Page 64 of A Murder on London Bridge
Emma gave a delicate sniff. “Two-thirds? A shocking exaggeration. And if you must know, I’m protecting what remains from your gluttony.”
“Gluttony?” He looked around for allies. “You see how I’m spoken to by my own fiancée. It’s tyranny in silk gloves.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Even Father permitted himself a rumble of amusement behind his cup of coffee.
Mother set down the silver coffee pot with the air of a woman determined to restore order. “We can send for another pudding. There’s plenty of custard in the kitchen.”
“None of which he’s getting,” Emma declared, snatching the plate.
“That’s hardly equitable,” Marlowe said, lunging for it. “A man must stand for principle.”
“Principle,” she said sweetly, “weighs considerably less than your appetite.”
The plate wobbled perilously between them until Mellie reached over, plucked it from their hands, and took the remaining bite for herself.
“There,” she said, licking a trace of lemon from her spoon. “Problem solved.”
The roar of laughter that followed nearly shook the chandeliers.
“Scandalous,” Robert murmured beside me. “A theft committed in plain sight and no one calls for the police.”
“Because we’re all accessories after the fact,” I whispered back.
Across the room, Hollingsworth raised his glass to Mellie in salute. She inclined her head with the satisfaction of a woman who’d just restored peace to Europe.
The conversation rolled on to safer topics. Ned and Lily’s wedding arrangements. The weather in the Cotswolds. The latest news from Oxford. Richard had written that his lectureswere well attended, though many of the students seemed more interested in King Tut’s tomb than the trade routes that connected Egypt, Greece, and the Near East.
That earned another round of laughter. For a while I simply sat back and watched them—my family, my friends, all together, all safe. A month ago, that camaraderie had seemed impossibly distant, like something glimpsed in a dream. Now it was the most precious thing in the world, except for Robert, that is.
When the talk turned to wedding menus, I excused myself quietly and crossed to where Hollingsworth stood near the window. Evening light lingered over Grosvenor Square, turning the leaves of the plane trees to gold. The soft hum of motorcars along the square drifted in through the open windows, a steady heartbeat of London life.
“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” I said to Hollingsworth.
He smiled faintly. “I was thinking how pleasant it is to hear laughter in this house. I missed it while I was gone.”
I hesitated, then spoke the thought that had been troubling me since the night the case ended. “Hollingsworth, may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“It’s about Anne, the maid who tended to Lady Halloran.” Even now, saying her name brought a pang. “I keep wondering if she lived through the Fire? I know it’s foolish to care about someone who existed centuries ago, but?—”
“It isn’t foolish at all,” he said gently. “You shared something extraordinary with her, even though I can’t understand how it happened.”
“Neither can I, to tell you the truth.”
His gaze lingered on me, steady and thoughtful, a blend of fondness and something deeper—kindness touched with understanding. “I can’t be certain,” he said softly, “but I believe she survived.”
My breath caught. “How did you reach that conclusion?”
He nodded. “There’s a painting at Hollingsworth Manor—one I’ve passed a hundred times. It shows Edmund and his wife, the former Lady Halloran, with their children. Standing just behind them is another woman. I always assumed she was a governess. She bears a scar across her forehead and down her cheek. I thought it a strange choice for a portraitist to record such a mark, clearly a burn scar. But now I think I understand. It must have been her.”
For a moment I could only stare at him. “Then she didn’t perish in the Fire,” I whispered.
“Apparently not. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to give you false hope. After the Merton investigation ended, I traveled to Hollingsworth Manor. There were matters that required my attention. While I was there, I searched the attics myself. Among the old household records, I found mention of an Anne who cared for the younger children and remained with the family for many years.”
I pressed a hand to my heart. “After all she endured, she found a home with them.”
Hollingsworth’s expression softened. “Apparently so.”
