walked Lord Hollingsworth—tall, bronzed, his plain coat a stark contrast to the satin peacocks cluttering Whitehall.
“Madam,” the King said, bowing over the Queen’s hand. “I crave but a moment’s private word.”
Catherine inclined her head, serene but wary.
Charles glanced past her to me. “Lady Halloran, you will forgive me if I steal Her Majesty from your company. But I shallnot leave you unattended.” His eyes slid toward his companion with a wry smile. “Hollingsworth, see that our lady does not lose her way.”
The command was light, almost careless, but it set my pulse racing all the same.
Hollingsworth bowed while offering me a half-smile. “It would be my honor.”
Charles tucked the Queen’s hand into the crook of his arm and drew her a few paces aside, their voices dropping to a murmur beneath the rustle of the yews. I could not hear the words, but I saw Catherine’s gaze lift to his with quiet intensity. The King’s expression shifted between impatience and amusement, like a man indulging a favorite hound.
For a moment, I felt the strangeness of it all press close—the queen of England confiding her heart to her notorious husband, while I, Kitty Worthington of Eaton Square, stood disguised as her attendant in a century not my own.
A low voice intruded on my thoughts. “Best let them be,” Hollingsworth said, falling into step beside me. “The King does not relish an audience when he feigns attentiveness.”
I turned toward him, the sun catching the silver threaded through his dark hair. He smiled faintly, offering his arm. “Since His Majesty commands it, we must walk. Though I admit, I do not find the prospect disagreeable.”
I laid my hand lightly on his arm, grateful for the steadiness of his presence. For a few moments we walked in silence, the gravel crunching beneath our steps, the air fragrant with late roses. The King’s laughter drifted faintly from behind the clipped hedges, brittle as glass.
“I am glad it is you,” I said at last, my voice low.
He arched a brow. “Glad, madam?”
“That His Majesty appointed you to walk with me. There are … few others I would trust.” In reality, there was no other.
His eyes flicked to mine, quick and shrewd. “Trust is a costly gift in this place. Are you certain you wish to spend it on me?”
I drew a careful breath. “Last night, in the gallery, I heard things. Whispers not meant for my ears.”
He did not start, nor even slow his stride, but I felt the subtle shift in him, the way a man at sea braces when he scents a storm.
“And what did these whispers speak of?” he asked softly.
“Ships. Papers. A bargain struck. And …” I hesitated, the words chilling me even now. “The Queen.”
The gravel crunched louder in the hush that followed, as though the garden itself were holding its breath.
Hollingsworth’s gaze stayed forward, his expression smooth, but his voice was low and taut. “You’ve stepped into peril, Lady Halloran. Words like those—spoken too freely—could cost a life.”
My stomach tightened. “Then you believe I heard aright?”
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that you should not carry such knowledge alone.” At last, he looked at me, his eyes intent. “Meet me after the banquet this evening. There is a small, cloistered walk beyond the chapel where we may speak without fear of listening ears.”
He offered no smile now, only the faintest dip of his head, as though sealing a pact. “Until then, keep your face serene, and your tongue still. Trust me to do the rest.”
Before I could answer, a voice rang across the garden. “Hollingsworth!”
The King beckoned, his tone warm with satisfaction. The Queen stood beside him, her expression unreadable in the dappled light.
As we reached him, Charles spread his arms in a gesture half-magnanimous, half-theatrical. “My good Sir Edmund has served me well, and I will not have his loyalty go unrewarded. From thisday, he is no longer merely a knight of my realm, but ennobled as the first Marquis of Hollingsworth, with an estate to match.”
A murmur rippled through the attendants. Charles seized Hollingsworth’s hand and raised it high as though presenting a champion to the lists, then turned to the gathered courtiers with a crooked smile. “Mark him well, gentlemen. England has few such servants, and fewer still as faithful. A Dutch flagship taken, an English squadron plucked from ruin. Such deeds are not soon forgotten.”
The courtiers bowed deeper, voices buzzing with congratulations that could not conceal the edge of envy. I caught a hissed whisper behind me: “From sailor to marquis in a single breath… ”
Hollingsworth inclined his head, accepting the honor with the steady composure of a man long accustomed to storms.
