The King's Man

by Alison Stuart

  In the dark of the coach’s interior, he took Thamsine in his arms again, holding her close.

  ‘You don’t smell very good,’ he whispered in her ear.

  A small vibration of laughter rewarded him. ‘You do. You smell of sweat and horses.’

  ‘It’s been a busy day.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy. It would have helped if you had told me the whole story on the day we met. Then I would have known who Ambrose Morton was and what a threat he was to you.’

  Her shoulders heaved as the sobs came in an unchecked flood.

  He let her cry, soothing her in his inept, masculine way. It did not take long for Thamsine’s slight body to become a dead weight, and he knew that shock had claimed her – that she had fallen asleep or slipped into the self-preservation of unconsciousness.

  The coach drew up at The Ship Inn. Kit lifted Thamsine out and carried her through the back entrance to the inn.

  Roused from their beds, and still in their nightclothes, the girls came clattering down the stairs. May gave a sharp cry. ‘You found her! Oh Cap’n Lovell, what’s happened to her? What’d he do to her?’

  Kit marched past her and continued up the stairs to Thamsine’s chamber.

  ‘She’ll be all right. She just needs cleaning up and rest,’ he said as he laid her on the bed.

  May busied herself lighting a fire and he sat down on the bed beside Thamsine, chafing at her icy hand, trying to bring some life back to her.

  ‘Talk to me, Thamsine,’ he said.

  Her eyes flickered open and she smiled.

  ‘Kit,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so tired.’ Her eyes closed again.

  Nan brought a foul-smelling tallow candle closer. She shoved Kit aside with her hip. ‘Get lost. I’ll see to her.’

  Kit crossed to the fire and stood staring into it, while behind him Nan and May stripped Thamsine of the damp shift.

  ‘Where’s she bin, to get into this state? She’s cold as death,’ Nan said.

  ‘Bedlam.’

  Both girls stared at him.

  ‘Bedlam? Who put her there?’ Nan expostulated.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Kit replied wearily.

  ‘It was him, weren’t it?’ May scowled. ‘The one that wanted to marry her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is this cove?’ Nan’s eyes narrowed malevolently.

  ‘A man called Ambrose Morton. You may have seen him. Tall, dark-haired, handsome … ’

  ‘Describing yourself, are we?’ May said.

  Kit gave an ironic laugh and turned to look at the girls. ‘I’m only quoting someone else. He’s taller than I am and if he does come here, he’s not to find her. Is that understood?’

  Nan shrugged. ‘If you say so. There’s plenty of hidey holes in this old place. We’ll keep her safe.’

  ‘Not much we can do about her hair except cut it!’ May held up the filthy, matted mess. ‘Pity. It’s such lovely hair.’

  The girls found a plain nightdress, and when they had cleaned Thamsine up to the best of their ability, they dressed her unresisting body in it and with Kit’s help settled her into the bed.

  ‘So why’d you bring her here and not to yer fancy mistress?’ Nan asked.

  ‘My “fancy mistress” is a duplicitous bitch,’ Kit said savagely.

  Both girls both looked around at him. ‘So you’ve left her, ’ave you? Not before time. I always said she was no good,’ Nan said.

  ‘You never met her,’ Kit said, bemused.

  ‘I saw her with you and I formed me own opinions. You should’ve left her long afore this. This one,’ Nan jerked her head at the bed ’now she’s more than right for you. Well, I’m going back to me own bed. We’ll leave her to you, my lovely.’

  ‘She could do with a bit of warming up!’ May gave him a wink.

  Kit sat down beside the bed and picked up Thamsine’s hand, noting for the first time the slender musician’s fingers and the fine bones. Her eyes fluttered open and her fingers tightened on his. She had begun to shiver uncontrollably, her teeth chattering.

  Kit pulled the blankets higher, but to no effect. It seemed he had little choice but to follow the twins’ advice. He stripped down to his breeches and shirt and climbed into the bed beside her, folding her in his arms.

  As the heat from his body began to permeate hers, the shivering lessened and she slept, curled within the circle of his arms as if she had always belonged there. He held her tighter.

