Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Michael
After very little sleep, he bolstered his morning with a shower, three cups of coffee, one tea, and an unknown number of sweet cinnamon puffs. But this day required protein, so he headed down to the servants’ hall for eggs and sausage.
After filing his report in the Operations Room, he climbed to his quarters, exhausted and trying to settle his thoughts. But his phone kept pinging with links to the events on the quay.
Most of the videos were dark and bumpy, a muddled mess of shouts, music, and references to Scottie as the “queen’s illegitimate daughter.”
Yet a few of them clearly showed Lady Royal diving to catch the woman, now identified as Mrs. Agnus Johansdotter. Michael had finally switched his phone to Do Not Disturb around two a.m.
Now, at the breakfast table, he studied the videos again, looking for whoever may have pushed the woman—and who might have held Scottie’s legs. Yet all he concluded was Scottie had saved Mrs. Johansdotter’s life without a thought of her own.
Taking a bite of sausage and a sip of orange juice, Michael pulled up the HMSD database where their custom AI tracked national and international chatter about the royal family. As expected, Scottie O’Shay was a world headline.
Lennox arrived for breakfast. “We have more on Agnus. She’s a local. Married. Her daughter is named Luca. Two more children at home. And you’re going to love this, Michael.” Lennox aimed the remote in her hand at the telly in the corner of the room. “She’s on the Morning Show.”
“Already?” Michael shifted toward the wall-mounted screen where host Stone Brubaker was conducting a Zoom interview with a pretty blonde woman.
Her lipstick was bright red, half hiding a busted lip.
A brown-black bruise spread down her cheek from the corner of her eye.
Michael glanced at Lennox, who was tapping notes into her phone.
Stone: “Mrs. Johansdotter, can you tell us what happened last night on the Dalholm quay? Remember, you’re on international television, so please—no Dalholm speak.”
Agnus: “Well, um, thanks, Stone. My husband was…away…with sons…took our daughter to hear Knight Shift Players, we love them, you know, when suddenly…chaos. The daughter—queen—alone, mind you—a political riot.”
“What?” Michael said. “A riot?”
“Did she?” Lennox said. “Really?”
“No, but she is a bit of a stir stick, don’t you think?”
“Not a bit—a lot. Do you think the Morning Show producers coached this Johansdotter woman? Did she have that black eye last night?”
“Of course they did. As for the black eye, I don’t know. I was trying to get Lady Royal out of there.”
Stone: “Mrs. Johansdotter, this is sensitive, but we’re after the truth. Do you believe you were shoved over the side of the quay?”
Agnus: “Yes. Hurled. Someone. Pro-monarch.”
“She can’t do it,” Lennox muttered, snorting. “Talk straight. She’s probably never put together a full sentence in her life.”
“She can lie well enough,” Michael said.
Agnus: “I fell—screaming. Daughter in arms.” She flailed one arm and clutched her imaginary child with the other. “Arm caught. Look up. See the queen’s daughter. Lady Royal.”
Stone: “You must’ve been terrified.”
Agnus: “Yes. Going to die. Daughter screaming. Clutching neck.” (She mimed that too.)
Stone: “We’re thrilled you and your daughter are home safe. Have you spoken to Lady Royal?”
Agnus: “No. So shook. Rescuers came.” She looked down. “But, um, Stone, I’ve been thinking. We almost died because she was there.”
“Now she speaks a complete sentence,” Lennox said.
Agnus: “What was she doing there? She should’ve stayed home. I mean America. Wherever she’s from.” Another glance down. “Tennessee. We were rescued, but a whole bunch of folks might not’ve been.”
“She’s a piece of work.” Michael grabbed the remote and snapped off the telly. “She’d be dead or severely injured—her daughter too—if Scottie hadn’t lunged for her. Have you seen the videos?”
“I’ve seen them.”
“I didn’t witness the beginning, Lennox, but Lady Royal went for Mrs. Johansdotter without regard to her own safety. The videos don’t do her justice.” He paced, indignant. “Someone got to Mrs. Agnus Johansdotter.”
A hall boy stepped around the table collecting dishes. Michael thanked him just as Cranston appeared in the doorway.
“Her Majesty has requested your presence.”
“Of course.” He’d anticipated as much. She’d want an accounting.
As Cranston escorted him up the stairs, across the Grand Gallery—its mezzanine overlooking the glass solarium—and into the royal corridor, Michael shaped a polite but firm resignation in the back of his mind, should the conversation bend that way.
One the queen, wise and measured, would accept, since she’d not want her inexperienced daughter put in any more danger.
