Knight in Shining Armor
Molly sat in the back of the grand hall, hands folded neatly in her lap, watching the rest of the court ladies whirl in bright circles of velvet and brocade. It was a beautiful spectacle that never lost its luster even if she had seen the same ladies do the same dance half a dozen times in the past year. Life at His Majesty Mycroft I’s Hampton was exquisitely glamourous, and something she as a Baron’s fourth daughter would never have the chance to witness. True, it was only as handmaiden to the Duchess Mary, but she could not complain. Her mistress was kind, her meals were rich, and the parties never ceased to be radiant (though she was a rubbish dancer, and that was speaking generously). She sighed wistfully and dropped her chin into her propped up arm. Though she tried to fight it, Molly’s eyes inevitably drifted where they always did on nights of festivity: the prince.
Practically every lady in Hampton swooned over him at one point or another. Foreign princesses traveled from all over Europe to see if he would make a worthy suitor, as his portrait was nearly famous in every court. Everyone who was anyone knew he was simultaneously one of the most handsome and intelligent men in England, but most women’s infatuations did not last long. He had been engaged no less than five times and each ended with the princess or duchess calling it off weeks before the wedding. It only took a day in his presence to realize that was Prince Sherlock held in wit was more than overshadowed by his complete lack of charm. Most had decided that even marrying the next in line for the throne was not worth suffering through his deplorable combination of indifference and condescension. He was keener to study the natural sciences than attend to politics or wealth or a wife. Still, Molly could not help but be drawn the king’s younger brother. There was something insurmountably fascinating about his behavior that clutched her curiosity. Where she was born into practically nothing and raised into the court only through the generosity of others, he was practically hell bent on ignoring all his fame and status. While the rest of the court was either dancing the night away or deep in negotiation, he was slumped in a chair with his feet on top of the banquet table, reading a book.
Molly felt her heart jump into her throat when from the other side of the hall, the prince looked up from his book and met her gaze exactly. Her whole face flushed with an embarrassed heat and she quickly averted her stare. However, she bit down hard on her lip when she saw him set the novel aside and slide out of his chair. Please, please, please, God in heaven don’t let him be coming this way, Molly silently prayed. She squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her hands into the fold of her skirt. It was too mortifying to even watch her own failure. He probably interpreted her interest as insolence and she would be shipped back to Dover in a heartbeat. But no matter how much she wanted to curl up and hide, she heard the click of approaching boots and knew her head would be at risk if she didn’t remember her manners.
“Your-your highness,” she quickly stuttered, jumping to her feet and making an admittedly messy curtsy.
“This is the fourth time I have caught you staring at me at one of my brother’s frivolous parties,” he said pedantically, seemingly without any notice of her clumsiness. “According to the Duchess you are quite the clever girl but fall short when it comes to grace.”
Molly winced.
“That is correct, your highness.”
“One more formality and I’ll have you scrubbing floors for a week. If I wanted to be flattered I would talk to one of the emptyheaded hens this court seems so fond of. You have an interest in the natural sciences, do you not?”
“That is also correct, your- I mean, yes, I read what I can,” she quickly recovered.
“Then I shall see you in my study at ten o’clock sharp and no later. I am examining a particularly fascinating crime that occurred two nights ago at the Rose Theatre and want a second pair of eyes.”
***
It took all of Molly’s energy just to keep her eyes open. She was afraid that if she had to stand for much longer her knees would buckle. Granted, it was her right as a woman to faint at any moment, but she refused to look weak. Sherlock (as she had been ordered to call him) had kept her up well into the morning examining the body of a local magistrate who had dropped dead during a trial for no apparent reason after being in the pinnacle of health. This was the third time just this week that he had called on her to assist him in his late night investigations. Though he always managed to look unaffected by the reduced hours of sleep, the exhausting was starting to take a visible toll on Molly. Her skin was paling even more than usual, lines were forming around the corners of her face, and large purple crescents had taken shape under her eyes. Even the Duchess had commented that she looked ill and might seek the aid of a doctor. Still, she would be damned if she skipped the May Day celebrations for something as pedestrian as sleep.
