The King's Man (8 page)

"Who's on this committee?” Dutton asked. From his face it was evident that the existence of the Sealed Knot was news to him.

Smith shrugged. “No one knows but there is word that Willys is one of them."

"They hold the King's Commission you say?” Dutton was incredulous. “If Willys is one of them, then why not confide in us? Together we could have raised an army."

"An Army? For Christ's sake Dutton, we couldn't organize a small riot!” Kit said. “You didn't really believe we could muster six hundred men?"

"With the King's Commission we could have done."

"Enough!” Whitely rose to his feet. “In case you gentlemen haven't noticed, we are in the Tower of London and these walls have ears. Not another word."

There was silence, then Smith spoke. “What about the girl? Is it true she threw a brickbat at Cromwell a week or so back?"

"I saw her!” Dutton looked up. “Dammit I knew her face was familiar. A bit thinner and bit grubbier but it was her right enough. I saw her throw the brickbat. Only missed by a couple of inches."

"Well you can just keep quiet about it,” Kit said sharply. “No point sending her to the gallows for nearly succeeding at something we have come nowhere close to doing!"

"You're quick to defend her,” Dutton sneered. “Got a hand under her skirts, have you?"

Kit cast Dutton a filthy look that was lost in the dark. He slid down the wall and sat with his hands hanging loosely over his knees. He closed his eyes and wondered how Thamsine fared, locked within these same forsaken walls.

A fitful ray of sunlight struggled through the foetid London air, penetrating the warm, panelled room and briefly illuminating the large, oaken table. John Thurloe, dressed in a plain suit of subdued cloth, relieved only by falling bands of finest white linen, looked up from perusing the scattered papers before him. He set down his pen and, leaning his elbows on the table, placed the tips of his fingers together and considered his visitor.

"Captain Lovell. I trust you are well?"

Kit gave the Secretary of State the benefit of a flourishing bow. Without waiting for an invitation he seated himself in one of the solid, oak chairs facing the table.

"Tolerably well, Master Thurloe. The hostelry is overrun with bed bugs and lice and the rats are a truly incredible size. The food is execrable but my day is much improved for seeing you of course."

Thurloe sighed. “Spare me the charm, Lovell. You know it's wasted on me."

Kit casually flicked at a piece of imaginary lint on his sleeve, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle. The gesture was purely an affectation. The sleeve of his jacket, like the rest of his attire and indeed he himself, after a week's incarceration, was very much the worse for wear. Unshaven, soiled and stained and carrying the unmistakable stench of prison, Kit was far from his sartorial best. Thurloe's long nose wrinkled in distaste.

Kit caught the gesture. “I pray your pardon for my appearance, Thurloe but as you are well aware the accommodation has afforded me few luxuries."

"Indeed but then it was not intended to,” agreed Thurloe.

Kit raised a hand to a livid bruise on his right cheekbone. “Was this strictly necessary?"

Thurloe shrugged. “Adds a degree of authenticity. I trust Sergeant Harris was not too rough on you?"

Kit glared at the Secretary of State. “I am lucky he did not break bone."

"How are your fellow captives?"

Kit shrugged. “Surprised that their idiotic plan was discovered."

"And who do they suspect of betraying them?"

Kit shook his head. “The suspects abound. Roger Cotes now seems to be the principal object of their blame. Never one to be trusted was Roger. Shifty eyes."

Thurloe smiled. “Not you?"

"Never me, Thurloe.” Kit's finger traced the carving on the arm of the chair. He looked up and met Thurloe's eye. “What do you intend to do with them?"

Thurloe's long fingers drummed the table. “They're a sorry enough crew. Very quick to talk and there are titbits of information I find quite intriguing. As for the plot itself?” He shrugged. “Pathetic and impossible to achieve. Laughable.” He shook his head. “When all is considered, there is precious little evidence to hold them on. To be honest I doubt that they will see trial. We'll hold them long enough to make them think twice about entering into conspiracies and then let them go again."

"What about me?"

"Well, I can hardly let you go without attracting some sort of suspicion."

Kit narrowed his eyes. “You enjoy this, don't you? You're like a cat playing with a mouse. You allow me so much freedom and then haul me back in. Is that why you've waited so long to see me?"

