They poison her every day, every hour.
——Baron Stockma
Arthur was leaning on the wooden railing of the seaside promenade, the distant tide slowly receding, revealing a vast expanse of wet sand.
A few bathing carts painted in blue and white were being gently pulled into the sea by horses, waves splashing against the wheels creating tiny sprays. Children crouched on the beach picking shells, several ladies wearing wide-brimmed straw hats strolled under parasols, their white skirts fluttering in the sea breeze.
Eld held a tin mug filled with ginger beer, he had just come out of a nearby changing booth, with his shoes in the other hand, half-dry fine sand clinging to his calves.
He hummed a tune as he walked over to Arthur, leaning against the railing: "What's this? Still holding a grudge?"
"Holding a grudge? How could I dare?" Arthur lit a cigarette: "Sir John Conroy is the Grand Steward of Kensington Palace, the favorite of the Duchess of Kent, where do I dare to cross him?"
