The King's Man (10 page)

"You expect a lot of me."

"The Baron likes a pretty face and...” Thurloe regarded her with his head cocked on one side “...clean and in a decent gown I am sure you would be quite presentable."

"Thank you,” Thamsine replied coldly. “How friendly am I expected to be?"

If Thurloe detected the edge of sarcasm in her voice, he chose to ignore it. “That is entirely up to you, Mistress Granville. Now do I have your agreement to this proposal?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Thurloe's hooded eyes considered her from over the top of his steepled finger. “You always have choices, Mistress Granville. The alternative is to spend the next few years in the Tower. Now, do I have your agreement? Your debt to the Commonwealth stands, and my next offer may not be quite so agreeable."

Thamsine looked up at the intricate knots in the plasterwork on the ceiling. He had her trapped and he knew it. She gave a small shrug of her right shoulder. “Very well. When do I start?"

"Baron Bordeaux will expect you the day after tomorrow at ten in the morning at his residence. You have been recommended to him by my wife, Dame Elizabeth Thurloe, should the question arise. You have been instructing her in music for the last six months."

Thamsine blinked. “I have?"

"And she is most satisfied."

"I am pleased to hear it."

"Of course I would only employ the best tutor for my wife and she has written you a letter of recommendation. Now one last thing.” Thurloe pushed a small purse across the table. “That should be sufficient to purchase some respectable clothes more suitable to your genteel station in life, Mistress Granville."

Thamsine's fingers closed over the purse, feeling the hard edges of the coin through the soft leather.

"There is also the question of your lodging,” Thurloe continued. “I would advise you not to return to The Ship Inn. Apart from the fact that singing of bawdy songs in a tavern is hardly suitable employment for a lady, the Inn has been employed by known malignants and is not, perhaps, a sensible place for you to be. I would suggest respectable lodgings, Mistress Granville. Respectable lodgings.” Thurloe pushed a paper over to her. “Now sign this acknowledgement and you're free."

Thamsine picked up the pen he proffered and stared at the paper, a short, concise acknowledgement of debt, omitting any reference as to how the debt was to be repaid. She signed her name. She was now in the employment of the man she had apparently tried to kill. The world turned in a strange manner.

"How do I inform you of any information I acquire?"

"I will provide you with a contact. He will make himself known to you soon enough. You and I should have no reason to meet again. I will expect at least a weekly report even if there is nothing of apparent interest."

Thamsine looked down at the purse in her hand. “And this money?"

"Repayable in six months. An interest-free loan.” Thurloe was no longer looking at her, his face hidden behind a large paper. “Now, good day to you, Mistress Granville."

Thamsine rose and turned to leave. She had almost reached the door when she hesitated, swivelling to look back at John Thurloe. “Master Thurloe, what is to become of Captain Lovell?"

He set down the paper. John Thurloe's face told her that she had overstepped herself. “Captain Lovell's fate is no concern of yours. Now go, before you try my patience."

The last few steps to the door were accomplished in quick time. She shut the door behind her and found the Lieutenant of the Tower waiting for her. He thrust a bundle at her.

"Your belongings, Mistress. The Lord Protector must be feeling in a particularly generous mood today. Follow me."

Clutching her bundle to her chest, she followed the Lieutenant through the gates, taking in all the details that had been lost on her when she had arrived.

It had been snowing and the snow lay in drifts against the grey walls. Thamsine shivered as the cold wind off the river bit through her inadequate clothes, as she waited for the heavy gate to be opened. Barkstead took her by the arm and thrust her out onto the bridge across the foetid moat.

"If you've any sense in your head, young woman, you won't be back again,” he said and without a backward glance, strode back within the gates that closed behind him.

Thamsine set down her bundle and stretched out her arms, taking a deep breath. Much as she had hated it, freedom was now as precious to her as her own life had been. As she began to walk through the narrow streets, she contemplated the strange twist of fate.

I am merely a music teacher,
she told herself,
with a penchant for gossip. That's all I am. Not a spy, not an agent.
She felt the comforting weight of the coins in her purse and smiled. Maybe there were worse things in life to be than an agent for John Thurloe, at least for the moment.