"I wouldn't want you to be in any doubt about your position, Captain Lovell. If you don't care for the life I allow you, there is always an alternative!” Thurloe leaned forward. “Now pay your dues! What do you know about a committee sanctioned by Charles Stuart?"

Long practice prevented Kit's face from betraying his surprise. His eyes widened. “A committee?"

Thurloe sat back in his chair. “Don't play the innocent with me, Lovell. Do I need to remind you of the reason you work for me?"

Kit's mouth tightened and he leaned forward. “Thurloe, our arrangement is at an end. I gave you the girl. I have given you Dutton and the others. You cannot ask any more of me."

"An overwrought woman and a pack of fools? Hardly the stuff to unsettle the Commonwealth,” Thurloe sneered. “And in the meantime you have been more than a drain on the purse, Captain Lovell. May I remind you how much it cost to settle your debts last time?"

"A gentleman must maintain his standards, Thurloe.” A sardonic smile lifted the corners of Kit's mouth.

"A gentleman of no means must learn to lower his standards,” Thurloe rejoined. “Now tell me what you know."

Kit looked down at his right hand. He had gripped the arm of the chair so hard the knuckles showed white. “All I know is that there is a new committee that holds a commission from the king to organise a general insurrection."

"The Sealed Knot?"

Kit blinked in surprise. “You know about them?"

"I know they call themselves ‘the Sealed Knot'. Tell me something I don't know."

Sudden anger flared in Kit's eyes. “If you already know about it, then why ask me?"

Thurloe held up his hand. “I know what it is. What I need to know is who is involved and what they plan. I want names."

Kit took a breath. “I don't have names. There are too few of them and they are playing it close."

"You're lying."

Kit spread his hands, the chains rattling. “I can't tell you what I don't know. What are you going to do—employ some other means of persuasion on me?"

Thurloe sat back in his chair, his gaze on Kit's face.

"I don't need to, Lovell. If you don't know any more than you're telling, the effort will be wasted, and I know you have good enough reason not to withhold information. I'm sure you'll tell me as soon as you have anything useful.” He paused, his eyes narrowing, “And as for our arrangement, Captain Lovell, I assure you I intend to keep my word when I am satisfied that you have outlived your use to me."

"Your use of words is hardly subtle Thurloe.” Kit smiled bitterly.

"They're not intended to be,” Thurloe snapped. “If not for me you would have swung on a gibbet long before this or died, forgotten in some prison. If you don't like ‘outlive', well then maybe when I am satisfied that there is no more to be usefully gained by your employment. Now think again. Names, Lovell."

"Maybe, I don't know for certain, Richard Willys,” Kit said in a low, sullen voice.

Thurloe picked up his pen and began smoothing the feathers. “Willys? Yes that would make sense but there must be others, bigger fish than Willys.” He broke off from his musings and looked at Kit. “What about Fitzjames?"

Kit's lips tightened and his guts clenched. “If Fitzjames is involved with the Sealed Knot, it is only on the edge,” he said. “Willys is your man."

Thurloe's eyes narrowed. “Then work on Fitzjames, use your friendship with him. I don't have to tell you how to do your job, Lovell."

Kit felt the bile rise to his throat. “No,” he replied shortly. “You don't have to tell me."

"We have dealt neatly with this one pathetic plot but I believe that this Sealed Knot poses a much bigger threat. As you surmise, there is an element of organisation to it I have not seen since Charles Stuart attempted to reclaim his throne in ‘51. If indeed they carry his commission then that is a matter of grave concern. I need to know who is involved and what they plan. I also want to know if the French are involved."

"The French?” Kit raised an eyebrow.

"You're probably aware that England stands in a precarious position with the French and the Spanish. I would not be surprised if the French use a little civil unrest here in England to sway Spain's sympathies. We have a new envoy from Mazarin here in London. The Baron De Baas.” Thurloe raised his eyebrows at the mention of the name. “De Baas has a very high opinion of himself and he is not a man I trust. The French Ambassador, Bordeaux, seems unhappy at De Baas’ presence but appears powerless to do anything about it, which is what makes me think De Baas has a specific commission from Mazarin."

"I have had no dealings with this man nor heard the name mentioned,” Kit responded. “What do you expect me to do?"

