The Tudor Plot

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Cotton Malone hated surprises.

And this one was no exception.

He’d arrived at Buckingham Palace ten minutes ago, bypassing a throng of tourists crowded around the front fence by motoring through a guarded side gate. Now he sat in a green silk upholstered chair and watched as the two men who’d brought him left the room. No one had spoken during the trip across town and he was beginning to wonder. He’d been in England less than two days and now, for some unknown reason, he was about to see the queen.

His waiting room appeared to be an office — the flocked wallpaper a mixture of pinks and blues, the ceiling adorned with cream-colored ornamental molding. A white marble fireplace consumed one wall, the deep-blue-and-gold carpet outlined by a parquet floor. A desk sat catty-corner to the windows, stacked with paper, neat and orderly. He thought perhaps the room belonged to someone on staff, the space elegant but not regal.

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