The King's Man (28 page)

"I'm all right, Kit,” Thamsine rose from a stool by the fire. “Morton has been here, looking for me. He bided his time, waited until you and Jem were gone, then struck."

Kit took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Thank the Lord he didn't find you."

Thamsine broke from the embrace and placed her hands on his chest. “I was well hidden but...” She looked up at Jem and then at Nan who sat hunched on a stool by the fire, her face hidden by a curtain of hair. “...he took May."

"He said...” Nan looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “He said he's to be found at the house in High Holborn. You were to bring Thamsine with you and then May would be released."

"And if I don't?” Kit's arm tightened around Thamsine's shoulders.

"If you don't come by midnight, he said he'll kill her.” Nan's voice bordered on hysterical

"He's bluffing,” Kit said.

Thamsine shook her head. “No, he doesn't bluff."

Kit was conscious that three pairs of anxious eyes were turned on him, willing him to find a solution to the problem. “Jem, what time is it?” he asked

"Must be gone eight,” Jem said. “We've not much time."

"I'll go wiv you,” Nan said. “He'll be looking out for a woman. Wiv a cloak and mask I can pass in the dark. I've some patens half a foot high, that'll give me height."

Thamsine shook her head. “No. I must go. Perhaps he can be persuaded to see reason?"

"Didn't seem in the mood to be too reasonable this afternoon,” Jem commented. “Do you have a plan, Captain?"

His former sergeant's eyes were fixed on Kit with the absolute certainty of a soldier who trusts his commander implicitly. In the absence of a dozen men, Jem would have to do.

Kit looked at the two women. “Neither of you are going with me. I'm not negotiating with him.” He looked at the three taut and anxious faces. “Just you, Jem. It's only Morton and Lucy. Between us we should manage."

Kit and Jem stood outside the house in High Holborn, looking up at the shuttered windows and solid, oak door.

"How're we going to get in?” Jem asked doubtfully. “It's shuttered up well and proper."

"Through the garden at the back. The kitchen won't be quite as impenetrable."

A lane ran down the side of the house and the men scaled the rough stone wall without too much difficulty. Keeping to the shadows they crept up to the kitchen that stood out from the main part of the house to lessen the risk of fire.

The door stood open and Kit could see Bess the scullion sitting on a stool beside the great open fireplace, her head in her hands, weeping. He scanned the room but could see no sign of Mag. He crept up to the open door.

"Bess!” He hissed.

She looked up. Her eyes, wide and terrified, darted around the kitchen.

"Bess.” Kit stepped into the light of the doorway so she could see him.

Her eyes widened. He put a finger to his lips and beckoned to her. She came to the doorway.

"Cap'n Lovell,” she whispered. “Oh there's terrible doings upstairs. Mag won't let me out of the kitchen. Says I'm not safe."

Mag went up in Kit's estimation.

"What terrible doings?"

"It's that Colonel Morton,” Bess said. “He's been here the last few days, in a terrible temper. He and the mistress have been yelling at each other fit to burst. Then today he goes out and comes back wiv a girl."

"Are they upstairs now?"

She nodded.

"Where's Mag?"

"Up there with them. She won't let the mistress alone wiv him."

Kit beckoned for Jem who stepped out of the shadows. Kit looked at the girl's pale, spotty face.

"Leave this house, Bess and don't ever come back."

"Why?"

"Because Mag is right, you're not safe here. Do you have somewhere to go?” Kit asked.

"My sister in Blackfriars."

"Go there and stay there. And if you need work, this here is Master Marsh, owner of the Ship in the Old Bayley. He'll help you out."

She opened her mouth to protest but saw the grim determination on the men's faces and thought better of it, running from the kitchen.

"You know your way around?” Jem enquired as Kit stepped into the kitchen.

"I lived here, Jem."

"Didn't think you'd got much beyond the bedroom,” Jem commented.

"That's enough insubordination from you,” Kit growled.

The stillness of the house was oppressive, as if Morton's presence had descended on it like a black cloud. They crept through the house, traversing the space of the ground floor that had been Martin Talbot's place of business. Apart from a few remaining barrels it was now largely empty, dusty and unused. Kit led Jem up the back stairs to the first floor where the parlor and a small room Talbot had used as a study served as the main rooms of the house. On the floor above there were two bedchambers.