Cranston knocked—one-two, one-two-three, one—on the monarch’s door in the old manner, indicating the butler was at the door plus one.
Hilda, the queen’s lady’s maid, guided Michael into a small, airy library where Her Majesty stood, waiting. She appeared rested and clear-eyed, regal, with no evidence of last night’s collapse.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed. “I must apologize for last night.”
“Scottie explained everything.” The queen sat and motioned Michael to the adjacent chair. “She’s assured me she won’t go off alone again. Did you see the Morning Show?”
“I did, ma’am.”
“I don’t always trust the producers, but they’ve shown us kindness in recent years. However, this time I’ll not give them the benefit of the doubt.”
“Someone got to Mrs. Johansdotter, ma’am. Perhaps one of MP Hamish Fickle’s RECO shills.”
“Either way,” the queen said, “I’ve instructed the Chamber Office to invite the Johansdotters to the Garden Party. Do we know the identity of the man who held Scottie’s legs?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve viewed everything that’s been uploaded. There’s no hint of anyone anchoring her.”
“Quietly ask around then. You’ll know what to do, no?” She smiled. “I’ve asked Alfred Quip, head of the Kongelig Herrer, to place the Johansdotter family in my receiving line.”
“Very good, ma’am. They’ll be honored.”
“Let’s hope,” she said, a knowing glint in her eye.
The Kongelig Herrer—the Royal Gentlemen—was a time-honored corps of men of influence, and now women, who served as Garden Party hosts.
Mum was miffed she’d never been invited to serve. After all, she was a Pratt. And for twelve years, a Cross. Until she abandoned her children and the Cross name. The Pratt family was distinguished but nothing like being a Cross.
“But close enough, I’ll be bound,” Mum always said.
“Ah, there she is.” The queen’s gaze went to the doorway. “My daughter. A phrase I love to say.”
Michael turned, his thoughts still on the quay and the queen, wholly unprepared for the way Scottie’s presence wrapped around him.
At ease in the private library, she sat beside her mother, inquiring after her health with the natural grace of any loving daughter. She wore jeans and a fitted pale-blue blouse, her long hair loosely braided.
Seeing her again was like when she arrived at Hadsby. She whispered to the parts of him that, until now, were content to sleep.
Wake up. Wake up.
This close, he noticed a faint bruise on her chin—likely from the quay—and another on her right hand. If she’d tossed and turned through the night, her face didn’t show it.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Michael?”
“Yes, ma’am.” What an odd question from Her Majesty. But what else could he say? She was beautiful. Adding that her presence set his heartbeat to a different rhythm would be wildly inappropriate—and would definitely get him sacked. Besides, the young man sensations would fade in another day or two.
“We’re spending the morning trying on clothes,” the queen said, rising with help from Scottie. “For the Garden Party.” Passing Michael, she touched his shoulder. “Thank you for being there for her. You may have thought I called you in to sack you, but I wanted to thank you.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” Michael fell into step with Scottie as she exited with the queen. “Did you sleep?”
“Well enough,” she said, chin high. “I’m an easy sleeper. I can knock off anywhere, anytime.”
“You’d have made a good soldier.”
“That’s what Cap used to say.”
“Cap? Oh, yes, the almost love.”
“Right. He was a former Army Ranger,” she said, heading toward the Grand Staircase. “How big a headline am I this morning?”
“Mrs. Johansdotter went on the Morning Show, blaming you for her fall.”
Scottie halted, one hand on the stair rail, eyes wide. “She what?”
“Blamed it on you. She claims your presence incited the mob.”
“I see.” Scottie peered toward the light falling through the Grand Foyer’s transom. “I suppose you agree with her.”
“I’ve concluded people are responsible for their own actions.
Nevertheless, steel yourself. You’ve begun your time in Lauchtenland with a blooming bang.
You’ve rocketed the people into a conversation—those for the House of Blue, those against. It’s a stirring debate and has been for some time.
” He touched her arm gently. “Be honest with yourself, miss. If last night proved—”
“Too much?” Her blue eyes searched his. “You want me to abandon the queen when she’s trying to right a thirty-eight-year old wrong?
What about supporting her with the family away?
And her battle with GBS? The reason I’m here is to stand by her when she needs me.
Not run from something like last night. That’s just noise.
A distraction. In all my days, she could never reach out, say she needed me.
Now she does, Michael. Which goes well beyond me tucking and turning tail when something goes wrong.
” Her certainty settled like stone. “I’m staying.
What can they do to me in eight short weeks? ”
She held his gaze one second, then two, as if waiting. Then Choko appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“We’re ready for you in the Gold Salon, miss.”