The King's Man (12 page)

"What will that achieve?” he asked carefully.

"Without Cromwell, this Commonwealth is nothing. There is no one to succeed him, they will be begging the King to return,” Wiseman said.

"What about Ireton?"

Henshaw's mouth twisted into a grim smile. “We kill him too."

"You make that sound easy! What of the other generals? Thurloe ... the list goes on,” Kit scoffed. “Does the King know of this plan?"

"Not yet. Henshaw and Wiseman are leaving for France tonight. My uncle has arranged an introduction to Prince Rupert. With that they hope to see Charles,” Gerard said.

"And if he won't see you?” Kit gave both men a hard look.

Henshaw shrugged. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"So why include me? Surely the Ship Inn debacle should teach you that the fewer who know the better."

"Because you're a good man, Lovell. We can trust you and let's face it you speak French,” Fitz said.

"All of you speak French. So why does me being fluent in French make me useful?"

"You don't just speak French, you are French, Lovell,” Fitzjames said and caught his friend's eyes. “Well, half French. There is someone we must meet with and we don't want any French tricks. If he knows we have one of our number who can't be fooled he's less likely to try to outsmart us."

Kit's ears pricked. “Why would the French get involved in such a plan?"

"Cromwell is treating with the French King over the Huguenot business. Not all the French agree with what is being discussed,” Henshaw said.

"They would like to continue massacring innocent women and children just because they are Protestant?” Kit curled his lip in distaste.

Fitzjames laughed. “You're a damned cynic, Lovell. Yes, let them do it if it keeps Charles in Paris and the French on his side."

Kit kept his peace. This was not the time or the place to discuss the politics of the French or to mention that his mother's family were Protestants. “Who is this Frenchman you are meeting with?” he asked.

"It doesn't matter for now,” Henshaw replied.

Kit looked around the circle of faces. Another tavern, another plot.

"If you have need of me, my sword is yours,” he said, trying to keep the tone of dull resignation from his voice.

"Good man.” Fitzjames nodded approval and turned to Henshaw and Wiseman. “God speed you both on your journey."

They clasped hands across the table. “We will get word to you as soon as we can.” Henshaw said with a smile.

After Henshaw and Wiseman left, Kit turned to Gerard and Fitzjames.

"You trust them?"

Fitzjames shrugged. “Have to. There are so few left, Lovell."

"Charles won't see them, Fitz. Their reputations stink as high as a week-old corpse. You know their history? They're deserters and opportunists."

"Rumors, Lovell, just rumors."

What truth there was to those rumors, Kit had no idea. Thurloe was not in the habit of disclosing who else was in his pay. He could just as easily have Fitzjames as Henshaw in his pocket and there would be no way of knowing. At the end of the day no one could truly be trusted.

"What of the Sealed Knot?” he ventured.

Fitz looked at him. “What about it?"

"Are they involved in this or is this another frolic?"

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “Fitzjames is right. I detect a tone of cynicism, Lovell."

"I've just spent three long weeks in the Tower of London, Gerard, so forgive me if I sound cynical,” Kit snapped.

Fitz placed a restraining hand on his arm. “To answer your question, Lovell, no, the Knot is not involved but with the influence of Lord Gerard in Paris, the King's consent can be obtained and with it the co-operation of the Sealed Knot."

Kit ran a hand through his hair. “I wish I had your confidence, Fitz."

Fitz shrugged. “Confidence or foolhardiness, Lovell?"

Kit shook his head. “Whatever it is, shall we leave all talk of it for now? Are either of you game for cards?"

Thamsine chewed the end of her pen and scratched a few more notes of her small composition onto the paper. She felt it would suit Mary Skippon's limited musical abilities and give the girl some confidence. Fortunately the taproom was quiet and the fire burned brightly, making it a more congenial place to work than her room.

"Deep in concentration?"

Thamsine looked up and smiled. Kit Lovell stood watching her, his hat in his hand. Her heart gave a skip at the sight of his lop-sided smile.

"Captain Lovell! You're free."

