The King's Man (32 page)

Jane picked up her cloak and tied it. She gestured at an array of bottles and flasks on the table.

"My own receipt, sister. Feverfew and chamomile.” She picked up the largest flask. “It will help with the pain and any fever. I have reset the fingers and splinted them.” She held up a bottle. “A poultice of this after twelve hours."

"Will it work?"

Jane shrugged. “It might but if it worsens then the bonesetter is right, the hand will have to be amputated."

Thamsine grimaced.

Jane laid a hand on her arm. “Even if it does heal, he will never have the full use of that hand again, but I think you both know that.” Jane's face softened. “I'm sorry, Thamsine, but at least he will be alive and that is what really matters, isn't it?” She took her sister in her arms.

"I wish you didn't have to go,” Thamsine said.

Jane held her at arm's length. “You know I must. I have strapped his hand to his chest to stop him moving it for the moment. Now, if you follow my instructions, you should be over the worst within the next twenty-four hours. Keep him cool, plenty of water, the feverfew and this for the bruising.” She held up a pot. “Don't forget."

"I'm so useless,” Thamsine said with a rueful smile. “I wish I were more like you."

Jane touched her sister's cheek. “No, dearest, you're not useless. Your talents are different, that's all. Now remember to pray. That is always useful when all else fails."

When Jane had left, Thamsine crept back up to the bedchamber. She stripped down to her shift and climbed into the bed beside her husband. He stirred but did not wake as she curled up against him, her hand curling around the fingers of his left hand. With her head resting against his shoulder she fell asleep.

Over the next week, Thamsine diligently followed her sister's instructions, ignoring Kit's complaints and curses. As Thamsine opened the door to his bedchamber with his supper tray, she reflected that Jane had failed to warn her that convalescing males are not a pleasant species. However, for all his complaining, miraculously the hand had not worsened. With Jane's poultices and unguents, the swelling had begun to go down and the bones seemed to be knitting as best they could.

Kit, slammed his book shut and looked up at the ceiling as Thamsine set down the tray.

"I'm so bored,” he grumbled. “This is worse than jail. At least there I can play cards or talk to someone. Here I'm stuck in the company of three over-solicitous women, and if that"—he pointed at a flask on the tray—"is any more of your sister's damned nostrums, forget it!"

"I thought you enjoyed the company of women?"

"Not exclusively.” He looked at her and his face softened. “Come here and sit down."

He pushed the chair back from the table and patted his lap. Thamsine smiled and complied, perching herself primly on his knee. He picked up her hand in his good one and turned it over as if inspecting it. He laid it on the table and traced the lines on the palm. “Do you see this, Tham?"

"See what? Since when you have you been a palm reader?"

"A woman I knew a long time ago. This line is your life line. It tells you that you're going to live a long life."

"That's reassuring."

"Now this line is your love line."

"And what does that tell you?"

"That you are going to meet an impossibly handsome, yet penniless rogue, who is not going to let you out of his sight for the rest of your life."

"Oh dear,” Thamsine said. “That sounds rather grim. I hope his name is not Ambrose Morton."

"Ouch!” Kit gave a snort of laughter. “Penniless, aristocratic rogue then!"

Thamsine smiled. “Palm reading is a rather inexact science,” she said. “What will happen to this penniless, aristocratic rogue?"

"He will fall in love with a beautiful, talented woman."

Kit slipped his hand behind her neck, drawing her face towards his. She twisted her body so their lips almost touched.

"Ah but, does the rogue truly love me?” Thamsine whispered.

"Oh yes, he truly does. The question is do you love him enough to want to spend the rest of your life with him?"

Thamsine paused and frowned as if deep in thought. “The rest of my life? You did say it would be a long life?"

"I did."

"Well I suppose I could."

"Good.” Kit tightened his grip and their lips touched.

"You must be feeling better,” Thamsine whispered.

His lips drifted to her ear. “Much better,” he replied. “Perhaps, if you promise to be gentle with me..."

A knock on the door startled them. Thamsine barely had time to jump to her feet before the door opened.

"Oh dear, am I interrupting?” Thurloe stood in the doorway carefully removing his gloves.

