The King's Man (13 page)

"By happy chance I encountered Mistress Granville, this morning,” Kit added.

Thamsine smiled sweetly. “Just pure coincidence. We were just going to the new coffee house. Would you care to join us, Mistress Talbot?"

"I don't care for coffee,” Lucy said, her large, blue eyes boring into Thamsine's tall, slender frame. “What brings you to London, Mistress Granville?"

"I have a position as a music tutor, Mistress Talbot."

Lucy's eyes widened. “Really? I have been meaning to engage the services of a music tutor. Would you be willing to take me on, Mistress Granville?"

"Mouse, I really don't think you need to trouble Mistress Granville,” Kit spluttered.

Lucy looked up at him. “On the contrary, Kit. It is something I have been meaning to do for some time. Will you be able to come to my house on Friday, Mistress Granville?"

Thamsine looked at Kit, delighted to see him flushed scarlet with embarrassment. Kit always seemed so much in control of his life and everything in it, that she saw no harm in causing him some discomfiture. Besides, the thought of spending some time with his mistress intrigued her.

"I would be delighted,” Thamsine said.

Lucy smiled and held out her hand to Thamsine. “Shall we say two in the afternoon? Talbot's Wine Merchants in High Holborn; you can't miss it. Now, I have an appointment with my petticoat maker. If you will excuse me, Mistress Granville.” The women curtsied. “Kit, I shall see you this evening.” Lucy smiled and held out her hand. Kit bent low and kissed it.

Lucy shot Thamsine a sharp glance, leaving Thamsine in no doubt as to the nature of the relationship, at least as perceived by Lucy Talbot. She gave Thamsine, a last, lingering look of triumph before clattering on her high patens, away through the crowd.

"So that is your Lucy,” Thamsine said.

Kit looked defensive. “She is not
my
Lucy, any more than I am hers. I assure you our relationship is one of pure mutual convenience, not ownership."

"I am not sure that she quite shares that sentiment,” Thamsine observed.

"What do you mean?"

Thamsine shrugged. “I'm a woman, Captain Lovell. I know these things."

"Then you are mistaken,” he replied, coldly, “and as for this ridiculous notion of music lessons, I am asking you, as a friend, not to do this, Thamsine."

She gave him a quick sideways glance. His mouth had set in a thin, hard line, the brows creased.

"I am hardly in a position to refuse work when it is offered, Captain Lovell."

"Well you will refuse this one!"

She brought her chin up and looked him squarely in the eye. “I'm sorry, Captain Lovell. This is a private matter and if it causes you awkwardness then I make no apology."

"Causes me awkwardness?” Kit's eyes widened. “I try very hard to keep my private life just that, private!"

"And your private life is entirely your concern, just as my right to accept a commission is my concern!” Thamsine said. “Do you still wish to partake in coffee?"

Kit brought his attention back to her. “Yes. That was the purpose of this excursion."

They walked in silence. Kit glowered and limped beside her, his hands behind his back. Thamsine, unrepentant, straightened her back and ignored her surly companion.

The smell emanating from the coffee house hit them even before the door opened. Thamsine stood still, breathing in the heady aroma. “Oh, I have never smelt anything like that. Do you suppose it tastes as good?"

Kit's face lightened and he closed his eyes. “It does have a pleasant smell. After you, Thamsine."

They secured a small table, in a dark corner away from the crowd, and a servant brought them two small cups filled to the brim with a dark, steaming brew. Thamsine sniffed it suspiciously and took a tentative sip. The smell belied the bitter taste. She wrinkled her nose and set the cup down.

Kit watched her. “Is it bad?"

"It's an acquired taste!” She said, watching intently as Kit took a sip.

He frowned. “I must agree with you,” he said, “I can't see it replacing a good ale."

"So tell me how you met Lucy Talbot?” Thamsine asked.

He gave a heavy sigh. “Am I to get no peace on this subject? Very well! I bumped into her."

"Literally?"

"Probably more correct to say she bumped into me. She was not watching her step owing to the number of parcels she carried. Lucy and the parcels went flying. What more could a gentleman do than assist her?” He set the cup down and looked at her. “Now tell me how things are with the French Ambassador?"

