He lowered his head. ‘I know. I don’t need you to tell me.’
‘Do you have to go?’
‘Yes.’ It was a bald word, spoken flatly and intended to convey that it was something he had no say in at all.
‘Well, I wish you a good voyage.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I will tell you something about myself, Thamsine. In fact I have a confession. I suffer seasickness in a wherry on the river. I detest boats of any description.’
‘So you are not perfect after all?’ She allowed herself the flicker of a smile. She would probably never forgive him, but in his company she found it easy to forget.
He sighed. ‘Far from it.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘As soon as I can, but I could be kicking my heels in Paris for weeks.’ He ran a hand through his hair, making the dark, uncombed locks stand up on end like a coxcomb.
‘So, what do you tell Lucy?’
‘Lucy thinks I am going to visit my Aunt Margaret in Norfolk,’ he said.
‘You have an Aunt Margaret in Norfolk?’
The corner of his lip twitched. ‘Maybe.’
‘Who do I contact if I have anything to report?’
‘A note to Thurloe. Sign yourself John Grey.’ He looked at her. ‘Thamsine, will you be all right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘By yourself?’
‘I have been by myself before. I can manage perfectly well without your help.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, I remember!’ he commented with an ironic tone. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘If there is any trouble, Jem – ’
‘I’m so sorry … ’ Lucy’s breathless voice came from the doorway.
Kit abruptly removed his hand as Lucy set her armful of parcels down on the table and selected one, which she held out to Kit.
‘For you,’
Kit flushed. ‘Lucy, I – ’
‘It’s nothing exciting, just a new shirt. I am sure your aunt would not wish to see you in such a disreputable state.’
Kit looked at the frayed cuffs of his shirt and took the parcel.
‘You’re too kind, Lucy.’ He bowed. ‘Now if you will excuse me, ladies, I have some matters to attend to.’ He planted a familiar kiss on Lucy’s forehead. ‘Now, Mouse, I shall see you this evening before I leave.’
Both women watched as the door closed behind him. Shortly afterwards, they heard Kit’s boots on the stairs and the front door slam. Lucy crossed to the window. Her blue satin dress shimmered in the light, setting off the fair ringlets and neat figure to perfection. Thamsine, in her gown of dark green wool, felt like a dour crow beside a brightly collared bird. Little wonder Kit had taken her for a mistress. She would have proved quite irresistible.
‘Well, there he goes! Forsaking me for some tedious old aunt in Norfolk.’ Lucy sighed melodramatically and turned to face Thamsine, a bright smile on her face. ‘Mistress Granville, I am so delighted you could come. This is something I have been meaning to do for so long.’
Thamsine curtsied. ‘I have no other appointments at this time. This is a lovely room,’ she blurted out.
Lucy looked pleased. ‘Oh, do you like it? I couldn’t abide all that dark wood, so after Martin died I had these hangings made. It’s the biblical story of Rachel. Martin traded extensively in his line of business, so the carpets I’ve had some time. You’ve found the lute, I see.’
Thamsine picked up the fine, inlaid instrument from where Kit had set it down and handed it to Lucy, who held it awkwardly, like a man with a baby. ‘Martin gave me this but I’ve never really mastered it. What is your charge?’ Lucy said.
Thamsine named the sum Bordeaux paid and saw Lucy’s eyebrow lift slightly, but she shrugged.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Can we start with the lute?’
‘Captain Lovell saw to the tuning,’ Thamsine said.
‘Oh yes, he was playing it the other night. A man of many hidden talents is my Kit.’
Thamsine heard the possessive “my” and wondered if Kit really understood this woman at all.
‘Shall we begin?’ Thamsine suggested, changing the subject.
But Lucy seemed in no hurry to commence instruction. She summoned Mag for refreshment. The disagreeable servant Thamsine had met at the front door appeared with small ale and sweetmeats. Lucy nibbled daintily with fine, even, white teeth. Thamsine declined when Lucy offered her the tray.
‘Will you miss him while he’s gone?’ Thamsine enquired.
‘Kit?’ Lucy shrugged and reached for another sweetmeat. ‘I have other visitors. They will see I’m not left bereft for long.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve shocked you, Mistress Granville?’