Thamsine straightened her skirts. She gave Thurloe the benefit of a shaky curtsey.

He inclined his head. “Mistress Lovell. Good evening."

"Why are you here?"

"I've come to see your husband.” Thurloe looked Kit up and down. “I trust you are on the road to recovery, Lovell?"

"I'm mending,” Kit replied.

Thurloe walked over to the window and stood looking out over the street, his hands behind his back.

"I have a problem,” he said. “Or rather you have a problem. I'm afraid your friends have been most forthcoming about your involvement in the plot. You've been named several times as one of the main conspirators and I have troops scouring London with a warrant for your arrest. You'll be flattered to know that there's quite a reward for information leading to your detention.” He turned to face them. “London is not a particularly healthy place for you to be right now, Lovell."

"What are you going to do?” Kit inquired, looking down at the fingers of his left hand, resting on the table.

"If they find you, there will be nothing I can do about it, but...” Thurloe reached into his jacket and produced a paper, which he flung down on the table. “...I'm mindful of our agreement."

Kit picked it up and turned it over.

"It's an order to the Governor of Barbados to release one Daniel Lovell,” Thurloe said.

Kit looked up at Thurloe.

"I have made enquiries after your brother's health and when last I heard, admittedly some months ago, your brother has been well treated and is in good health. He has the advantage of youth and education to set him apart from his fellow captives.” Thurloe answered the unspoken question.

Kit looked down at the paper in his hand. “I hope that's true, Thurloe."

Thurloe shrugged. “You can see for yourself. There's a boat sails from Gravesend to Barbados tomorrow evening. Be on it, Lovell, or I can't help you any more. You are looking rather pale. The sea voyage will do your health good.” He turned to Thamsine with a smile. “And of course your lovely wife will be accompanying you.” The smile faded. “In short I want the pair of you out of England. The sooner I am rid of the both of you, the sounder I will sleep in bed."

Kit looked up sharply. “For how long?"

Thurloe shrugged. “Until this business is over."

"What will become of the others, Thurloe?” Kit asked.

Thurloe's lips tightened. “Without prejudicing an otherwise fair trial, I think I can be confidently predict that there will be deaths. There has to be."

"Who?"

"Lord Gerard for one. Vowells. Maybe one or two others."

Kit grimaced and looked away. “Gerard was a friend of my father's,” he murmured.

"Don't blame yourself, Lovell.” Thurloe regarded him for a moment. “If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. Lord Gerard was playing a fool's game. You will see in time that it was the right decision.” Thurloe paused and shook his head. “I get no pleasure from sending good men to the block, Lovell. But to answer your question, I will not stop you returning to England when the time is right,
but ...
” His voice dropped and his eyes narrowed. “...it will be on the clear understanding that you renounce all ties with Charles Stuart, am I clear?"

Kit nodded. “Quite clear. Before you go, Thurloe, what of Ambrose Morton?"

"Ah yes, Colonel Morton. I'm sorry but there will be no action taken against Colonel Morton."

Thamsine and Kit stared at him.

"In so far as the charges you have levelled against him for the kidnap and assault on Mistress Granville, my pardon,"—Thurloe inclined his head in Thamsine's direction—"Mistress Lovell. While I've no doubt there is truth to the story and Morton should be punished, it has been decided the scandal attaching to a trial, particularly as the chief witness will be out of the country,"—he gave Thamsine a meaningful look—"would outweigh the benefit of our work of the last few months. As for the allegation of rape...” He shrugged his shoulders. “The girl is a doxy, and the charge will never stick."

"So Morton is free to roam the country at will?” Kit said.

"It would seem so, although I do hear that he has been rather unwell. Must be something contagious. Captain Lovell.” Thurloe picked up his hat and gloves. “I am pleased we've had this talk. I wish you both a good voyage and a long and happy life together."

The door closed behind him. For what seemed a long moment, Kit and Thamsine stared at each other.

"I'm sorry, Tham,” Kit said.

She shrugged. “I expected it. He's not going to risk the scandal of a trial that involves you and me. It's in our own interests to keep our anonymity but it's May I feel for. How dare he call her a doxy!"

"That's what Morton called her too.” Kit shrugged unhappily. “There's no justice for the poor."