  He’d never known this thing called “love” could be so painful. His heart ached for her but strangely, despite her proximity, he felt no carnal desire, just the pleasure of holding her, being near her, keeping her safe. He kissed the top of her head, closed his own eyes, and let sleep wash over him.

  Chapter 15

  A bitter wind blew up the river, bringing the small boat with the red sail in to dock at St. Katherine’s. Kit hunched his shoulders into his cloak, stamped his feet and blew on his hands. They had been waiting hours and he was frozen to the bone.

  A sailor flung a plank across the gap between the boat and the dock and De Baas, immediately recognisable from his hawk-like visage, pranced across it.

  ‘Mes cheres,’ he exclaimed, clasping Henshaw and Kit to his perfumed person. ‘I ‘ave brought him.’

  A second man crossed the plank and stood beside De Baas – a slight figure, his face shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat. Despite himself, Kit shivered, feeling a dark malevolence in the very stillness of the man. He felt as if the unseen eyes of the hired assassin bored into his soul. Kit had killed men but it had always been in the heat of battle or self-defence, never in cold blood. He wondered what sort of person would undertake such a calling.

  De Baas gestured at his companion. ‘Monsieur Debigné, my English friends Henshaw and Lovell.’

  The Frenchman bowed but did not speak.

  Henshaw cleared his throat. ‘There is an inn nearby where our friends wait. I suggest we adjourn there and we can advise you of the plan.’

  Gerard and the new recruit, Vowells, had taken the private parlour. A luncheon of cold meat and cheese encircled a map.

  ‘Cromwell is accustomed to visiting Hampton Court Palace every Saturday,’ Henshaw said. ‘We’ve been watching him. He takes the same route every time.’ His finger traced the road from London to Hampton on the map. ‘He travels by coach with a guard of twenty men. Wiseman and I have reconnoitred the route and we believe an ambush can be laid here.’ His finger jabbed. ‘It’s heavily wooded and there is a bend in the road which will force the coach to slow.’

  Kit translated for Debigné, then asked, ‘How many men? To my mind, we will need at least forty. ‘

  ‘We have three times that number,’ Henshaw replied, speaking in French.

  ‘Experienced?’ Debigné spoke for the first time.

  Vowells shrugged. ‘Some.’

  ‘Forty men is a large number to secrete,’ Debigné commented.

  ‘It can be done,’ Henshaw said. ‘Our target is Cromwell. A select few will go in with the sole purpose of dragging Cromwell from the coach and Ireton if he is with him. Monsieur, you know your job. I do not need to tell you what must be done.’

  Debigné nodded. ‘It will have to be fast.’

  ‘Once it is accomplished, we make haste for London. Vowells – you and Fox will have the ’prentices here and here,’ Gerard pointed to places on the map within striking distance of Whitehall. ‘There will be chaos when news of the Protector’s death hits the streets. We must act fast. Ireton, Thurloe and the others – you have the names – must all be secured.’

  ‘And what is your alternative plan?’ Debigné asked mildly.

  ‘Alternative?’ Lord Gerard glanced at the Frenchman, then at Kit, to check that he had heard the word correctly.

  ‘What if Cromwell does not choose to visit Hampton Court on this particular day?’ Debigné asked.

  ‘Why would he? He always does it.’

  De
bigné shrugged. ‘Something may detain him.’ He looked around the circle of faces. ‘He may get wind of the plan.’

  ‘Only those of us within this room know these plans,’ Lord Gerard said firmly. ‘Every man here is to be trusted.’

  Debigné straightened. ‘That is good,’ he said. ‘When next we meet we talk about an alternative plan. Now, gentlemen, I am weary from the voyage. Baron?’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Kit asked.

  Debigné’s cold eyes met his. ‘I make my own arrangements. You may leave a message with Baron De Baas and I will contact him.’

  After Debigné and De Baas left, the conspirators turned to their usual occupation of wine and cards. Kit chafed with impatience. He would have liked to have followed the Frenchmen, but to have left immediately on their tail would have excited comment.

  He forced himself to a few rounds before excusing himself. There were other things he needed to accomplish before the day was done, and the first required a ride to Turnham Green to tell Jane Knott that her sister was safe.