‘I am not easily shocked,’ Thamsine said. ‘I’m here to teach you music, not pass judgment on you. Although I’m curious how you manage such arrangements in the current political climate.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I pay no heed to politics. Let people judge me as they will. I try to be discreet.’
There was nothing discreet about Lucy. From the top of her carefully curled blonde head to the tip of her embroidered slipper, she would turn the head of the most ardent Puritan. In the short time Thamsine had spent with her, she had come to the rapid conclusion that Lucy was one of those fortunate women who lived for the moment, with sufficient income to ensure that she hadn’t a care in the world. If Lucy was prepared to pay Thamsine to listen to her prattle, then Thamsine would oblige.
‘Your husband was older than you?’ she asked.
Lucy pulled a face. ‘Oh yes, more than thirty years. Martin was a colleague of my father’s – a most suitable business transaction. No one thought to consult me on my feelings. I was only fifteen! Imagine! My only consolation was that he was old and one day I would be a very wealthy widow.’ She smiled. ‘Which of course, I now am!’
Thamsine regarded the woman for a moment. Her age was indeterminate. She had been blessed with a heart-shaped face and clear skin that could have placed her anywhere between sixteen and thirty. If she was somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties, it would have meant a wait of some years to pass into the blessed state of widowhood she now enjoyed. ’When did your husband die?’
‘Oh, just over a year ago. He went to dine with a friend and when he returned he had dreadful stomach pains.’ Lucy shuddered. ‘It was quite awful, such a relief when death took him.’ She tightened her lips. ‘I actually find I miss him sometimes. I was really quite fond of him. He had a wonderful sense of humour – but then he must have done to marry me! He was always kind to me and never grudged me a new petticoat or a pair of gloves. But – ’ the bow-shaped lips parted in a smile again, ‘– I am fonder still of my handsome jointure and the freedom to pick and choose my companions.’
Thamsine picked up the lute and idly picked at the strings in pretence of fine-tuning the instrument. ‘And what of Kit Lovell?’ she asked casually. ‘How did you meet him?’ She was interested to hear Lucy’s version of the meeting.
Lucy wandered over to the table and began sorting through her packages. ‘Oh, Kit … ’ She looked up and coloured. ‘Well, it’s all rather embarrassing. I was shopping and some ill-mannered oaf ran into me, knocking me to the ground. Kit helped me up, retrieved my parcels, and –’ she laughed, ‘took me to bed!’
It was Thamsine’s turn to colour. The story tallied with Kit’s in all except the last detail, which she could have done without.
Lucy smiled. ‘My dear Thamsine. Please be under no illusions about my relationship with Kit Lovell. Kit is an extremely attractive man. How could I resist? But I am quite well aware that he is also a scapegrace and a scoundrel. We have fun together, that is all.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Love him?’ Lucy frowned. ‘Love has nothing to do with it. We enjoy each other’s company and … ’ She leaned forward ‘ … we enjoy each other, but it has nothing to do with love. Thamsine, have you never taken a man to bed for the sheer pleasure of it?’
Thamsine stiffened. �
�No!’
‘Then that is your loss. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-six.’
‘And there has never been any man in your life?’
‘I didn’t say that. There was someone I thought I loved, a long time ago but … ’ She waved a hand. ‘Now, my circumstances … ’
‘Oh, the war!’ Lucy must have assumed, wrongly, that Thamsine’s sweetheart had died in the war. ‘You poor thing. Twenty-six and never had a man?’
Thamsine felt the heat in her cheeks. She looked out of the window where a cold, wintry rain beat at the panes.
‘Do you never worry about conceiving?’ she asked, turning back to look at Lucy.
Lucy’s face became serious. ‘I can’t bear children, Thamsine. My husband had a son by his first marriage, a sickly boy who died not long after we were married. In ten years of marriage I never conceived a child. The doctors concluded I was barren.’
‘I’m sorry, Lucy.’
‘Well, it is something of a blessing, is it not?’ Lucy’s laugh chimed around the room. ‘I’m sure I would have made an appalling mother.’ But in the silence that followed Thamsine saw the shadows of sadness in her eyes.