He inclined his head. “The same could be said for you, Mistress Granville.” He tilted his head to one side and looked her up and down. “Might I say you look remarkably respectable for someone who has just spent the better part of a month in the Tower of London."

Thamsine felt the color rise to her cheeks. “Ah, my fortunes are somewhat changed since last we met. I have employment."

Kit raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?"

"I am tutoring a member of the French Ambassador's household in music."

Kit raised his eyebrows. “You surprise me! How did you stumble on this good fortune?"

Thamsine felt a flush of embarrassment. “Through a friend,” she replied and hoped Kit would ask no more questions.

Unbidden Kit sat down opposite her. “Is it going well?” he asked.

Thamsine gave a wry smile. “The girl has no ear for music. Hence...” She waved a hand at the paper she had been working on.

Kit turned it towards him and frowned in concentration.

"A pretty piece,” he commented. “Your composition?"

She nodded. “You read music?"

He shrugged. “I had a well-rounded gentleman's education. Can't sing a note to save my life but I can find a tune on a guitar or the lute. My brother had a marvellous voice when he was younger...” He broke off abruptly. “Anyway, among my many talents music, sadly, is not one I have had much time to pursue in recent years."

"I suppose not.” Thamsine smiled. “And you, Captain Lovell? You're free to roam the streets of London again?"

"They had no evidence to hold us so we were released a few days ago. Dutton and Whitely are still languishing in the confines of the Tower."

A few days ago? Thamsine felt a knot of disappointment settle in her stomach. He had been free and not sought her out until now?

He looked around the quiet taproom.

"Why did you come back here?"

She shrugged. “I feel safe here and I had nowhere else to go. What about you?"

He hesitated a moment before answering. “My mistress has, as always, proved remarkably good about taking me back in."

"I see.” Thamsine saw only too clearly, and the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach surprised her. “You don't seem the domestic type, Captain Lovell."

He studied her for a moment. “Can I let you into a small secret in my life?"

"Of course!” Thamsine's heart leaped at the thought of the shared confidence.

"I have a daughter."

Her heart thumped back to earth. “With your mistress?"

"No! God forbid! In Paris. I had an
affaire de coeur
with the extremely pretty daughter of a banker."

"Did you marry her?"

Kit shook his head. “No,” he said flatly. “I should have done but when they found she was with child, her family disowned her and threw her out. I didn't find out until too late. She died in childbirth in a squalid lodging."

Thamsine put a hand over his. “And the child?"

Unexpectedly, his face lit up. “My daughter, Eloise, lives with my cousin and her family in a village outside Paris."

"How old is she?"

"She has just turned five."

"Do you miss her?"

"There is not a day goes by when I don't think of her,” he replied and for the first time she thought that she could see the real Kit Lovell in the naked yearning in his eyes.

"Why didn't you bring her to England?"

Kit laughed, a humorless laugh. “What sort of life would that have been for her?"

"But you have a home here?"

"No. Nowhere I can truly call home. Believe me, Eloise is better with Suzanne."

"And what about your mistress?” The knot in Thamsine's stomach twisted painfully.

"My arrangement with Lucy is just temporary. Lucy's not the domestic type either, Thamsine. She's a wealthy widow who likes her independence."

"Lucky woman,” Thamsine replied with feeling.

"Not always so lucky. She did have to endure ten years of marriage to a man thirty years her senior."

Thamsine shrugged. “At least your Lucy is now free. For those of us who are forced into marriage against our wills, it is a frightening prospect."

His eyes narrowed and the sharp, evaluating look he gave her surprised her.

"Is that what you are running from?"

She hesitated, her usual denial on her lips, but his unexpected honesty with her invited a return of confidence.

"Yes,” she said. “I am running from a marriage that is far from my choice or desire and which would be contracted for no other reason than the benefit of the man involved."

"And your father sanctioned it?"

She gave a hollow laugh. “My father thought he was looking after my best interests. Before he died he not only contracted the marriage but made the man my guardian until such marriage took place."

"Is that why you ran?"

She met his eyes. “I ran because I thought I had killed the man."

Kit's eyebrows shot up. “You killed a man? Mistress Granville!"

