The King's Man (17 page)

"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. “Your Majesty, 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'?"

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?” To Kit's relief, it was Fitz who asked the question.

"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 organized 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's hand 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 parlor that Lord Gerard gave vent to his frustration by hurling his hat on to the table.

"What is it going to take to convince him?” he snorted.

"I think the memory of Worcester is close to his heart,” Kit said. “Who can blame him?"

"Worcester was three years ago,” Fitz said impatiently. “Lovell, pour the wine. I feel like getting drunk!"

"Well that will be a real contribution to the cause,” Kit said. “Let's all get drunk!"

He looked up as the door opened, without a knock, to admit a tall, dark man. They all jumped to their feet.

"Your Highness!” Lord Gerard said, bowing.

Prince Rupert of the Rhine poured himself a glass of wine and, looking around the assembled company, took a seat.

"I hear your meeting with my cousin was not satisfactory,” he said.

"Not the conclusion we should have wished,” Lord Gerard said glumly.

"Charles has lost his courage,” Rupert remarked.

"He has lost heart,” Kit commented.

Rupert looked at him.

"That too.” Rupert took a thoughtful sip of wine. “It happens that the Queen does not agree with her son. She believes firmly that the King's fortunes will prosper in more...” He frowned, looking for the words. “...active hands."

"I have heard the Duke of York,” Lord Gerard said, referring to Charles’ younger brother James, “would not hesitate."

"I agree,” Rupert said quietly. “I myself would lead an army into England to return the throne to the rightful king."

"You, Your Highness?” Lord Gerard said hopefully.

Rupert's eyes flashed. “I am hardly in my dotage yet, Gerard."

"I did not mean it that way, Your Highness. I meant merely to imply that you at the head of an army would have a greater chance of success than any other I could name."

"But there is one stumbling block.” Rupert leaned forward. “Cromwell. He is not just the Lord Protector, he is the head of the army and a man to be feared. God knows we all know his power of leadership."

"Are you saying you agree with us, Your Highness?” Fitz asked carefully.

"Remove Cromwell and the army is like a chicken without its head.” Rupert swirled the contents of his glass, staring at it thoughtfully.

"What of the Sealed Knot?” Kit asked.

Rupert waved a long, slender hand. “Politicians, old men with no wish except to die in their beds."

"Do you know who they are?” Kit asked.

Rupert shook his head. “No. That is one of the few closely guarded secrets in this court."

"We cannot discount them. They hold the King's Commission,” Lord Gerard said.

"Zounds! That is just a piece of paper.” Rupert drained his glass and rose to his feet. “We will talk again tomorrow, Gerard, you and I."

They bowed as the formidable soldier left the room. Kit watched the door close behind the man he once would have followed to his death. The rumors were true. The court was divided with the Queen and Rupert firmly in one camp, advocating action, while the King counseled caution. Who was right?

Kit picked up his hat and rose to his feet. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have some personal business to attend to."

The young Gerard raised his glass. “A woman?"

Kit smiled enigmatically.

Jack Gerard shook his head. “Damn me, Lovell, but you seem to have the luck of the devil when it comes to women. Is she attractive?"

Kit smiled and winked at Fitz. “She is the most attractive young lady of my acquaintance and she just happens to adore me."

Lord Gerard shook his head. “Your father would turn in his grave, if he knew what a scapegrace his son had become."

Kit smiled. “My father would be the last person to disapprove, my lord. You know that!"

Lord Gerard laughed. “I suppose your father was a bit of a lad in his day, too. Good luck to you, Lovell, but I hope to see the day when you are settled with a wife by your side, back at Eveleigh where you belong."

"Amen to that,” agreed Kit, clapping his hat on his head. “I shall return by morning."

Lacking the money for a horse, Kit walked the few miles to the village of Montmartre on the outskirts of Paris. The hill was dotted with the sails of windmills and he made towards the
moulin vert
, just beyond which lay the neat house belonging to his cousin's husband, a man who made his wealth trading in the flour produced by the mills.

He was shown into the light, airy parlor at the front of the house. A woman, whose bulging petticoats indicated she was well gone with child, struggled up from the chair where she had been occupying herself with fine stitching a piece of lawn. Her once pretty face lit up.

"Christophe!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Christophe. This is an unexpected surprise,"

Kit held her as close as her stomach would allow and kissed her warmly. He released her and held her at arm's length.

"Suzanne, you grow lovelier every time I see you."

She gave him an affectionate push in the chest.

"You grow into a bigger liar every day!” She put a hand to her stomach. “This will be my fifth child. A daughter this time, I pray! Four sons are enough for any woman."