Lucy plumped into a chair and looked up at the ceiling, her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m very fond of Kit,’ she continued, ‘but you see his like in any tavern in London. Good-looking men without hope or purpose.’
‘The flotsam of the war?’
Lucy nodded. ‘Oh yes, well put. That’s exactly what they are.’ She spread her hands. ‘So there you are, Thamsine. I leave Kit to lead his own life, and if he condescends to spend some time with me then that is always pleasant, but I ask no more. It’s an arrangement that suits us both. But of course, as you probably know, he never, ever talks about himself.’ Lucy leaned back in her chair, one hand draped elegantly at her shoulder. ‘Mind you, I am beginning to become quite used to him being around … ’ She trailed off, thoughtfully biting her lip.
‘Will you marry again?’ Thamsine asked.
Lucy shrugged. ‘Only for money, or for a title. Preferably both. I would dearly like to have a title, wouldn’t you?’
‘Not particularly,’ Thamsine said. ‘I would only marry for love.’
Lucy waved a hand. ‘Love is highly overrated, my dear Thamsine. Marry for practicality but not for love. Tell me, where are you from?’
‘My family home was in Hampshire,’ Thamsine replied.
‘Your family?’
‘All gone,’ Thamsine said in an abrupt tone that a more astute person than Lucy Talbot would have interpreted as a request to enquire no further.
As Lucy opened her mouth to speak again, Thamsine handed her the lute.
‘Now, Mistress Talbot, enough chatter. It’s time to work.’
Lucy took the instrument and, grimacing, worked her fingers over the strings. At least, Thamsine conceded, she showed slightly more musical ability than Mary Skippon.
Chapter 9
Courts in exile were no different from courts anywhere, Kit thought. The King had kept them waiting nearly two hours while pompous men in shabby suits bustled around them. A King without a throne, and a court without a purpose. He knew only too well that these bored exiles amused themselves with gossip and rumour in a manner quite unsurpassed by that of any well-established court.
He looked at the self-important faces and wondered how many of them were also taking silver from Thurloe’s hand. Nothing the young King said or did went unnoticed or unremarked in London. He had to admire Thurloe for the thoroughness with which he conducted his activities. A court full of spies surrounded Charles, and in the years after Worcester he had been one of them. All he had really had to do was pass on the latest court gossip. Life as Thurloe’s agent had not been unpleasant in those days. Until Thurloe had summoned him back to London.
Fitz leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling, while Kit watched young Gerard deep in conversation with his uncle. Lord Gerard, he remembered now, had been a friend of his father’s, a well-intentioned and earnest little man.
The conversation had concluded. Lord Gerard nodded and parted from his nephew. Jack sauntered back to join them.
‘Well?’ Fitz enquired. ‘What’s happening? I thought the King was anxious to see us.’
‘He is but he has other business to attend to.’
‘God, I hate waiting,’ muttered Kit. ‘What other business can he have, for God’s sake?’
‘Patience, Lovell!’ Fitz counselled.
‘I don’t have any. I hate Paris and I hate France. I don’t know why I even came.’
‘Because you were commanded to?’ Fitz suggested. ‘Anyway, why do you hate France? I thought you were half-French.’
Kit shrugged. ‘I would rather be in England.’
Where I have some control over my life, Kit thought. Back in England, where I wouldn’t spend every moment worrying about Thamsine Granville.
‘You’ve not met my mother’s relatives,’ he continued. ‘Fortunately, they live well out of the way of Paris and I don’t have to trouble myself with them.’
This was rather unjust. His living relatives consisted of a couple of extremely pleasant aunts and some rather distant and dim cousins who lived in the crumbling chateau near Agens, where he had spent the first eight years of his life.
‘And now the French are conspiring with bloody Cromwell to have the King evicted from France,’ Kit went on, giving vent to his frustrations. ‘At least that is one thing the King and I have in common. He’s half-French too.’ Kit gave a snort. ‘A plague on our poxy French relatives!’
Lord Gerard appeared at the door. ‘Gentlemen, the King will see you now.’