A light shone from beneath the parlor door. The floorboard creaked under Jem's weight. It sounded like a shot in the gloom but no one stirred from the parlor so they edged closer to the door, one on each side. They stood poised to kick it open when the door opened and Mag came through it.

She didn't see them until it was too late. Jem brought the pistol butt down on the back of her head and she fell, sprawling to the floor. Stepping over Mag's large, prostrate from, the men burst through the door. Lucy screamed and Ambrose Morton reached for a pistol that lay on the table.

"Not a muscle, Morton."

Kit closed the distance between them, his pistol pointed unerringly at Morton's head.

"Where's the girl?"

Morton straightened, a sardonic smile on his face. “Well, well ... I underestimated you, Lovell."

"Where's my sister!” Jem stormed through the room and seized Morton by the neck.

Morton was a large man but Jem overtopped him both in height and weight.

"Upstairs,” Morton spluttered.

Jem released him, pushing him down on the chair with a pistol at his head. Kit looked at Lucy for the first time. He noted that the pretty face looked strained, her eyes red from weeping or exhaustion.

"Well, Lucy, shall we go and fetch her?” Kit jerked his pistol towards the door. “Jem, watch Morton."

Lucy did not move.

Kit narrowed his eyes. “You may recall, Lucy, I have a rather nasty side to my nature when I'm crossed. Did you enjoy your stay in Bedlam?"

Lucy rose to her feet and moved towards the door. Kit took her arm, keeping his pistol at her head.

As they reached the door, he said. “And I want the letters too."

She stopped and looked at him. “What letters?"

"Roger Knott's letters."

She drew her lips back, baring her teeth like a cornered cat.

"They're in my bedchamber,” she said.

He stood at the bedchamber door while she retrieved the letters from a locked cabinet. In the second bedchamber, he found May lying on the bed, bound hand and foot and gagged. She raised a tear-streaked face as they entered the room.

"Untie her,” Kit ordered and Lucy complied.

May tumbled off the bed and threw her arms around Kit's neck, sobbing hysterically. He disengaged her and with one arm around the girl, he prodded Lucy with the pistol and they made their way back down the stairs.

As soon as May saw Ambrose, she cowered and the tears began anew. Kit cast her a sideways glance, taking in the dishevelled clothing and bruised and tear-stained face. It didn't take much to deduce how Ambrose had spent the afternoon. He turned to Morton.

"You whoreson.” Kit breathed the words, white-hot anger flaring behind his eyes. He jerked his head at Lucy. “This baggage too obliging, is she? You like it a bit rough?"

"The girl's a doxy,” Ambrose replied languidly and shrugged. “And I got bored,” he said.

Jem, a little slower on the uptake, looked from one man to the other then to his sister. As realization dawned, he gave a bellow of rage and struck a fist into Morton's face. Ambrose's nose exploded in a fountain of blood and a howl of pain.

Jem raised his arm again but Kit stepped forward and put his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Leave him to the law,” he said. “Let's get out of here. Lucy, the letters?"

Lucy tossed the letters on to the floor at Kit's feet. He stooped to retrieve them. As he straightened he saw that Lucy held a small, neat pistol to May's head. She must have kept it in her bedchamber and retrieved it when he sent her for the letters. Lucy gave a tight-lipped smile.

"Put your pistol down Kit and you...” She gestured to Jem.

Morton, holding his nose, snorted something unintelligible and picked up the pistol on the table.

Jem and Kit exchanged glances. Kit's eyes flickered around the room. Lucy stood between them and the door, Morton between them and the window. A large sconce with half a dozen candles burned on the table in front of them.

Kit held Lucy's eyes. He raised his pistol away from his body and slowly moved towards the table, making to place the pistol on it. As he reached it, he swept the candlestick from the table. It fell clattering to the floor, the candles extinguishing, plunging the room into gloom. In that moment, Jem launched himself at Lucy with a roar. Lucy screamed and her pistol fired as Jem knocked her to the ground with one swipe of his massive arm.

Jem gathered his sister in his arms and looked to Kit.

"Get out of here,” Kit yelled.