Thurloe paused and leaned forward on his elbows, his interlaced fingers supporting his chin. “Exactly what you do so well, Captain Lovell. Play dice and cards and get your friends appallingly drunk."

Kit looked affronted. “Thurloe, I thought you had a better opinion of me than that."

"Let me remind you, my friend, that I have a full accounting of your debts so I know exactly what it is that you do. Now, are we clear, Lovell? I want to know who and what your friends in the ‘Sealed Knot’ are up to and I want to know what game the Baron De Baas is playing."

Kit raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, then brought his gaze back to meet the eyes of the Secretary of State. “If this plot is serious, I could be a dead man, Thurloe."

"You're a survivor, Lovell, and you and I both know that you have a good reason to ensure that you stay healthy."

"God damn you to hell, Thurloe.” Kit couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice.

"I shall be in good company. You may go, Captain Lovell."

Kit stood and turned for the door. As an afterthought he stopped and looked back. “The girl..."

Thurloe blinked. “What girl?"

"Thamsine Granville."

"What about her?"

"What do you know about her?"

Thurloe shrugged. “A gentlewoman by birth. Royalist family, I suspect."

"No, I mean have you found out anything about her?"

"She says she's from Hampshire—Hartley Court. Father dead, dispossessed and reduced to penury on the streets of London. Why? What interest do you have in her?"

Kit shook his head. “What are you going to do with her?"

"What would you like me to do with her?"

"Let her go, Thurloe."

"Now why should I do that? She has admitted her guilt."

"Are you going to try her?"

"Not my decision.” Thurloe shrugged.

"I'm not a fool, Thurloe. The Council will make whatever decision you recommend."

"The Lord Protector is ill-disposed to women who throw brickbats at his coach."

"She's not a conspirator, Thurloe, just a woman at the end of her means. Let her go.” He paused. “She's an intelligent woman and she could be useful."

"To you or to me?"

Kit shrugged. “Let her go, Thurloe, and we'll see."

Thurloe considered him for a moment. “I agree, she is an intelligent woman, Lovell. Does she have any particular skills that may be of use?"

Kit frowned. “She speaks fluent French and appears to be a relatively accomplished musician."

"She speaks French?"

"As well as I do."

Thurloe's eyes widened. “Indeed, and a musician as well. A good one?"

Kit shrugged. “She has had the benefit of a good education and she sings well."

Thurloe nodded. “Perhaps we could reconsider Mistress Granville's fate. I may, in fact, have a task ideally suited to a woman of her talents."

Kit's face was still. “She doesn't know that I..."

"Betrayed her? No. I'm sure she still thinks of you as her savior and friend."

Kit's back stiffened. “Then shall we leave it that way?"

Thurloe gave a small, humorless smile that Kit instinctively distrusted.

"Can I see her?” he asked

"Dear me, Captain Lovell, if I'm not mistaken I detect a soft spot for Mistress Granville? A dangerous weakness in the game you play."

Kit narrowed his eyes. “I assure you I have no weakness as regards Mistress Granville. I think she can be useful, that's all. It is surely in both our interests for her to continue to trust me?"

"If you say so.” Thurloe waved a hand. “Oh very well, you can go and play comforter to her if you wish."

"An accidental meeting, Thurloe."

Thurloe nodded. “It can be arranged."

Nothing could have prepared Thamsine for the insufferable boredom of imprisonment. She had counted every stone in the wall of her cell and spent the long hours lying on her cot composing melodies in her head. Her dwindling supply of coin did not run to the luxury of pen and paper.

She was deeply absorbed in a reworking of a familiar piece for the lute when her door opened with a thud.

"You've visitors,” the turnkey said with a suitable amount of surprise in his voice.

Thamsine rose to her feet and smoothed her rumpled skirts. She could think of no one who would be visiting her other than that awful man, Thurloe, and she had no wish to see him again.

"Well, well, Lady Muck, this is quite a comedown, ain't it?"

The shock of seeing Nan Marsh caused Thamsine to take two steps backward. She tripped over the stool and fell on to the narrow, flea-infested cot.

Nan stood at the door, looking around her with a faintly bemused air. “So this is the Tower of London? I thought they'd throw you in a dungeon. You done all right for yourself."