The King's Man (22 page)

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Fitzjames discovered Bampfield's little love letters. He would have betrayed me."

"You killed him?” Thurloe sank on to a chair.

Kit took a deep breath. “No. It was an accident. A bloody, tragic accident."

"I see.” Thurloe looked down at the papers. “It was clever of you to put the papers on him. When we recover the body, the word will go about that Fitzjames was the spy. You did well, Lovell."

Kit turned away, his face contorted in grief and disgust.

"Poor, bloody Fitz,” he said. “He was as loyal a servant as Charles Stuart would ever find and you will paint him the traitor?"

Thurloe looked up at him. “You're overwrought. Go home, Lovell. After you've cleaned up and had a good night's sleep, you will see that you had no other choice."

Kit flung himself down on a chair and buried his face in his arms on the table. “I'm heartsick of this, Thurloe. I want to be left in peace."

Thurloe's voice was icy. “It's too late for you to be developing a conscience now, Lovell. Go home and find your mistress. Amazing what a few hours of female company can do for the soul."

"I don't have a soul,” Kit mumbled into his arms. “I sold it to you, remember?"

"And you can have it back when this job is done. You can give me your report on matters in Paris when you are in a fit state.” Thurloe stood and crossed to the door. “Oh and by the way, your little friend has disappeared."

"What friend?” Kit raised his face.

"Mistress Granville."

Kit rose uncertainly to his feet and looked Thurloe in the eye. “What do you mean disappeared?"

"Failed to appear for her lessons with Mistress Skippon. She's been missing for over a week. I would like her found. She still owes the Commonwealth money."

Thamsine? Kit's tired mind tried to grapple with the concept of Thamsine's disappearance but exhaustion was asserting itself. Thamsine was a problem he would face in the morning.

He passed through the door Thurloe held open for him without conscious thought. Outside it still rained, more heavily if that was possible but it didn't matter, he wasn't going to get any wetter or colder or more miserable than he already was.

At Lucy's door, he had to face Mag. “Mistress, isn't home,” she said.

"Good. I'd rather she didn't see me looking like this. Draw me a bath in the kitchen, Mag and be quick about it."

Mag opened her mouth to protest and muttering to herself, stomped off to the kitchen.

Kit followed her and downed a glass of Martin Talbot's best brandy while Mag and the kitchen maid drew the bath. Completely oblivious to Mag and the kitchen scullion who stared at him with large eyes, her hands wrapped in her grubby apron, he stripped off his filthy, reeking clothes and climbed into the small tub, his knees absurdly around his chin. With some of Lucy's favorite rose-scented soap, he scrubbed at his own self-disgust.

Thurloe had been right about one thing: being clean did make a difference to his view of the world. He retired to the parlor with a plate of cheese and a hunk of fresh bread and waited for Lucy.

He did not have to wait long. Lucy, her hair damp from the rain, came through the parlor door, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Kit. Oh Kit, you're home!” She flung herself at him, covering his face with kisses that he returned with fulsome enthusiasm.

When they both paused for breath, Lucy exclaimed, “You smell nice! Is that my soap?” She held his face in her hands and looked at him. “You look terrible! Have you been ill?"

"I had a trying journey,” he mumbled, sitting down.

"Oh you poor thing!” Lucy stroked his face with tender concern in her eyes. “Was Norfolk that dreadful? How was your aunt?"

Kit shrugged. “I'm very tired, Mouse."

Lucy sat on his knee and laid his head against her shoulder, her hand slipping under his shirt to run her fingers through the hairs on his chest. She smelt divine and despite his exhaustion he could feel his ardour rising. Sex. Nothing like sex to make a man forget.

"Did you bring me a present?” she teased.

"From Norfolk?” Kit said. “What do you think I would find for you there? No, dearest, I am afraid all I bring you is myself."

She made no protest as he began unlacing her bodice, exposing her two perfect breasts. He gave an appreciative sigh and allowed oblivion to wash over him.

Kit didn't stir from the house in High Holborn for two days. On the third morning he woke to a grey and gloomy day. He lay for a long time staring at the dark fingers of rain beating at the casement. Beside him Lucy stirred but did not wake. He slipped from the bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and crossed to the window.