Though King Mycroft was no athlete himself, he had gone to great expense to arrange a joust for the occasion. Something about panem et circenses being necessary to appease his subjects. Knights and lords from all over England had assembled to compete for the honor of their “May Queens” as was an old tradition to choose the singular lady of the day. As the Duchess was the highest ranking lady at court, Molly and the other ladies in waiting had prime seating for the affair, elevated in the box of the nobles but still in the front row with various other women of title awaiting their champions. The proceeding was simple: men would ride by and select a women from the crowd to joust for. The lady would then tie a favor to his lance if she accepted. Most of the girls around Molly had whole baskets of elaborately embroidered cords in the hopes that multiple gentlemen would vie for their hearts. Though she knew it was silly and pointless, Molly kept a single blue satin ribbon tucked into her sleeve.
Once the fanfare was trumpeted and the king had bid everyone welcome, Molly was relieved to finally take her seat. The parade of knights was a splendor like nothing she had seen in her entire life. About twenty men all bedecked in shimmering silver armor and crested helms entered the tilt yard on magnificent steeds that sent thunder echoing around the whole field. They circled the sand of the arena twice before lining up to approach the ladies. Most of the decisions were premade, Molly knew, but the selected women put on a show of ecstatic spontaneity nonetheless. One by one the knights’ lances became richly decorated with colorful cords until only a lone figure remained. At first he looked as if he might ride by the women all together, but then suddenly halted in front of Molly. She froze in shock. Who on earth would joust for the honor of a plain lady in waiting with no title of her own or great beauty to boast? She tried to pick out his identity, but the visor of his helm kept everything secret. Still, she tied her lone ribbon to the end of his lance anyway. Only the end of the tournament would tell.
Excitement manifested in beads of sweat on her neck when Molly saw her nameless knight take his end on the field as first of the list. It was hard enough to stand the heat of the summer under her corset and heavy jacquard, and the addition of anticipation and fatigue only added to the building disaster. The man he was set to ride against was significantly larger in all aspects of his physical being, with a taller torso and broader shoulders that were only accented by the heavyset breastplate embellished with insets of black iron. Her own lord’s armor was much simpler, decorated only with her favor that he had removed from his lance and tucked halfway into his vambrace. Even his shield was simple unpainted steel. Her heart skipped two beats when the first horn was blown and the joust began. In only the first pass her champion knocked his opponent from his horse.
Molly was overcome with joy as her knight continued to work his way through the lists, dislodging shields and unhorsing men at every round. Half the crowd was cheering for his success by the time he had defeated his fifth opponent in a row. Molly blushed when ladies much higher than herself glared at her with fierce envy. It was as if every childish dream she had when she was a young girl was coming true. When the time came for the last two knights standing, all discomfort and anxiety from lack of sleep disappeared. Even if she didn’t know her champion, her hands still clenched with exhilaration. The last pass!
But then the dream shattered and gave way into a nightmare. The other knight was over eager and charged before the trumpet had sounded. Molly’s lord did not even have time to lower his lance before that of his opponent reached him. But rather hit the shield mounted on his arm, it landed right between his breastplate and gardbrace. Shards of broken wood buried themselves in in his flesh through the weak chainmail, causing a visible flow of blood to stream out of the wound and down the front of his armor. Molly’s hands flew to her mouth to cover her horrified gasp. Her knight hit the ground and his helm rolled off his head at the impact. Then the rest of the crowd gasped collectively as well, for they all witnessed their prince collapsed in the middle of the field.
Completely forgetting that she was far beyond her place, Molly quickly gathered her farthingale and hurried out onto the yard. She knelt at Sherlock’s side despite the dirt and sand that stained her nicest gown and quickly started pulling off as many pieces of armor as she could without disturbing the wound. The amount of blood he was still oozing made her feel a bite of nausea, but it was surprisingly easy to ignore. All that mattered was getting him taken care of. Half way through undoing the latches on his gorget, Molly felt Sherlock reach up and take her hand. He was breathing heavily, obviously fighting the pain in the side of his chest, but his eyes were less agonized and more intrigued.
“Most ladies faint at the sight of blood.”
“Most ladies do not spend their nights examining dead bodies with a prince,” she replied with the ghost of a smile.
He chuckled in reply and Molly realized that it was the first time she had heard him laugh. Though she tried to tame it, her grin grew into a beam. When Sherlock noticed, he raised her hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss on her fingers.
“I imagine my brother’s surgeon will be here at any moment and I expect to lose consciousness shortly, but I would entreat you to join me for dinner tonight. That is, if you can overlook my failing to win your honor.”
This time it was Molly’s turn to laugh.
“I’m sure we can work something out. You still make a wonderful knight in shining armor.”