The King's Man (42 page)

Kit felt Thamsine's fingers tighten in his belt and he turned to look at her.

"I warned you,” he said.

"I'd not imagined that it would be quite so bad,” she replied.

Kit put his heels to the horse, urging it forward. An old woman paused in sweeping the front steps leading up to the door. Her eyes widened. She dropped the broom and ran inside.

"M'lady, m'lady!” Kit heard her voice echoing through the house. “He's back! Back from the grave."

As Kit dismounted, a woman in a rusty black dress appeared at the door, wiping her hands on an apron. She pushed back a tendril of greying hair that strayed from beneath her cap and squinted short-sightedly at the visitors.

Kit lifted Thamsine down from the pillion saddle and turned to face his stepmother. He swept his hat from his head and gave her a low bow.

"Madam,” he said.

Disappointment flooded her face.

"You! I thought...” she began.

He knew what she had thought. She had been expecting Daniel. He walked towards her and stood at the bottom of the steps looking up at her.

"Margaret...” he started to say, but got no further.

She picked up the abandoned broom and with a fury born of frustration she began to hit him. Kit put up his hands to protect his head from the frenzy of the blows Margaret Lovell rained down on him.

"I told you never to darken my doorstep again!"

She pursued him down the stairs and forced him back against the house.

"Margaret, please ... let me explain."

One of the blows hit the fingers of his right hand, jangling the nerves of the barely healed fingers. Kit swore volubly and slid down the wall, pressing his hand to his chest while trying to shield himself with his left hand.

"Mother!"

A young woman had appeared in the doorway.

"Mother, stop! It's Kit."

"I know who it is.” Margaret said but she ceased her attack, throwing the broom down on the steps.

Frances Lovell cast her mother a warning glance and ran down the steps. She knelt down beside her brother.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine,” muttered Kit through tight lips.

Frances took his hand and gasped.

"Kit! Your hand, what happened?"

"Another time,” Kit said, pulling his hand back.

With what dignity he could muster, he rose to his feet, retrieved his hat from the mud, took a steadying breath and turned to face his sister and stepmother. Frances took a step towards him, a broad smile on her face.

"I can't believe it's you!” she said. “We thought you were dead. It was in the broadsheets..."

He smiled at her. “It's a very long story, Fran."

Kit looked up at his stepmother, who had retired to the top of the stairs, her arms crossed, glaring at him. Margaret Lovell had only been seventeen, a pretty, vivacious girl with an abundance of brown curls, when she had married Kit's father. The eight year-old Kit, newly brought back from France and thrust into a house of strangers, had worshipped her.

Now the years of war and the loss of her own son had dealt ill with her. What he could see of her hair seemed to be almost entirely grey, her face thin and lined. He looked at her and felt the weight of responsibility for her troubles settle on his shoulders where they rightly belonged.

"Margaret, I don't know where to begin."

"I want my son back,” she said obdurately.

"Oh, Mother!” Frances said, impatience in her voice, “I'm so tired of this. You cannot hold Kit responsible forever."

"I can and I do."

"Well I'm tired of blaming Kit for this family's ills!” Frances continued. “He's my brother as much as Daniel and I for one, am glad to see him.” She fell into his arms. “I truly am glad to see you, Kit."

He held her close, marvelling at how the enchanting child could have grown into such a sensible young woman. A discreet cough reminded him that Thamsine stood watching this touching family reunion. He turned to her, noting the wicked gleam of amusement in her eye. He held out his hand and she took it.

"My wife, Thamsine,” he said. “Thamsine, my stepmother, Margaret Lovell, and my sister, Frances

Both women stared at Thamsine and then back at Kit.

"You're married?” Frances exclaimed.

"Yes,” Kit said slowly. “I did say she was my wife."

Margaret sniffed and looked Thamsine up and down, taking in the elegant green gown and curling chestnut locks.

"I suppose you know that my stepson is a disgrace to this family,” she said.

Thamsine smiled with remarkable equanimity.

"I know all there is to know of your stepson, Mistress Lovell. Between us, he only married me for my money."

She smiled demurely at her husband, who responded with an ill-aimed cuff at her ear. Margaret stood to one side.

"Well,” she said ungraciously, “seeing as you're here you may as well come in."

Frances tucked her arm into Kit's.