There were the usual formalities to be observed. The three men bowed low as they entered the room. Charles sat at a table, his advisors behind him. He had changed immeasurably in the eighteen months since Kit had last seen him. He saw no trace of the eager youngster who had urged them into battle at Worcester. His hopes, his dreams and his innocence had died on that day. For a young man of barely twenty-four, he looked ten years older.
‘Your Majesty!’ Kit said, marvelling at how odd the words sounded after all this time.
‘Lovell, Fitzjames, it is good to see you both again.’ Charles inclined his head to acknowledge them.
‘My nephew Jack, Your Majesty,’ Lord Gerard added.
‘I do not intend to waste time with pleasantries,’ the King said. ‘Word of what you plan has already reached me.’
‘Your Majesty, if you would but listen to Major Henshaw … ’
‘I will have no truck with Henshaw. He is a murderer and a man not to be trusted.’ Charles’ gaze ran around the circle of men. ‘As indeed are any of you. God’s blood, gentlemen, I am surrounded by plots and plans. My mother exhorts me one way, my cousin another. Which way am I to turn?’
‘Your Majesty, we want nothing more than your restoration to your rightful throne,’ Lord Gerard began.
‘Then if that is all you desire, your understanding of my predicament is naïve, Gerard.’ Charles closed his eyes and waved a hand. ‘Very well, tell me your plan.’
Gerard turned to Fitzjames, who cleared his throat. ‘Sire, we have a contact here in the French court who is desirous of assisting us.’
Charles gave a derisive snort of laughter. ‘For what purpose?’
‘To be blunt,’ Lord Gerard said, ‘if you were to return to the throne of England, well disposed to the French court, then France will be highly relieved. There is considerable resentment about Cromwell’s high-handed support of the Huguenot cause and the way he is playing the Dutch against the Spanish.’
‘And why would I be any different? I cannot countenance the wholesale slaughter of innocents on account of their religion.’
‘Your Majesty, we are straying from the point. Our plan is quite simple, to destabilize the army by removing Cromwell.’
Charles’ eyes took on a hooded, thoughtful look. ‘What do you mean by “remove”?’
&
nbsp; Fitz spoke. ‘We plan to assassinate him, and while the army is in uproar there will be a rising in London. With less than a thousand men, we could take and hold Whitehall, the Tower and other key positions.’
‘And with you waiting in the Thames Estuary to land, England will fall,’ Lord Gerard concluded.
‘And what help will the French provide?’
‘The means to remove Cromwell,’ Fitzjames said quietly.
Charles closed his eyes; when he opened them they were fixed on Kit. ‘Lovell, you’re silent. What are your thoughts on this plan?’
Kit felt a shiver down his spine. ‘I think we need some guarantee of general support before we embark on it. Without a firm commitment of men and money we are talking about a dream, Your Majesty.’
‘I agree,’ Charles said. ‘Gentlemen, it is, I believe, now generally well known, that there is a committee in England that holds my commission for a general uprising should the circumstances prevail. I do not believe that the death of Cromwell alone will achieve anything in itself but … ’ he raised a finger, ‘ … should such an event occur as a prelude to an uprising sanctioned by the Sealed Knot, then it may achieve something.’
‘But Your Majesty, we do not know who comprises the Sealed Knot. How can we discuss such matters with them?’ Fitz posed the question that had been on the tip of Kit’s tongue. He gave his friend a sharp glance, relieved that Fitz seemed ignorant of the composition of the Sealed Knot.
‘Who comprises the Sealed Knot is no concern of yours,’ the King said. ‘Gentlemen, I will not countenance an act of aggression against the person of Cromwell unless it is done in conjunction with an organised general insurrection.’
‘Your Majesty … ’ Lord Gerard began in a pleading tone.
Charles raised a hand. ‘That is my decision, Lord Gerard. Return to England but do nothing until agents of the Sealed Knot contact you. Is that clear?’
The men nodded.
‘Good day to you, gentlemen.’ The King gestured at the door.
The group walked out of the audience chamber. Heads turned and bent to whisper to companions as they passed by. It was only when they had secured the privacy of their lodgings and adjourned to a private parlour that Lord Gerard gave vent to his frustration by hurling his hat onto the table.
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