Despite Thurloe's advice Thamsine returned to the Ship Inn. At the end of the day she had nowhere else to go and no one who could offer her friendship as the Marshes had done.

She pushed open the door of the quiet taproom. Jem looked up from polishing the pewter mugs and smiled.

"Well, well, let you go, did they?"

She nodded. “It was a misunderstanding."

"Of course,” Jem agreed with a knowing wink. “Looking for your old job, are you?"

Thamsine shook her head and drew herself up straight. “No, I am seeking proper lodgings."

Jem looked skeptical. “Come into some money, have you?"

Thamsine produced the purse. “I have secured respectable employment. Now, Master Marsh, a plain, comfortable room is all I need."

A shriek from the doorway announced May Marsh. “You're back! Nan, she's back."

Clasped to May's ample bosom, Thamsine looked over her head at the twin who gave a cursory nod of her head and a half smile of welcome.

"She's here for lodging. Got herself a proper job she has. Show Mistress Granville to the small bed chamber,” Jem said, with a low bow.

"Oh!” May released Thamsine and looked up at her. “What as?"

"A music tutor in the household of the French Ambassador."

"Go on!” Nan's voice was disbelieving. “You get carted off to the Tower no less, on charges of attempting to do in old Ironsides and a few weeks later you're released with a job at the Frog Ambassador's?"

Thamsine shrugged. “Well that's how it happened. Now I am filthy and stinking and would really like a bath. Is such a thing possible?"

The twins looked at each other. “A bath?” they chorused as if such an idea had never entered their heads.

"A bath!” Thamsine said firmly, “And if I can borrow some respectable petticoats from someone, I must go shopping for some new clothes."

Thamsine smoothed the petticoats of her new, green wool gown. A spotless collar and cuffs edged with lace, new shoes that pinched her feet and a hat and sturdy cloak completed the ensemble. She had tamed her hair within the confines of a neat white cap and she fervently hoped that she presented a picture of genteel modesty.

Clutching the folio containing some sheet music she had also purchased the previous day, she knocked on the door of the French Ambassador's house.

Baron Bordeaux greeted her in the parlor

"Mademoiselle Granville, I am so glad you could come,” he enthused as if she were an honored guest, not a prospective employee. “The Lord Protector spoke most highly of you."

Thamsine's eyes widened. “The Lord Protector?"

"Indeed he said that you had made quite an impression on him at your last meeting."

Thamsine swallowed. “Well, I hope that I can live up to the Lord Protector's opinion of me,” she said.

"Now, tell me, do you speak French?"

"I am afraid not,” Thamsine replied. “I hope that will not be a problem."

"It must be something of a problem for you in the rendering of French lyrics, mademoiselle,” he observed.

Thamsine flushed. “I read the words but I am afraid I do not understand the meaning."

"Well perhaps we can help with that. A little
'quid pro quo'
? As it is, your pupil is English so language will not be a problem. Marie,
ma cherie
?"

He only raised his voice slightly and a side door opened to admit a slight woman with protruding teeth and freckles. Bordeaux's mistress was not what Thamsine had expected. Thurloe's idea of the “pretty English mistress” was not hers. Even in a poor light Mary Skippon would only be described as passably plain. However, Thamsine considered uncharitably, she must be possessed of hidden talents that had brought her to the bed of one of the most powerful men in the country.

"Mistress Skippon is most anxious to improve her skills in the lute and the virginals.” Bordeaux indicated a table in the corner of the room where a closed, painted box sat beside a lute. “Would you be so kind as to give us an example of your work, mademoiselle?"

Thamsine selected a piece of music from her folio and opened the box.
A pretty piece
, she thought, admiring the bucolic scenes of shepherds and shepherdesses cavorting across the inside of the lid. She spared a thought for her own, plain and unadorned virginals sitting disused at Hartley Court.

It had been a long time since she had played, but her fingers caressed the keys with practised familiarity. She had selected a simple English country air and she sang as she played. Mary Skippon applauded as the last note died away.

"Oh, that was lovely. Do you think I shall play like that, Baron?” She looked up at her lover and he smiled fondly.