He stared up at the bleak sky, obscured by the pitched roofs of the houses, and thought of Eveleigh Priory, what was left of it. It seemed as if the very air of the city tainted him. He had tried not to think about his home in Warwickshire for a long time but now he had a sudden, desperate urge to escape London and return to the soft, green countryside and bury himself in the obscurity of restoring the estates.

He sighed and stretched. He had spent the hours with Lucy trying to forget what had transpired on the Thames Estuary. Now he had convinced himself that nothing he could have done would have prevented Fitz's death and he no longer felt it like a sharp pain, more a dull ache. A dull ache he could live with.

Now he needed to get back to work.

"Kit?” Lucy's sleepy voice made him turn around. She had turned over and was looking at him, her eyes half closed. “What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking, it is time I was dressed and abroad, Mouse. I have loitered too long.” He located his clothes and began to dress.

She patted the bed. “It's early and pouring with rain. Come back to bed."

He looked at her for a moment and shook his head. “Sorry, Mouse, I have things to do."

She pouted. “What things are so important?"

He crossed to bed and bent down, kissing her on the forehead. “Things that are no concern of yours."

She frowned and flung her arms around his neck. “Oh Kit, you're so tiresome. Since you've been home it feels as if you are not here at all."

"What do you mean?” Kit extricated himself from her Medusa tendrils.

"You are no fun any more!"

"I have things on my mind, Mouse."

"Well, if you are still concerned over that little music teacher, forget her.” Lucy's mouth took on a downward cast.

Kit looked sharply at his mistress. There was something in the tone of her voice he disliked. He had asked her a couple of times about Thamsine and both times she had dismissed his question with a wave of her hand and a comment about Thamsine failing to turn up at the appointed hour.

"I am afraid, Mouse, my principal concern at present is the earning of some coins,” he said coldly, ignoring her petulance.

Lucy rolled over again. “I can give you money."

Kit smiled. “Thank you but no, Mouse. I prefer to earn my own way, where and when I can."

Lucy sighed. “How long will you be gone?"

He shrugged. “However long it takes."

Lucy sat up in bed, the covers slipping away from her. For once Kit regarded her naked torso with dispassion.

"Be home tonight.” The sharp and querulous tone smacked of an order.

Kit raised an eyebrow. “I will return when I am ready, Mouse."

He turned towards the door. A bolster hit him in the back. He straightened but did not turn to look at her. With deliberate care he closed the door behind him. Domestic life had begun to pall.

As he walked the familiar streets to the Ship, he went through the matters in hand. He had a rebellion to organize. Lord Gerard was following close behind and would be back in London by now. The plot would be gathering momentum and he still did not have the names of the Sealed Knot.

Then there was the irritating matter of the missing Thamsine Granville. Damn the woman. Why did he have to go looking for her? He had enough to worry about.

"Cap'n Lovell,” May wrapped herself around him as he stepped into the warm, familiar taproom.

Kit took off his coat and shook his wet hair. As soon as he sat down, May perched herself on his lap and ran her fingers through his hair while Nan fetched him a pot of ale.

Nan set the ale down. “You look tired,” she commented.

"Travelling,” Kit took a welcome draught of the ale.

"So where have you bin?” May asked.

"France."

"Did you bring me back anything special?” May asked.

Kit shook his head. “No! No presents for anyone. It was business."

Nan pulled a face. “Shame on you!"

Kit looked at both girls, his face serious. “Do either of you know where Thamsine Granville is?"

The twins looked at each other, then at him. “We thought you might know,” Nan said.

"What do you mean?"

"She went out last Friday and ain't been home since. Not a word, not to collect her things, nothing. We asked around but no-one's seen neither hide nor hair of her."

"Where did she go?"

Nan looked at her sister. “That new person she started going to just before you went away."

"Mistress Talbot?"

May shrugged. “If that's her name."

Jem wandered over. “If you're talking about the Granville woman,” he said, with a voice that had a grumble in it, “I needs to know if I hold on to her room, ‘cos if not, I'll pack her things up and let it."

"Come on, Jem, it's not as if you have customers beating a path to stay at this inn,” Kit commented.