"Take no notice of her, Kit! I, for one, am really happy to see you."

"How's Grandfather?” he asked.

She stopped and looked up at him.

"You don't know? How could you know?"

"Know what?"

"He's dead. You're Lord Midhurst now."

Kit took a deep, steadying breath.

"When?"

"Last winter,” she said. “Lung fever."

He felt Thamsine's hand on his shoulder. The old man was dead. Had been dead all these months and he'd never known. He wondered what Lucy would have thought if she'd known he was already a Viscount. An empty title if ever there was one.

In the old room that served as a parlor, Margaret turned to face him.

"Frances told you about your grandfather?” she asked.

Kit nodded. “How have you managed all these months by yourselves?"

Margaret drew herself up. “We've managed because we've had to. Your grandfather is dead, Daniel ... and then the news you were dead. We knew nobody would be coming to our aid."

Kit laid his hat down on the table. “I'm sorry, Margaret. There's nothing I could have done, even if I'd known."

"So why are you here now?” Margaret's eyes moved suspiciously from Kit to Thamsine.

"Several reasons,” Kit said. “First and foremost to make my peace with you."

Margaret gave a hollow laugh. “You're a little late for that, Kit Lovell."

"No, he's not!” Frances exclaimed. “Mother! I don't blame him for what happened to Daniel. I miss Daniel but I have missed Kit too."

Margaret shot her daughter a quelling glance and looked back at Kit. “And?"

"And?” Kit looked at Thamsine and she nodded. “We've come to offer you a home."

"This is my home!” Margaret said.

Kit ran a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said, his voice tinged with impatience. “You can stay here, Margaret, living in four rooms in a broken ruin, if that's you want. Frances?"

"Where?"

"My home in Hampshire,” Thamsine said. “There's only Kit and myself and my two nieces. There is a comfortable dower house and ample room."

"You really did marry her for her money?” Frances shot a mischievous glance at her brother.

"Absolutely,” Kit agreed.

"You're not going, Frances,” her mother said. “We're not going to live on this woman's charity."

Kit drew a breath and laid a hand on the table with deliberate care, though he would have dearly loved to smash his hand onto the table in frustration.

"Margaret!” he said slowly. “God knows, I want to call a truce, but you are making it very difficult. As you have pointed out I am now Lord Midhurst. I am the head of this family. This is not charity. You are my responsibility now and I am offering you a home, nothing more. If Frances wishes to come to Hartley, she may. You, however, are quite free to stay here. I will make suitable arrangements to ensure you live in a modicum of comfort. Will that suit you?"

Margaret looked discomfited. “I can't stay here alone,” she said.

"That is your choice,” Kit said slowly. “Now, there is a third reason I have come. I have news of Daniel."

Margaret stiffened. “Daniel?"

Kit indicated the table. He took his place at the head of the table and waited until the women were seated.

He and Thamsine had not moved from Hartley for over a month since they had been reunited. Only in the last few weeks had they begun to talk about what they should do, how they could exist in an England that no longer wanted them. The decision when it came to be made had seemed so simple. After a lifetime of adventuring, Kit no longer felt the lure of France or the Colonies so they had decided they would stay where they were, sufficiently distant from London to cause Thurloe no heartache.

Thamsine's nieces were settled and seemed happy. Thamsine had engaged a proper tutor for them but Kit delighted in teaching them card games and tricks, to his wife's disapproval. They had decided that they would fetch Eloise from France and Kit's family from Eveleigh. It had all seemed so straightforward until Jem had brought a letter from London.

Kit laid two crumpled and stained letters on the table before him.

"This letter,” he said, holding up the first sheet, “is an order for Daniel's release and a pardon."

Margaret stared at him. “How...?” she began but Kit raised his finger to silence her.

"It doesn't matter, how,” he said. “We had this paper. We were about to take ship for Barbados to secure his release, when circumstances intervened."

He looked at Thamsine, reliving, as he still did in his nightmares, those black days. He took a breath and continued.

"You said you'd seen reports of my death. Well, they're true. To England, Kit Lovell is dead. Thamsine and I would have left months ago but...” He paused. “My health meant a delay to our voyage."

"What has your health to do with Daniel?” Margaret demanded impatiently.

Thamsine's brown eyes flashed. “You have no idea, do you?” she said. “Kit bought Daniel's freedom with his life. Show them."

