The King's Man (20 page)

"Jane, are you all right?"

Jane waited until the spasm had ended and gave Thamsine a thin smile. “I am fine. It is just the tail end of a winter ailment I can't seem to shake."

Thamsine picked up a pot. “Not even with the help of your own wonderful elixirs?"

For the first time Jane laughed. “All I need is some warm weather, Thamsine. Now you have a good hand, open that book and start transcribing these receipts."

The two sisters worked in companionable silence for an hour before Thamsine straightened her back and stood up. “I'm stiff, Jane. Can we walk in the garden? I need fresh air."

Jane looked surprised but raised one thin shoulder. “As long as you won't..."

"I'm not going to scale the garden wall, Jane. I just need to walk."

As they stepped out into Jane's peaceful garden, Thamsine tucked her arm into her sister's and took a deep breath of fresh air. “I smell spring,” she said.

Jane nodded. “Not long now."

Jane stopped and took her sister's hands, searching her face. “Thamsine, who is Christopher Lovell?” Jane asked.

The mention of Kit's name caused Thamsine's heart to jolt against her ribs. “What do you mean?"

"I heard Ambrose mention his name in connection with you. I just wondered who he was."

Thamsine smiled. “Kit Lovell is ... a terrible scapegrace, Jane. A penniless gambler and worse. But...” She fought down the pain that gripped her chest. “...he was someone who was kind to me when I needed a friend. That's all."

"Are you in love with him?"

Thamsine gave a bitter laugh. In love with Kit Lovell? The idea was absurd.

"Of course not!” she protested, a little too vehemently. “He has a mistress and half the women in London lusting for him."

Jane's face took on a pinched look. “And that mistress wouldn't happen to be a woman called Lucy Talbot?"

Thamsine looked at her sister. “Jane, what do you know about Lucy Talbot?"

Jane's face was still. “Roger was a friend of Martin Talbot. When he died, his widow relied on his help with the business and the estate."

Thamsine suppressed the picture of the sort of help Lucy had required.

"Have you ever met her?” she asked, tying to keep her tone even.

Jane began to walk again. “She has visited here."

Thamsine frowned. “Here?"

"Oh yes, several times before Talbot's death. She was very much younger than her husband and I had never met anyone like her before. Such a pretty, vivacious little thing. Quite irresistible."

"Lucy Talbot is a very easy person to like.” Thamsine made no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.

"I didn't say I liked her,” Jane said, frowning. “I should have said, irresistible to men."

Thamsine looked at her sister. Did she know that her own husband had fallen under the spell of Lucy Talbot's charm?

"She professed a great interest in my still room,” Jane went on. “She asked me questions about herbs and roots; which ones had healing properties and which ones were poisonous."

Thamsine stared at her sister. “Poisonous?"

"It was autumn and I had been drying some herbs and roots. She seemed particularly interested in the monkshood."

Thamsine thought of the dried slivers of root in the earthenware crock and felt goose bumps rising on her arm. “What does it do?"

"It causes vomiting and prostration. The victim has difficulty breathing and dies in great pain."

"What a horrible way to die. Your poor rats,” Thamsine commented, trying to keep her tone light.

"I wasn't talking about rats, Thamsine. It can kill a person very quickly. Of course it was not many months later that Martin Talbot died.” Jane looked at her sister, her meaning clear.

"You think...?"

"I don't think anything,” Jane said hurriedly, “but I do know that after she left that day, a couple of the roots of monkshood I had been drying were missing. Now enough talk of Lucy Talbot. We have work to do.” Jane pushed open the door of the stillroom again. “You see those empty jars? They must all be washed and scrubbed."

They were so engrossed in the task, their heads bent together, that they did not hear Roger until he coughed. As one they looked up to see him standing him in the doorway.

He smiled, almost pleasantly. “Well I am pleased to see this sight."

Thamsine straightened and curtsied.

"Jane? Has your sister behaved?"

"She has been exemplary, Roger."

Thamsine swallowed. She knew the words she was about to say would gall her but for Jane's sake, if not her own, they needed saying. She lowered her head, clasping her hands penitentially in front of her.

"Roger, I have had much time in the past few days to consider my past actions and I see that I have acted impulsively."