He picked up the paper Thurloe had left and turned it over, tracing the seal on the back of it.

"Barbados,” Thamsine said. “It's the other side of the world. I thought France..."

"France can wait, Thamsine. This is more important."

She nodded, her fingers closing over his. “Barbados and then, maybe, Virginia?” she ventured. “A new beginning?"

Kit nodded. “A new beginning. Maybe we should try our hand at farming coffee? Come here, Mistress Lovell."

She crossed to him and sat down beside him. He slid a hand around the back of her neck and their lips met, as they allowed time and their worries to slip away for a few short hours.

"The boat sails at high tide,” Jem Marsh remarked. “You better hurry."

Kit rose painfully to his feet, flinching as the bruises and cracked ribs caught in the unaccustomed movement. Thamsine secured his injured arm in a neat sling, tied his cloak and picked up his hat.

"My sword?” Kit looked around the room.

She indicated his chest. “Packed. You won't need it and you can't use it anyway.” She slipped an arm around his waist.

Kit shrugged off her encircling arm. “I can manage just fine, thank you,” he said, instantly regretting his stiff-necked pride as he took a few uncertain steps towards the door. After the long inactivity, he felt stiff, sore and as weak as a kitten.

Jem shouldered the box and followed Kit down the stairs. May and Nan waited at the bottom of the stairs. May had tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around him, an action that caused Kit to recoil. Undeterred she sobbed into his jacket. He patted her back and looked at Jem for help

"Come on, lass,” her brother said gruffly, “'nough of that. They're leaving and tha's that."

May let him go and sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, then flung herself at Thamsine, who kissed her on the cheek.

At the foot of the stairs, they stopped. Half a dozen heavily armed soldiers stood in the taproom.

"What will we do,” Thamsine hissed, her voice tense.

"Well, I'm no position to make a bolt for it,” Kit replied. “We'll just have to brazen it out."

Nan sauntered forward. “What'll it be, cap'n. A pot of ale for your men?"

The officer gave her a contemptuous glance and his gaze moved to the two men standing at the foot of the stairs.

"We're seeking one Christopher Lovell,” he said. “Last known to be lodging at this establishment."

"Don't know who you mean, Captain? Now if you'll excuse us, this gentleman has a boat to catch.” Jem made to move but three of the soldiers now moved into his path, another three behind them.

The officer squared up to Kit. He stood half a head shorter, square and pugnacious next to Kit's lean form.

"A dark haired man two yards high, injured arm.” He looked at the sling on Kit's right arm. “Scar over right eye. I think we've got the right man, lads. Christopher Lovell, I have a warrant for your arrest."

"Indeed? On what charge?"

"Treason. Do you deny you're Christopher Lovell?"

Kit heard Thamsine's quick indrawn breath. He could neither run nor fight. He looked at his wife. Surely she could see resistance was pointless?

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I've no choice, Tham. This is a corner from which I have no escape.” He turned to the soldier. “I'm in no position to deny anything,” he said wearily. “I am Christopher Lovell. Where do you intend taking me?"

"My orders are to convey you to the Tower."

Kit closed his eyes momentarily. The Tower and this time with little hope of reprieve. The soldiers moved forward. Kit held up his good hand. “I am unarmed and as you can see, in no condition to resist arrest,” he said. “I'll come peacefully. Just let me say farewell to my wife."

He turned to face Thamsine. He could see the fear in her eyes. Her slender body trembled like a reed.

"This is Thurloe's doing!” she whispered in French, her voice tense with anger.

Kit shook his head. “No. It's not his style. Whatever else he is, he's a man of his word, Thamsine. This could be any one of the others. They all knew where I lodged. I'm just surprised it has taken them so long to seek me here. Be strong, Thamsine,” he said and bent his head to kiss her.

Her lips quivered beneath his touch and she leaned her head against his chest. “Kit..."

He placed a finger on her mouth. “Shhh..."

He straightened his back, wincing as the cracked ribs caught. “Lieutenant.” He bowed. “Your servant."

The officer scowled. “Fetch this man a horse,” he said and roughly seized Kit's good arm.

Kit did not look back. He could not face Thamsine’ eyes again.