Kit smiled. “Suzanne you were meant to be the mother of sons!"

"I will send for Marie! You must be hungry from your walk."

She rang the bell and summoned food. When the maid returned, Suzanne pushed a platter of bread and cheese and onions across the table and poured a mug of small ale from a cask.

"Marie,” she ordered the maid, “fetch Eloise and the boys!"

Through the open window, Kit heard a bellow from the maid followed by the sound of children laughing. A slamming of doors and the skittering of feet echoed through the house as three small bodies appeared at the door.

"You have a visitor, Eloise,” Suzanne said.

The smallest of the three put her head around the doorjamb. She looked at Kit questioningly. She sidled over to Suzanne and hid behind her skirts, peering out shyly. Kit's heart twisted. She had forgotten him.

Suzanne reached down and drew the reluctant child forward.

"Eloise, for shame! It is your Papa!"

Her eyes lit up “Papa!"

Kit squatted down on his haunches and held out his arms as she came towards him. He enclosed the small body in his arms, smelling the rich, earthy smells that clung to her fair hair. This little person was his one reality, the best thing he had ever done in his life.

Her cousins stood a respectful distance away their hands behind their backs, an expectant look on their faces. Kit caught their eyes and gestured towards his leather satchel.

"In there, boys.” He knew what they wanted and he was happy to oblige with sweetmeats from Paris, despite the feigned disapproval of their mother.

The boys scrabbled through the bag with an indecent haste. Eloise, perched on Kit's lap, pouted. “Did you bring me a present, Papa?"

"Of course.” Kit looked at Pierre. “Pass me that package."

Pierre tossed the little package to Kit and he handed it to Eloise. Her eyes shining, her fingers tore at the wrapping.

Suzanne shook her head, a smile on her face. “You spoil her!"

Kit looked up at his cousin and smiled. “That is my privilege.

"Oh Papa, it is beautiful,” Eloise held up the locket that Kit had purchased for a few coins from a street vendor.

"It's only a trinket, sweetest. One day there will be real jewels,” Kit said but Eloise was not listening. She slipped off Kit's lap and scampered across to Suzanne to have the locket fastened around her neck.

A shadow fell across the doorway and Suzanne's husband, Henri, entered the room. Kit stood to greet him, and the affable Frenchman enclosed him in a giant bear hug.

"I heard all the commotion. My friend, it is good to see you!” Henri said. “Pierre, run to the wine shop and fetch a jug of the best!"

The boy murmured assent and skittered off, his youngest brother in pursuit.

Suzanne sat down at the table. “So Christophe, are you back to stay?"

He shook his head. “No, I have business in Paris."

"She misses you,” Henri said, indicating the little girl who leaned against Kit, fingering her new trinket. Like a sprite, she wriggled out of the circle of his arm and disappeared out of the door.

"I know, but she is better off here with you. Do you get the money I send?"

Suzanne nodded. “It helps.” She reached out and put a hand over Kit's and frowned, her gaze searching his face. “Things are not well with you?"

He sighed. “No, things are very wrong with me, Suzanne and nothing I can do will put it right."

Suzanne held his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smiled and responded, glad of the simple act of friendship that needed no explanation. Eloise wriggled back on to his lap holding a tabby kitten.

"This is my cat,” she said, holding it up for inspection.

"He's a very fine cat. What is his name?"

"Silly!” Eloise chided. “He's a girl cat and her name is Gabrielle."

"That is a very long name for a cat.” Kit tickled the animal's ears and was rewarded by a rumbling purr.

"I have a yard full of cats,” Henri grumbled. “Fortunately they keep the rats down! Ah Pierre,” he hailed the boy who had returned with a jug brimming with wine. “Put it down here and fetch us some cups. You will stay for supper, Christophe?"

"Of course. I only walked here for the pleasure of Suzanne's wonderful cooking."

Suzanne lumbered to her feet and cuffed his ear. “Enough of your charms, Christophe. Jean, tell Marie to kill one of the chickens..."

They drank wine and ate Suzanne's marvelous chicken casserole while Henri recounted outrageous stories. Kit allowed himself to laugh and forget. He laid the sleeping Eloise in her bed, kissed her and began the walk back to Paris. A few short hours, a respite from his life, was all he could spare.

Lucy stood up and walked over to the window. She looked up and down the street.

"Are you waiting for someone?” Thamsine enquired, her patience wearing thin. Lucy had been up and down all through the lesson.

"Just a friend. He said he would call this morning to hear me play."

"I see,” Thamsine remarked dryly.

Lucy sat down again and made pretence of studying the music. “I told him I had been having lessons and he said he was most anxious to hear me."