Roger narrowed his eyes. “I am pleased to see you have reconsidered your wilful behaviour Thamsine. Am I to understand that you will no longer resist marriage?"

Thamsine hesitated for a very long time. “I seem to have no choice in the matter."

Roger let out a heartfelt sigh. “I am relieved that you have seen sense, Thamsine. Morton will be delighted when I tell him when he returns tomorrow. You have made the right decision."

Thamsine lay awake that night staring at the small, square window where a distant moon cast a sickly, silvery light over her. All the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place and the players in the drama took their rightful places on the stage.

Pretty, frivolous, empty-headed Lucy was not the person she professed to be. She remembered Lucy's hard, implacable face on the day Ambrose had come for her. Nothing stood between Lucy and what she wanted. The question was who did she want now—Ambrose Morton, Roger Knott or Kit Lovell?

Surely Kit had nothing to offer her except whatever talents he had in bed. Roger? He was a married man with a sickly wife and unexciting prospects. Ambrose? If he married Thamsine he would be a wealthy man and more significantly, a wealthy widower.

Thamsine shivered. When she married Morton, would there be a deadly dose of monkshood waiting for her in the future?

Despair engulfed her. If she ran now, she left Jane at the mercy of Ambrose Morton. Anyway, where could she go? Not to Kit Lovell. He was as much in Lucy's thrall as Roger. He would no more believe his mistress was a scheming murderess than Roger would. She was on her own again.

Ambrose Morton returned to Turnham Green the next evening. Thamsine heard his voice downstairs and crept to the head of the stairs.

"Jane!” Thamsine heard Roger's voice. “Fetch your sister."

Thamsine stood at the head of the stairs, paralyzed with fear as Jane came out of the parlor. Her sister stood at the bottom of the stairs looking upwards.

"Thamsine? Ambrose is here. You must come."

Thamsine stared down at her. “Jane, I can't."

Roger appeared behind his wife. “Thamsine, come down here at once."

His voice compelled her to move. At every step she felt nausea rising in her stomach.

Roger took her by the shoulder and steered her into the parlor.

"Curtsey,” he hissed in her ear.

She complied, forcing her stiff, wooden legs to bend.

"Thamsine.” Ambrose smiled and took a step towards her. She recoiled.

"I have nothing to say to you, Ambrose."

"Now Thamsine, that is not what you told me,” Roger wheedled.

Ambrose took her hand, enclosing it firmly within his own. “Thamsine, I wish for nothing more than we should be friends we once were."

She tried to withdraw her hand but he held it secure, his grip tightening.

"You betrayed any vestige of friendship a long time ago, Ambrose. Let go of my hand."

He looked pained, almost sorrowful and the grip tightened, causing her to wince. “Thamsine, what happened between us was a terrible misunderstanding."

"There's been no misunderstanding, Ambrose. You tried to rape me. I have no illusions about you. You see only my fortune and you will stop at nothing to obtain it.” The words tumbled out, impervious to her resolutions to play along as the meek, penitential bride.

His eyes flashed dangerously for a moment and then with what appeared to be masterly control, he smiled. “Thamsine, how wrong you are. I have always loved you."

"Loved me?” she spat. “The only true feeling you have ever entertained for me is one of greed, greed for my body and for my estate."

He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes glittering. “Please, Thamsine. I've changed. I want to settle with you by my side. We could be happy, you and I."

She gave a strangled cry and wrested her hand from his grip, turning sharply on her heel to face her sister and brother-in-law.

"Roger, Jane. You are my witnesses. Please do not allow this travesty to happen,” she appealed helplessly.

Roger remained standing at the door and Jane, a helpless spectator, turned her eyes to her husband, willing him to act.

Ambrose's eyes narrowed. “Thamsine. You have no choice. We will be married and we can do it on terms of truce or we can do it as enemies. It is entirely in your hands."

Thamsine leaned on the table as she sought to control her thoughts. For her own sake, she needed to make peace. It would be the only way she could survive. Perhaps once they were wed, the relationship could be renegotiated.

She swallowed. “Ambrose,” she said. “I'm tired.” She looked up at him. “I can't go on fighting you. I don't have the strength."

Ambrose smiled. “Ah Thamsine, I knew you would see reason. Roger is in agreement, we will be married as soon as it can be arranged."

