Page 26 of A Murder on London Bridge
The King clapped him on the shoulder. “You may not enjoy your lands much, as you’ll be needed at sea again soon enough. But you’ll leave behind an heir, eh? Best find a wife before the tide turns. England can ill afford to lose men of your mettle.”
Hollingsworth’s smile was faint, fleeting, his eyes unreadable. I could not tell if he heard in the King’s words command, jest, or warning.
But my own heart jolted.The first Marquis Hollingsworth. I was standing at the very moment the title was born, watching history etch itself into the man who bore the face of the one I knew.
And yet the King’s final words echoed louder than the rest.Best find a wife … leave behind an heir.
Who would he choose? Which woman would claim his hand, his name, his future?
The question lingered long after the garden fell silent.
CHAPTER 14
THE QUEEN’S PERIL
After the King took his leave, much pleased with himself, Her Majesty expressed a wish to attend her prayers. Again. I was becoming rapidly acquainted with her habit of constant devotion. Small wonder she sought solace at the altar, given the King’s predilections.
In her place, I might have arranged for Lady Castlemaine’s swift banishment and slept soundly thereafter. But I was no royal personage, and I came from another century altogether. Catherine had neither freedom of thought nor action. Prayer was the one refuge still permitted her.
Thus it was that Anne and I followed in her train to the chapel, the air growing cooler as we passed from the lamp-lit corridors into the hush of incense and candle smoke.
The palace chapel was dim that evening, its stone walls hushed with incense and shadow. Catherine knelt long in prayer, her veil trembling slightly with each whispered word. Theother ladies lingered dutifully behind her, though Castlemaine smothered a yawn with jeweled fingers.
When the Queen at last rose, her attendants gathered close, ready to sweep her away to her chambers. I moved to follow, unwilling to let her out of my sight.
But Catherine turned to me, her hand briefly alighting on mine. In a low voice, meant for me alone, she said, “You should rest before supper, my lady. I would not have you faint from fatigue at table.” Then, after the briefest pause, she leaned nearer, her dark eyes intent. “It is a dangerous thing to be alone in this world. You should consider a new husband. A worthy one.”
My breath caught, but before I could frame a reply, she was gone—swept down the passage by her Portuguese attendants, her veil a pale banner trailing after her.
I lingered a moment longer, drawn by the play of candlelight on the carved altar.
Suddenly, a man materialized seemingly from the shadows near the sacristy door—a priest, robed in black, his tonsured head bowed. “You should not tarry alone.” His accent was Portuguese, his English careful and uneven, like Catherine’s.
The voice startled me. “I beg your pardon, Father,” I stammered.
He inclined his head. “No pardon needed. Only … caution.” His eyes, dark and anxious, flicked to the empty doorway where the Queen had vanished. “You are close to Her Majesty now. You must be eyes, ears. You must protect her.”
I swallowed hard. I already sought to do that. Given his advice, he probably had more information than I did. “Protect her? From whom?”
His gaze sharpened. “From those who would see her dead. There are whispers—papers circulate, men gather in secret. Theyspeak not only of sending her away but of ending her life. Her Catholic faith is cause enough for them to hate.”
My heart thudded so loud I feared Anne could hear it. “You are certain?”
“Certain,” he said grimly. “Too many times I have heard it in confession, cloaked as idle fancy, but the venom is real. One day, poison in her cup or a dagger at her breast. It is not if, but when.”
The words chilled me to the bone.
Anne made the sign of the cross swiftly, whispering, “God preserve her.”
The priest pressed a hand to his breast. “Tell her nothing yet. She bears enough grief. But watch. Listen. Bring word to me if you hear more. I will know how to place it in safer hands.”
And with that, he melted back into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of his warning.
I stood rooted to the flagstones, trembling. Whispers of treason had become a prophecy of murder.
Anne touched my arm gently. “What will you do, my lady?”
A fair question. I forced myself to breathe, though the air tasted of ash. What power had I to keep the Queen safe? I had no authority here, no trusted position. I was neither spy nor soldier. I was only a lady pressed into service, my presence tolerated but not welcome. Yet I could not—would not—do nothing.