She shook her head. “No, he is alive and well and stalking the streets of London looking for me. I know because I saw him in the crowd that day I met you."

"Is there no one you can turn to?"

She shook her head. “My one hope proved to be as duplicitous as my suitor. Now can we talk of more pleasant topics?"

Kit looked out of the smoky window. “Would you care for a walk? It is a surprisingly fine day. One could almost think spring was imminent."

Thamsine considered for a moment. He might be living with his mistress but an hour or so of his company would be preferable to her present occupation. She nodded.

Kit looked her up and down as she returned with her cloak and hat. “Might I say your new gown becomes you well."

She could not resist the small smirk of pleasure and dipped a curtsy. “Why thank you, kind sir. ‘Tis a long time since someone paid me such a compliment and it's good to be clean, well fed and have some coin in my pocket, all for doing what I do best."

"Amen to that sentiment,” he said, returning the curtsey with a studied, courtly bow. He raised an eyebrow and crooked his arm. Thamsine tucked her hand into his elbow.

They ambled at a gentle pace in perfect step with each other.

"Do you intend to stay at The Ship?” Kit asked.

"It suits me. I prefer to stay inconspicuous for the time being. Where are we going?” Thamsine asked.

"I thought we might stroll to the New Exchange,” Kit said. “I heard that a coffee house has opened there. Have you ever sampled coffee?"

"No. What is it?"

"It is a brew made from a bean they discovered in the New World. It is becoming quite fashionable, particularly among those who abhor strong drink."

"What does it taste like?"

Kit shrugged. “I've no idea. I've not sampled it myself. Does a bit of adventure suit you?"

"It sounds a mild adventure compared to my recent experience."

Kit grimaced and stopped, rubbing his right leg.

"Are you all right?” Thamsine asked.

"An old wound that did not take kindly to the conditions in the Tower. Pay me no heed.” He took her hand in his arm and they started walking again.

Kit's limp had become noticeably more pronounced than she remembered it being before.

"Does it bother you much?” she asked needlessly.

"Only when it gets cold and damp or I ride for too long. In other words, most of the winter,” Kit grumbled. “But I've learned to live with it."

"How did you get it?"

"A pike at Worcester,” he said shortly.

"My brother died at Worcester,” Thamsine said. “Stupid fool. He wanted his chance for glory."

Kit sighed. “He was not the only hot-headed young fool who thought to avenge their family's honor."

Something in his tone made her look up at him, but his face told her nothing.

"So, Kit Lovell, are you done with conspiracies?"

"Ah, now there I can make no promises...” He looked at her, his eyes twinkling. “Don't look like that, Mistress Granville. It's hard to break the habits of a lifetime."

"Why not give it all away and settle for a quiet life?"

"What's a quiet life?"

"Have you no home at all here in England?"

His face shadowed. “There is the pathetic remnant of the family estates in Warwickshire but my welcome there would hardly be warm. Anyway even if I wished to settle to what you call a quiet life, it won't be in England."

"Then where?"

He shrugged. “There is France but in truth it is the lure of the New World that attracts me."

"I have estates in Virginia,” Thamsine said.

He looked down at her. “You are a surprising woman,” he said.

"My grandfather and my father made their fortunes trading in tobacco and other commodities from the New World."

"Kit!” A woman's voice came from behind them.

At the sound of his name, Kit froze, dropping Thamsine's hand from his arm. They both turned to face a small, fair-haired woman who stood no more than five paces behind them, her arms full of parcels.

"Lucy!” Kit looked surprised.

"Well aren't you going to introduce us?” The woman he had called Lucy looked Thamsine up and down, a quizzical look on her face. From her proprietorial air and hard eyes, Thamsine had no doubt that they had encountered Kit's long-suffering mistress.

Kit made the formal introductions. Thamsine, biting her lip to stop from smiling, curtsied. Lucy, also unsmiling, returned the compliment, made awkward by her parcels. Thamsine cast Kit a quick sideways glance. She had not thought that Kit Lovell was the sort of man to become discomposed but he looked distinctly flustered.

"My brother served with Captain Lovell in the late wars,” Thamsine said.