"I am sure Mistress Granville will do her very best for you, my dear. We are agreed, Mistress Granville, you will come on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings at ten in the morning and spend two hours in the instruction of Mistress Skippon."

He named, as Thurloe had said he would, a comfortable fee.

"If Mistress Skippon wishes we could start instruction immediately,” Thamsine said.

"
Excellente
!” Bordeaux smiled. He had a charming smile beneath the moustache. He picked up Mary Skippon's hand and kissed it. “Until this evening,
cherie
."

She giggled and watched as the door closed behind him. “You are not shocked, Mistress Granville?"

"Why should I be shocked? You are fortunate to have so attentive a man."

"His wife does not agree,” Mary said with a smile. “She will be less than enamored when she discovers that I am with child."

She placed a hand protectively on her still flat stomach. The smile became a small, tight smile of triumph. An ugly look on the plain face, Thamsine thought.

Thamsine retrieved a piece of music from her folio. “Now, Mistress Skippon, shall we commence with the lute?"

Mary Skippon had no ear for music. After half an hour, Thamsine tried not to grimace as the girl hit yet another wrong note in the simple air that she was attempting. She wondered, as she gazed out of the window, at the wintry sunshine, whether she should have accepted Thurloe's offer with quite such alacrity.

Both women looked up as the door opened to admit a man dressed in what Thamsine could only hazard was the most outrageous of Paris fashion, a red velvet suit covered in silver lace and bows. He gave them both a deep, florid, all-encompassing bow.

"
Pardonez-moi
,” he said, as he straightened. “I heard the voice of an angel and just had to see for myself. Mademoiselle Skippon..."

He crossed to the virginals where Mary had risen to her feet, her plain face coloring as he took her hand and kissed it.

"Oh, Baron.” She giggled.

"And who is this exquisite creature?” The Baron spoke in English as he turned to Thamsine.

No one had ever described Thamsine as an ‘exquisite creature’ before. She bit her lip and lowered her head as she curtsied so as to hide the smile.

"Mistress Granville is my new music teacher, Baron,” Mary Skippon said.

The Baron minced towards Thamsine and took her hand, pressing it to his lips.

"Baron De Baas, my dear lady. Why have I not seen you before?” This time he spoke in French.

Thamsine looked blankly at him.

"Mistress Granville does not speak French, Baron,” Mary Skippon explained, speaking French with an appalling accent. “He asked why he has not seen you before.” She addressed Thamsine in English.

"I am sorry, Baron but I have been in London but a short time,” Thamsine responded in English.

"Ah, an English country rose ... perhaps you will allow me to sing a little duet with dear Mistress Skippon here.” De Baas returned to his heavily accented English.

"Please.” Thamsine held herself in rigid control, resisting the urge to laugh at this absurd creature. What was it about him that so intrigued John Thurloe?

"When did you arrive back in London, Baron?” Mary asked in French.

"Yesterday evening,” he replied.

Thamsine pricked up her ears. This, she supposed, was the sort of intelligence that Thurloe wanted.

"How was Paris?"

The Baron rolled his eyes. “An oasis of civilization compared to this dank country. How I suffer!” He pressed a kerchief to his lips as he raised his eyes heavenwards.

Mary Skippon's lips tightened. “England is not that bad, surely?” she continued in her atrocious French.

"No, no, of course,” the Baron replied placatingly, “but your English politics are causing much concern at court in Paris."

"How is that, Baron?"

"The presence of Charles Stuart is an embarrassment. A king with no throne and no money. It is only the generosity of his cousin that keeps him in Paris. God willing, this is a situation will not continue long."

"Why do you say that, Baron?” Mary asked ingenuously

"There are ways of returning your King to his rightful throne.” The Baron smiled. “But come, Mademoiselle Skippon, we are being impolite to your teacher who is waiting patiently for us."

The Baron smiled at Thamsine. “My apologies, Mademoiselle Granville,” he said in English. “We have been rude. I see the music you have selected, perhaps you will allow me to take the lute part?"

De Baas picked up a lute and began to strum with some talent, Thamsine conceded, and indeed he had quite a fine tenor voice.