  He chose a horse with a better temperament than his last mount and made good time to the village. With the practice of years, he took up a position where he could watch the house in Turnham Green unobserved. He had no wish to see Roger Knott, so he dispatched a boy with a short, cryptic note that only Jane Knott would understand.

  Jane, wearing a cloak and hat and carrying a basket, left the house half an hour later. Kit slipped from his hiding place and followed her at a discreet distance. She bought vegetables and some meat from the local stallholders and, carrying her basket, walked down to the riverbank. When he was certain she was out of sight and earshot of the village he closed the distance between them.

  Jane sat on the bank of the river, her knees drawn up to her chest, like a child.

  ‘Mistress Knott?’

  She jumped like a startled rabbit.

  He held up his hand and sat down beside her. ‘I’m sorry to startle you.’

  ‘Your note was somewhat vague,’ Jane said, ‘but I hoped it was you.’

  ‘I have just come to tell you that I found Thamsine.’

  Jane looked up at him. ‘Is she … ?’

  ‘She is alive and unhurt.’ He paused, uncertain of how much to tell her. ‘He had confined her to Bedlam.’

  Jane put a hand to her throat. ‘Oh, surely not that awful place?’

  ‘She would have been dead or mad within weeks,’ Kit stated. ‘He used the name Annie Morton to secure her. His sister, I presume?’

  Jane nodded. ‘Yes, poor Annie. Is Thamsine all right? He didn’t … ?’

  ‘Apart from a few bruises and shock she seems unharmed, and she is safe with friends for the moment.’

  Jane closed her eyes. ‘Thank God. Morton came to the house this morning in a fearful temper. He and Roger left for London two hours ago.’

  ‘Morton needs your husband again.’

  Jane lowered her eyes. ‘I know. He and your friend Lucy Talbot hold him fast. He is so afraid of scandal. He would be ruined.’

  ‘And what about you?’ Kit frowned. ‘Mistress Knott, he is an adulterer of the worst sort. Have you never considered leaving him?’

  She looked horrified. ‘Those who God has joined together, let no man put asunder,’ she said. ‘And there are the children … no, I could never leave him. Despite what he did, he does love me, Captain Lovell.’

  ‘I understand,’ Kit said.

  ‘I know you’ve found Thamsine and she is safe for the moment, but it will not end there, Captain Lovell.’ Jane accepted his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. ‘It won’t end until Ambrose Morton is dead or … ’ She looked at him.

  ‘Or … ?’

  ‘Or Thamsine is wed to another.’ She paused and looked up at him. ‘My father’s will does not name Ambrose Morton as a beneficiary. It states that the estate passes to Thamsine upon her marriage. Marriage will free her.’ She grasped his hand. ‘Captain Lovell, do you love her?’

  She mistook his silence. Her voice faltered as she said, ‘I suppose love doesn’t matter. If you care for her at all, even if it is just as a friend, marry her.’

  Kit spread his hands. ‘Mistress Knott, I can’t marry her! My life is … complicated.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Do you have a wife, Captain Lovell?’

  He shook his head. ‘No … ’

  Tears shone in Jane Knott’s eyes and her voice shook as she said, ‘I am certain she loves you, Captain Lovell, and it would be the one certain way to free her from Ambrose Morton.’ She smiled. ‘Surely you must see that it would not be to your disadvantage either.’

  Kit straightened his shoulders. ‘I am not so far lost that I would marry her for her fortune, Mistress Knott. That would make me no better than Morton.’

  ‘But you don’t deny it would be helpful?’

  ‘Of course it would be. An heiress for a wife would be the answer to my prayers.’

  ‘Then marry her and be done with it, Captain Lovell,’ Jane said. ‘If you don’t, and something happens to her, you will regret it for the rest of your days.’

  He nodded. ‘That is a hard choice you give me, Mistress Knott. My life … ’

  She dropped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry if I misunderstood the nature of your friendship with Thamsine.’

  He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘I … I want you to know that I do love Thamsine, but there are other forces at work here that are beyond my control. Rest easy, I will think on it. In the meantime I will wish you a good day, Mistress Knott.’