Jem picked up his sister bodily and flung her over his shoulder. He rushed for the door with Kit behind him. They vaulted Mag's still recumbent body and headed for the stairs. Jem took them first, his feet clattering on the wooden boards.

Jem scrabbled at the front door as Morton, diving over Mag's body, fired his pistol. Kit, poised at the top of the stairs, felt the pistol ball whistle past his ear, slamming into the wall behind him. He turned to face Morton who came at him with his sword drawn.

Kit fired his pistol and heard Morton grunt as the pistol ball found its mark somewhere on his body but the impetus of Morton's charge carried him forward. He fell on Kit, his weight causing him to lose his balance. Locked together they tumbled down the steep stairs.

For a moment neither man moved as they caught their breath. Kit lay face down on the dusty floor of the old shop with Morton's weight pinning him to the ground. Just a few inches beyond his outstretched right hand, Morton's sword glinted tantalizingly. Kit inched his fingers towards it.

A hand grasped his wrist, pinning it to the floor. Suddenly Morton's weight was off him. With a bellow of fury Morton brought the heel of his boot down on Kit's hand. Before Kit had even registered what had been done, Morton repeated the act, grinding his heel into the bones. He followed this up with a boot to Kit's ribs.

With a howl of pain, Kit doubled up, clutching his hand to his chest as Morton, panting heavily, his face a mask of blood from his broken nose and his left hand dripping blood, most likely from Kit's pistol shot, retrieved his sword and stood over him.

With his right hand, he hauled Kit upright and flung him against the wall, pinning him by the throat.

"You don't want me dead,” Kit said, holding the man's crazed eyes with his own. The man stood half a head taller than Kit with a longer reach and a greater body weight.

"No, you're right I don't want you dead. I want you to tell me where Thamsine Granville is,” Ambrose snarled, tightening his grip on Kit's throat.

For a moment Kit weighed the possible consequences of telling Ambrose that Thamsine had married him but decided that if Morton knew the truth, then he would certainly be a dead man. Alive, he was of considerably more use both to Morton and to Thamsine.

Ambrose Morton's hand crashed against his face. Kit's head snapped back against the wall and panoply of bright lights and stars flashed before his eyes.

Morton hauled Kit's head up by the hair. “Now are you going to tell me where she is?"

Kit spat blood from a cut lip into Morton's face. “Safe from you."

"I want my wife."

"She's not your wife! She never will be.” He jerked his head towards the stairs where Lucy stood watching them, “Marry this little bitch. She'll serve you just as well."

Another backhander across the face knocked the remaining breath from his body. Morton let him go, and clutching his hand to his chest, Kit sank to the floor. Morton pressed the point of his sword to Kit's throat. Kit felt the prick of the metal and the warmth of blood trickling down his neck.

"Marry this strumpet?” Morton said, panting heavily as he looked up at Lucy, “Why would I do that? For her money? Well, my dear Lovell, she doesn't have any. What fortune her husband has left her is quite gone, isn't it, my dear? An expensive taste in clothes and a gambling habit. A little too fond of backgammon is our Mistress Talbot. Come here, my dear."

Lucy complied, standing beside Morton as he stroked the fair curls with his good hand.

"It seems you didn't know her quite as well as you thought you did,” he said.

Kit raised his eyes to look Lucy in the face.

"I didn't know her at all,” he hissed and turned back to look up at Morton. “So, are you going to kill me?"

"Eventually when you've told me what I need to know. Where is she?"

"Go to hell,” Kit spat.

Morton sighed heavily. “I see I need to cause you more pain before you see sense."

He lowered the sword and leaned over Kit. Placing one boot on his chest to hold him in place, he wrenched Kit's injured hand away from his body. With an almost studied care, he bent the broken fingers backwards. Kit arched back against the wall in agony, his feet scrabbling for purchase against the dusty floor.

"Ambrose, please.” Lucy's voice sounded strained.

"You enjoy this,” Kit panted.

"Yes, I do,” Ambrose snarled. “Now where is she?"

He bent the fingers again and through the pain, Kit prayed for the blessed release of unconsciousness.

"Go on, kill me!” he said between gritted teeth. “It will serve you nought. Thamsine is free of you."

"What do you mean?” Morton's boot in his chest pressed harder.

Kit took a breath and forced himself to look up into Morton's eyes, holding them with his own.