Thamsine felt a wave of nausea engulf her. Her head dropped. Ambrose moved behind her and took her by the shoulders, forcing her down on to a chair. She felt his hands, hot and heavy through the cloth. The fingers tightened, grinding her bones. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

"There is one more thing you owe me, Thamsine Granville,” he hissed into her ear.

"I owe you nothing!"

"You tried to kill me. I want to hear you apologize."

"I should have killed you,” she said between gritted teeth.

His fingers tightened.

"This is criminal,” Jane stepped forward. “No court in the land will force her to marry against her will. Roger"—she turned to her husband—"stop this madness."

"I can't,” he said. “And if you have any wisdom, wife, you will not interfere."

"I warn you, Mistress Knott, do not interfere.” Ambrose's eyes gleamed.

He released Thamsine and took a step towards Jane.

Jane's eyes widened as he loomed over her slight figure. “She is my sister,” she said. “I can't allow this travesty to occur."

Ambrose struck without warning, a ringing blow to Jane's face that sent the frail woman flying against the door. Roger uttered a cry and Thamsine rose to her feet. Ambrose pushed her down as Roger knelt down beside his stunned wife, cradling her in his arms.

"You see, Thamsine, it's not just you,” Ambrose said. “There are others involved. Your sister, those two pretty little nieces of yours...” He left the sentence unfinished but his meaning was clear.

Thamsine shuddered.

"And what of your sister? What has become of Annie? Did you punish her for handing me the pistol?"

She saw the nerve in Ambrose's temple begin to twitch. Annie, with her bright, innocent eyes was his Achilles Heel. “Annie has nothing to do with this. You know I would never hurt her."

"But you think nothing of hurting other women, that maid I found you with, my sister, who knows how many others..."

Ambrose turned away, waving his arm in a gesture of disgust. “Enough of this talk, Thamsine. We will be married within the next few days, whether you consent or not."

"And who will you find willing to marry us if I have to be dragged to the altar?"

"There will be someone,” Ambrose said. “There is always someone whose conscience can be eased with a few coins. You will marry me, Thamsine, or someone close to you is going to be hurt.” He looked meaningfully at Roger, who shrank away from his gaze, still holding Jane in his arms.

"Morton, I must protest,” Roger said, his voice lacking conviction. “If you wait just a little longer..."

"I've had enough of waiting, Knott. You had your chance to make her see reason and she shows no sign of repenting her past stubbornness. Our arrangement is at an end. I am taking her with me and I assure you I have far more effective ways of breaking this stiff-necked pride."

"I will rot in hell first!” Thamsine spat as she leaped to her feet.

"Indeed you will,” Ambrose hissed in her ear. “Because hell is precisely where you are going. You need some time to consider your future, Thamsine Granville, and after a few days I can guarantee you will be crawling to me on your knees."

He made to grab at her but Thamsine ducked out of his reach. An absurd game of tag around the table ensued, until Ambrose drew his sword. He pushed Roger aside and pulled the semi-conscious Jane to her feet, holding the tip of the sword to her throat.

"Come here, Thamsine,” he said.

Thamsine gave a sharp cry. Ambrose's eyes glittered menacingly. She had no doubt that he would kill Jane if she did not obey.

Her breath coming in short gasps, she walked over to him. As soon as she was within arm's reach he thrust Jane at her husband and struck out at Thamsine, the same ringing blow that had sent Jane to the ground.

Her head reeling, Thamsine fell back against the table and slid to the ground. Unable to move, the world fading from her consciousness, she heard Roger's shaky voice.

"Where are you taking her?"

"I told you. I'm taking her to hell."

Ambrose lifted Thamsine up, throwing her across his shoulder like a bag of chaff. His shoulder dug into her abdomen. Unable to breathe, she lost consciousness.

Kit stared moodily into his ale. Every delay seemed deliberately planned to frustrate him. Henshaw, Fitzjames and Gerard appeared to be turning in ever decreasing circles, meeting first with one party and then another. No decisions, no promises of help.

The King remained obdurate. He would not countenance a move on Cromwell without the support of the Sealed Knot. Kit's fingers clenched and unclenched around the handle of his ale pot. The Sealed Knot seemed aptly named. The composition of this mysterious committee was one of the few well-kept secrets in the Court. He had nothing to take back to Thurloe.