"It's been over a week,” Jem said. “These your friends?” He jerked his head towards the door where Lord Gerard and Willys stood, shaking the rain from their hats.

Kit deposited May on the stool beside him and stood up, gesturing for the two men to join him in a quiet corner.

"Did you have a good crossing?” Kit asked Lord Gerard.

"Damned rough crossing,” Gerard replied. “I heard about Fitzjames.” He poured a glass of wine from the jug as Kit dealt a round of cards.

"Did you know they found his body washed up on the shore? You were with him. What happened, Lovell?” Willys asked.

Kit's fingers tightened on the stem of his wineglass.

"You know what I'm like at sea, Willys. It was a damnably rough crossing. I stayed below. I can only assume he went up for air and fell overboard. I didn't even realize he was gone until we docked."

Willys sighed. “I'm sorry, Lovell. I know he was a friend of yours."

Kit took a large draught of wine and hoped his shaking hand did not betray his emotions.

"I know he was your friend so what I have to say may come as a shock.” Willys’ voice held a conspiratorial air as he carefully rearranged his cards. “I have heard that Fitzjames was carrying letters to Thurloe."

"What?” Gerard looked up at Willys.

"That's right. Found in his pocket. Fitzjames was an agent."

Kit stared at him. “Fitzjames?” He could feel the bile rising in his throat even as he spoke.

Willys shook his head. “I know, I didn't believe it either but my source was quite sure. You just can't tell who to trust, can you?"

"That explains Dutton's plot,” said Kit, hating himself.

"And other matters,” Gerard agreed. He threw down his cards in disgust. “Lovell, you have the luck of the devil."

"Ah Messieurs, I am too late to join you for cards perhaps?"

They all looked up at the incongruous figure of the Baron De Baas. Unbidden, Baas sat down at the table, carefully removing his purple gloves.

"'Fraid so,” Willys said. “Lovell here has just cleaned our purses."

De Baas’ gaze flicked to Kit. “I don't believe I ‘ave ‘ad the pleasure of Monsieur Lovell's acquaintance."

Kit inclined his head. He knew De Baas by sight of course, but close up he presented an even more ridiculous picture. He dressed in what Kit knew to be the latest French fashion, lace and bows and a casually knotted cravat rather than falling bands. Kit wondered briefly what sort of figure he would cut in such a garb and dismissed the thought with a shudder.

"You seem particularly adept at cards,” De Baas remarked.

"Years of practice, my dear Baron.” Kit shuffled the deck in his hands. “Will you play me?"

"But of course.” De Baas picked up the cards in his gloved hand.

They played in silence for a few minutes. To Kit's surprise De Baas won. “I think I have met my match,” he said, ruefully pushing the coins across the table.

"Another hand? Perhaps your luck will change."

"Thank you, but no. I don't feel luck is on my side at present so I will keep my small purse intact."

"I hear our friend Fitzjames is dead,” De Baas said.

"Drowned at sea,” Willys said shortly, “but we have another to take his place."

"And who may that be?” De Baas enquired.

"Peter Vowells. He's the schoolmaster at Islington."

"A schoolmaster?” De Baas’ lip curled in distaste. “What can a schoolmaster do?"

"He can raise the London apprentices,” Willys said, his tone even.

De Baas raised an eyebrow. “The London apprentices? That is a considerable talent."

Gerard leaned forward. “It is generally agreed that the plan will go forward. Baron, is your promise of a ... friend still certain?"

De Baas nodded. “I am returning to Paris in a couple of days and I shall make the necessary arrangements. Only the very best, I assure you."

Willys flinched. “Baron, I'm not sure we can afford the very best."

De Baas smiled, showing a row of even, white teeth. “You may repay when the deed is done."

Gerard nodded. “Well, gentleman, we are agreed."

"When do we plan to accomplish the task in hand?” Kit asked.

"I think we should aim for early in May. That gives us a month to finalise matters,” Gerard replied.

The conspirators stood, briefly clasped hands and dispersed. Kit remained at his table, his hand curled around the stem of his wineglass, considering what more he needed to do.

With a rustle of skirts the two girls sat down opposite him. He looked at them questioningly.

Nan punched May on the arm. “Go on,” Nan said. “You tell him what she told us."