Both women turned their gazes on him. Kit unwound the carelessly and, he had hoped, fashionably knotted neck cloth, revealing the faint but still visible marks of the rope.

Frances put her hands to her mouth. Margaret blinked.

"They really hanged you?” Frances said in a small, tight voice.

"Yes,” Kit answered shortly, retying the cloth around his neck.

"What of Daniel?” Margaret demanded impatiently.

"I had an assurance he would be placed on the first ship back to England, Margaret,” Kit said. “When I was sure he was safe, then I was going to tell you. And then this letter arrived."

He pushed the paper across the table to his stepmother. Margaret picked it up and unfolded it.

"Read it aloud, Margaret,” he said.

"Who is Thurloe?” Margaret asked.

Kit smiled. “The Secretary of State. The letter is from the Governor of Barbados."

My lord Thurloe,

Further to your enquiry regarding the prisoner Daniel Lovell, sent here as a traitor to the Commonwealth of England, I am reliably informed that he was indentured to one Jeremiah Pritchard of King's County. I have made enquiries of Master Pritchard and I am advised that this man Lovell absconded from his custody in April of this year. An extensive search of the island has been undertaken but no trace of the felon has been found. We are of the opinion that he died in his escape attempt.

If I can be of any further service,

Yr Obedient servant...

Margaret set the paper down and looked at Kit.

"After all of this, he's dead?"

Kit shook his head. “If he'd waited another month, he would have been a free man. Everything...” he cast a hand at the papers, “...was for nothing."

Thamsine laid a hand over his and he took a breath, regaining his composure.

"I have thought hard on this, Margaret. I've been through too much to believe it was all for nought. I refuse to accept he is dead until I hold some evidence in my hand or stand beside his grave."

Margaret set the paper down. All her defiance had leeched from her and she looked suddenly old and frail. Kit took her hand, meeting no resistance.

"Margaret, I couldn't have stopped Daniel coming with me that day. If I had locked him in his room he would have found some way to follow. If I'd not been wounded...” He trailed off. “Please believe me when I say there is not a day goes by when I've not thought of him. I will make you this promise here and now. I will go to Barbados and find out the truth, if that is what you want."

She looked up at him.

"I need to know, Kit,” she said.

"So do I,” he replied.

"In February 1654 a Miss Granville hurled a brickbat at the Lord Protector's Coach.” This throwaway line in one of the many history books of the period (Antonia Fraser,
Cromwell, Our Chief of Men,
Panther Books Ltd 1975, page 494) provided the basis for this story. I never discovered who Miss Granville was or why she threw the brickbat so I made her my own character.

While Thamsine Granville, Kit and their close friends and relatives are fictional, the rest of the cast of characters were very much real people as were the plots they were involved in. The “Ship Inn plot” and “Gerard's plot” both failed in much the manner described with fatal consequences for the people involved. Bampfield, Henshaw and Wiseman were certainly double agents and Kit's friend, Fitzjames, who was closely involved in Gerard's plot, drowned on a crossing from France. His body was found washed up with incriminating letters in his pocket.

Mazarin's agent, Baron De Baas, was the brother of a certain D'Artagnan of Musketeer fame on whom Dumas based his story. His disdain for the English court is based on his own observations.

John Thurloe ran a highly effective spy ring for most of the Protectorate and foiled not just these plots but the far more serious plotting of the Sealed Knot which resulted in a small uprising the following year. Richard Cromwell famously described him as having the key to wicked men's hearts.

And who comprised the Sealed Knot? Well, Kit never did find out their names! Perhaps another time.

Alison was born in Kenya and has lived and travelled around the world but home is Melbourne, Australia where she lives with her two sons, two cats and her husband, the one true hero in her life. In her “real” life she is a lawyer and has been, among her many and varied occupations, a legal officer in the Australian Army reserve. She lived in Singapore for three years, pretending to pursue a serious, full time writing career while being ‘just an expat wife'. During that time, she was published in two anthologies of short stories (one of which appeared briefly in a best seller list and both of which are available on Amazon) and wrote the first draft of The King's Man! She has had other short stories published in anthologies, and has been a contest finalist in a number of competitions, including the shortlist of the Catherine Cookson Fiction Prize, the Emerald Award and the Emma Darcy Award.