She shrugged. “There is nothing to tell. His mistress is pleasant but rather dull. Bordeaux himself is charming and then there is this odious little man called Baron De Baas...” She broke off as Kit looked up sharply. “Do you know him?"

"I...” Kit grimaced and looked out of the window for a moment before sighing heavily and turning his attention back to her. “I think it is time for honesty with each other."

"What do you mean?"

"Thamsine, when you were in the Tower, I believe you met with a man called John Thurloe."

Thamsine felt her heart skip a beat. Did he suspect her of being a spy? She bit her lip and replied slowly. “I was questioned by a man of that name. What of him?"

"I know why you're working for Bordeaux. Thurloe put you there."

"What do you mean?”
Best to try and brazen it out
, she thought.

Kit's shoulders hunched and he looked at her, an almost sad look in his eyes. “Thamsine, this isn't easy for me.” He took a deep breath. “We are in the pay of the same employer. Thurloe told you he would provide you with a contact. I ... I am to be to be your contact."

"What!” The word exploded from her mouth.

"Keep your voice down. You heard what I said."

"You mean you are in his pay?” she hissed.

He looked over her shoulder and swallowed. “Yes."

She stared at him. “You're a turncoat?"

He flinched. “Keep your voice down, woman! I take no pride in it, but it pays well and I do it."

Thamsine stared at him in disbelief. “You double-faced rat! All your professions of loyalty to the King's cause and all the time you take Cromwell's shilling?"

He returned her gaze, his green eyes flashing. “Before you start throwing stones, Thamsine Granville, may I remind you that you are in the pay of the same employer."

"I...” she began but realized she couldn't deny it. “I had no choice."

"Well, neither did I!"

"Why?” she scoffed. “What does Thurloe hold over you, Lovell? What possible reason could you have other than the money? Tired of scraping a living in exile so you returned to trade your friends’ confidences for Cromwell's shilling?"

She had hurt him. She could see the pain in his eyes. “My reasons are my own,” he said quietly.

"I suppose it was you who betrayed the Ship Inn plotters?"

He swallowed. “Yes."

Her eyes widened as the thought occurred to her. “And me? You betrayed me?"

His momentary silence was all she needed. She rose to her feet and struck him across the face with all the force she could muster.

"Tais-toi!"
Kit grasped her wrist and pulled her downwards. “Sit down and stop making a spectacle of yourself,” he continued in French.

She recognized the tone of command in his voice and sank to her seat. She glowered at him. The man she had thought had saved her had thrown her to the lions for his own reasons and now he wanted her to trust him?

"You hypocrite. You lying monster. All those solicitations, all that concern for my well-being. I was just a prize to be handed over to Thurloe when the time was right,” she whispered furiously, falling into French.

Kit rubbed his stinging face, his green eyes flashing. “If you put it like that, I am not going to deny it. Now,” he said, his mouth a thin, angry line, “put the slanging to one side, Thamsine. We have work to do. Is there anything I need to know?"

The first rush of anger slipped away and hurt and betrayal took its place. “I thought you were my friend,” Thamsine said in a low, uneven voice. She looked up at him, searching for the man she thought she knew, the man she had thought of every day since they had met.

"I don't have friends.” His voice was hard, his eyes flashing. She looked into the face of a man who had commanded men, men who would have followed him to hell if he had asked. They were both bound for hell and she had no choice but to follow him.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?” she asked, summoning the last edge of defiance.

He shook his head. “You don't and I accept that you have no reason to trust me. Except ask yourself this, how would I know that you are in Thurloe's employ unless he himself had told me?"

She lowered her head. There seemed to be truth in what he said. “Why?” she asked. “I am repaying a debt, but why do you work for him?"

Kit sighed heavily. “I was taken prisoner after Worcester,” he said. “The choice was simple, I took what Thurloe offered or I died in a stinking hell hole. Now it is of no matter to me whether you hate me or not, the fact remains we must work together on this. Thurloe has placed you inside Bordeaux's house for a reason."

"He wants to know about the man De Baas."

"And what can you tell me about him?"

