Page 36 of A Murder on London Bridge
“Perfect,” I said, though my appetite was small.
Anne bustled about in her quiet way, drawing the curtains tighter against the draught, setting my slippers nearer the fire. Her presence steadied me. She never pressed, never questioned overmuch, yet I always felt her sharp eyes missed little.
“Will you have me sit with you a while?” she asked when I pushed the food about my plate more than I ate.
“Yes. Mend if you like,” I said. “I should read a little longer.” Although I didn’t know how much longer my eyesight would hold out. Candlelight did not provide the best illumination.
She perched upon her stool with her sewing basket, choosing a sleeve with a frayed cuff. The candlelight made a gentle halo around her bent head as she mended, her lips moving silently in prayer with each stitch. I set Lady Margaret’s little journal upon the table and continued to make sense of the spidery hand.
The words swam at times, the ink thin and uneven, but I forced my eyes to follow the lines. Finally, I caught something vital.Saw Nathaniel with the book again. He writes only initials. But they’re easily deciphered by someone who knows his circle. Meeting dates, places, words spoken of actions to be taken against the Queen.
I shivered. Margaret had not known the peril she courted, but I did. That little book—Asquith’s ledger—had to be the same manuscript Merton had obtained. And the reason he’d been killed.
I tried to read more, but my eyes stung from the effort, the letters blurring into black scratches. I closed the book with a sigh. There would be no more reading tonight.
Anne looked up, concern on her face. “My lady? Are you ill?”
“No,” I murmured. “Only weary. I believe I’ll take to bed.”
She helped me unlace my gown, her hands brisk but gentle, then folded it neatly across the chest. I stood in my shift, arms goose-pimpled in the chill, while she drew out a wrapper and laid it over my shoulders before tucking the coverlet about me.
“Rest well, my lady. I shall pray your dreams are kinder tonight.”
“Thank you, Anne. Go on to your bed. I need nothing more.”
She bobbed a curtsy, gathered her basket, and slipped away, leaving me alone with the fire.
The room fell still. Only the faint hiss of the embers remained, and the wind worrying at the shutters. I lay staring at the canopy, Margaret’s words echoing:actions to be taken against the Queen.The phrase grew like a drumbeat in my mind.
I tossed upon the pillows, restless, until at last I rose again, wrapped myself in my robe, and drew the journal open once more. Candlelight spilled across the page, illuminating Margaret’s small, slanted hand.
“…if I carry this to Her Majesty, my fortune is made. None but I can tell her, for none but I have seen it…”
I pressed my lips together. Ambitious to the last. She had courted advancement and found only death.
A soft knock broke the silence. Three taps, close together. My heart quickened. Doubted it would be Anne.
I went to the door barefoot, every board groaning. Hollingsworth stood in the shadows of the passage, his cloak hanging loose, the scent of smoke and ale clinging faintly to him. His hair was disordered, his eyes bright with fatigue and urgency.
“My lord,” I whispered, pulling him quickly inside.
He gave a short bow, then cast a glance at the door as I barred it. “Forgive the hour. I have news, and little time.”
“Sit,” I said, motioning to the chair by the hearth. “Tell me.”
He did not sit. He remained standing, one hand braced upon the chair back, the other still clenched in his cloak. “I followed Asquith and Parquier this evening. They left Whitehall after dusk, quietly, as though not wishing to be seen. I shadowed them to a tavern near Charing Cross—one not fit for courtiers, but they went in all the same.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Alone?”
“No. Two others joined them. They sought a private room. Paid good coin for it. But they had a boy bring them food and ale. I paid him to relay what he heard. He brought me word enough.”He paused, jaw tightening. “They spoke of the Queen. Of how she grows troublesome. And of Lady Margaret as well.”
My breath caught. “What did they say of her?”
“That she had been a danger—that she had seen more than she should.” He lowered his voice. “And they spoke of a book, one that belongs to Asquith. Kept for their own counsel. When Asquith spoke in his defense, Parquier silenced him with a look, but not before the words were plain.”
I pressed a hand to my breast. “Margaret saw it. She was thinking about telling the Queen.”
His gaze sharpened. “Show me.”