  He took his leave of her and rode slowly back to London. At every step a single thought jolted through his mind. Marry Thamsine.

  ~ * ~

  The lights of The Ship Inn pierced the gloom of the evening, and already the sound of raucous laughter spilled into the street. Kit stopped for a moment in the street outside and looked up at the flapping sign with its crudely painted image of a ship in full sail. It seemed a strange place to call home, but it was the closest place he had to a home on this earth and he was glad to be back.

  Jem looked up as he entered and jerked his head in the direction of the chest Kit had sent him to Holborn to fetch from the maid, Bess.

  ‘What news from Holborn?’

  ‘Place is in an uproar. The girl had your chest at the kitchen door. I could hear her mistress howling from the street,’ Jem shuddered. ‘My betting is he took none too kindly to finding his bird had flown.’

  Kit tried to summon some sympathy for Lucy and failed. She and Morton deserved each other.

  ‘And Thamsine?’

  Jem nodded. ‘She’s right enough. You’ll find her upstairs.’

  Thamsine sat in a chair beside the small grate, her feet drawn up beneath her, squinting at a broadsheet. She looked up as he entered, pulling a badly made shawl closer around her shoulders. Her shortened hair fluffed around her head like a curling halo framing her pale face. A broken pot with some tatty flowers in it had been placed on a table next to her.

  Her eyes followed his and she smiled. ‘Jem brought me the flowers.’

  Kit raised an eyebrow. His sergeant had never been one to reveal a sentimental side before. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

  ‘More like myself,’ she said. Her hand went to the curls that framed her face, making her look years younger … or more her own age. ‘What happened to my hair?’

  Kit looked at her. ‘It was filthy and matted and the girls thought it was easier to cut it.’

  ‘I suppose it will grow back. The price of my freedom,’ she said ruefully.

  Kit resisted the urge to run his fingers through the riotous curls. ‘I rather like it short,’ he said.

  Thamsine gave a shudder and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and leaning her face on the kneecaps.

  ‘I thought I was lost, Kit.’

  She closed her eyes and tears spilled from beneath her lashes, tracing a track down her cheek. Kit resisted an urge to wipe the tears
from her face.

  She raised her head and looked up at him. ‘Kit, your Lucy is in league with Morton.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I left her in your place in Bedlam.’

  Thamsine stared at him and a smile twitched her lips. ‘Good. I hope she rots there. She’s as dangerous as he is. Jane thinks she may have murdered her husband.’

  Kit stared at her. ‘Murdered her husband?’

  ‘She stole some monkshood from Jane.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’ Kit shook his head. ‘I suppose I always knew she was shallow and manipulative, but after the last few days I’ve had a glimpse of what she is capable of and I wouldn’t be surprised if she runs to murder.’

  ‘What I can’t understand was why she was so possessive of you,’ Thamsine said. ‘She said she knew something about you that made you valuable to her.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘Not as valuable as she would have liked to believe.’

  ‘What did she mean?’

  Kit hesitated. ‘It’s not important,’ he said.

  ‘Kit.’ She sought his eyes. ‘Please, no more secrets.’

  He sighed. ‘She wanted me for a title. My grandfather is Viscount Midhurst, and on his death I become Lord Midhurst. But that’s all it is, Thamsine, a name, nothing more. The family estate is ruined. I find I prefer being just plain Kit Lovell.’

  ‘To a woman like Lucy Talbot, that title would be worth fighting for … worth killing for,’ she said aloud.

  ‘Lucy made the mistake of playing with an experienced gambler, Thamsine. She underestimated me.’ He squatted down and poked at the fire.

  ‘Where is your family estate?’

  ‘Cheshire. The house was largely destroyed in the last siege, so my family lives in the few habitable rooms and I send them money when I can.’

  ‘Your family?’

  He looked up at her. ‘My grandfather, my stepmother and her daughter, my sister Frances. So you see, little Lucy would have got a poor exchange for the title.’

  ‘I wonder if that mattered.’ Thamsine mused. ‘And your business in Paris?’

  Kit stiffened. ‘An ordeal,’ he said.