"Nothing!” She looked up at him, hoping he could see the hurt in her eyes. “I have met him once and all I can tell you is that he has just returned from France, a fact your Mr. Thurloe is probably well aware of."

There was a moment of profound silence, while Kit took a sip from the cup. He set it down and looked at her, a humorless smile on his lips. “There, that wasn't so very hard, was it, Mistress Granville?"

She looked down at her cup. “He talked of steps being taken to restore Charles Stuart."

"Names? Dates? Plans?"

She shook her head.

"Never mind. Next time you will have something tangible for me."

"I like your confidence,” she scoffed.

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “You
will
have something for me."

Her eyes widened at the order. “I can only do my best. I have limited access."

"It is De Baas I am interested in. I am sure you can find a way to ... ingratiate yourself with him."

His meaning was plain and she hated him for it with every fiber of her being. Hated him because it was true. The best way to De Baas was through the use of her charms.

She rose to her feet and looked at him contemptuously. “I hate you,” she replied.

"Fine.” Kit stood up and tied his cloak. “You can hate me but I assure it cannot be half as much as I hate myself. Now do you wish to be escorted back to the Ship?"

She shook her head. “No. I can find my own way, Captain Lovell."

A flicker of a smile twitched at Kit's lips and he spoke in English. “Very well, Mistress Granville. We will meet again soon."

Thamsine straightened her back and walked away from him with every shred of dignity and outrage that she could muster but as her steps took her further from him, her confidence began to slough away from her.

She stopped and leaned against a mounting block outside an inn, her breath coming in short gasps. The extent of his betrayal was monstrous. The man she had considered her friend, had maybe considered to be slightly more than her friend, had betrayed her. He had taken her off the street for one reason only and that was to use her as a card in his own private game with John Thurloe.

Thurloe had outplayed him. He had turned the game on Kit Lovell, making him her contact. If he had not done so, would she ever have known? Would Kit have gone on using her, lulling her with false blandishments?

She drew a heavy, uneven breath and walked on. She despised him for his deceit. The hurt he had caused her would probably never heal. She wanted to hate him. With every fiber of her being she wanted to hate him but she knew what it was to really hate a man, and what she felt for Kit Lovell was not hate.

Kit stood at the door of the coffee house watching until Thamsine's straight, angry back was swallowed up by the crowd. He turned and stormed up The Strand in a filthy temper. He didn't know quite what put him in a rage, John Thurloe, Thamsine's hurt and the truth of her allegations or the thought that she would be teaching music to Lucy.

It hurt too much to consider the first two options so he turned his mind to Lucy. If Lucy wanted music lessons then it was hardly his concern. Thamsine would be a good teacher and she needed the money. Where was the problem? The problem was that Thamsine Granville spent far more time in his thoughts then he felt she deserved and further more he did not like the thought of her closeted with his mistress for any length of time. Women gossiped.

He had arranged to meet Fitzjames at the Saracen's Head. He was coming to hate the secret assignations in corners of smoky pubs. The smell of the smoke, ale and unwashed bodies seemed to cling to him, tainting him in much the same way as his growing distaste for what he was doing. He pulled off his hat and stepped around the crowded tables. It was not a good time to be developing a conscience.

It did not improve his temper to find his friend in the company of Ambrose Morton. The sight of the arrogant, handsome face turned his stomach. He flung himself down on the stool opposite Fitz and acknowledged Morton with a grunt.

Fitz regarded him calmly. “You look like a man whose porridge burned,” he commented. “Lucy do something to annoy you?"

Kit summoned the potboy and took out his cards, shuffling them to calm his nerves.

"Lucy, women...” he grumbled. “Damned if I'll ever understand them. What about you, Morton, is there a woman to plague your life?"

Morton's lip curled into a vicious sneer. “Don't talk to me of the perfidy of women,” he said. “That is what brings me to London."

"Really?” Kit dealt the cards.

"My betrothed has run off."

Fitz gave a snort of laughter. “With another man?"

Morton shrugged. “I can only presume so. Bloody woman was worth a fortune too, a fortune I need."

"I see,” Kit picked up his hand and noted that the cards were not with him either. “Not a love match then?"