The King's Man (34 page)

Thurloe sighed. “For what it's worth, Lovell, this was not my doing. One of your comrades suggested you may be found at the Ship Inn and an enterprising young officer decided to see if, by any chance, you were foolish enough still to be in residence. The first I knew of it was when your wife arrived at my door."

"A few hours, Thurloe, and I would have been gone. Fate is a fickle mistress,” Kit remarked bitterly. “Get me out of here, Thurloe!"

"There is nothing I can do,” Thurloe replied. “Justice must now take its course."

"Justice?” Kit spat the words. “You and I both know there's no justice here!"

"There will be a trial. We will constitute a special Court to deal with the traitors."

"Not so much a case of justice being done, but of being seen to be done?” Kit snarled.

"It's not as if any of you are innocent of the charges. I've seen the evidence. To a man, you are all quite guilty."

Kit coughed and groaned, pressing his injured hand to his chest.

"Do you need a doctor? I will send my personal physician to see to you.” Thurloe actually looked concerned.

"Don't bother,” Kit snorted contemptuously. “If I am seen to have your personal attentions it will arouse greater suspicion, will it not?"

"Probably,” Thurloe conceded, “but I want you to know that I wish there could have been some other way."

"You have a conscience, Thurloe? How touching. So I am to be tried?"

"Yes. There is too much evidence against you. Your friends dig a deeper hole for you by the day."

Kit looked away.

"You have, of course, yet to be interrogated,” Thurloe said.

"I can hardly wait."

"It will go better for you if you admit your involvement."

Kit looked up at Thurloe and gave a grim smile. “Will it, Thurloe? How will it go better for me?"

"It may mean the difference between the noose or..."

"Banishment to Barbados or some other god-forsaken place? A lifetime of a thousand deaths? How is that better? All I want is my freedom, Thurloe. God help me, I earned it!"

Thurloe's cold eyes rested on his face. “You're a card player, Lovell. There are no certainties in life except death.” Thurloe replaced his hat on his head and turned to go.

Kit looked at his back.

"Thurloe, you will see that my brother is released?"

"I will even have him returned to England."

"Thank you."

Thurloe stopped in the doorway and without looking around said quietly. “Admit your involvement, Lovell."

"And?"

"I will not make any promises, Lovell, but deny the charges and you will certainly hang."

The cold grey walls of the Tower of London loomed above the fetid moat. Trying hard to control her trembling hands, Thamsine raised her head and tightened her grip on the bundle she carried. This time she would be admitted, of that she was certain.

She demanded to see Barkstead and, as she had anticipated, was admitted to his presence without argument. Barkstead rose to his feet and bowed. Beneath her black velvet mask, Thamsine smiled. His demeanor to a lady of rank bore a startling contrast to his treatment of Mistress Granville, the failed assassin of the Lord Protector.

"I'm here to see my husband.” She made it a demand not a question.

"And you are?"

"Mistress Lovell. My husband is Captain Christopher Lovell."

Barkstead's mouth opened and his eyes narrowed. “Do I know you, Mistress Lovell?"

"I don't think so,” Thamsine replied.

"Your husband..."

"My husband was brought here ten days ago. Is he being well treated?"

"I...” Barkstead shuffled some papers.

Thamsine laid a purse on the table. The clink made Barkstead's eyes widen. “I want my husband placed in good accommodation with decent food,” she said. “Treat him well and I will see you well rewarded."

Barkstead blinked, ducking his head like a goose. “Of course, Mistress Lovell. I will personally ensure his every need is catered to."

"Good. Now I wish to see him."

"What is in the bundle?” Barkstead indicated the bundle she carried. “It's just I need to know...” he added, almost apologetically

"Clean clothes,” she said, “A few books, nothing more. See for yourself."

Barkstead cast a cursory glance at the contents then summoned a turnkey.

"Mistress Lovell, it has been a pleasure. I shall make arrangements for your husband at once..."

Thamsine bestowed a smile on him. “Thank you, Colonel. I hope on my next visit, I will find everything to my satisfaction."

As she had expected, Kit had been cast into one of the gloomy cells similar to the one she had occupied. Not the worst accommodation in the Tower but far from comfortable. The heavy door swung open and Thamsine stepped through it, blinking as she allowed her eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom.

"Thamsine?” Kit, who had been lying on his back on the cot, pulled himself up, staring at her. “My God, Thamsine, I wouldn't have recognized you."

Thamsine undid her cloak, removed her hat and mask and smiled.

"Neither did Barkstead,” she said. “Amazing what a transformation good clothes can make."

"Not just good clothes, Tham,” Kit said. “You look different."

"I've decided to take control of my life, Kit. I'm not leaving my future in the hands of stupid men like Roger Knott, nor will I allow myself to be terrorized by Ambrose Morton any more. I am Thamsine Lovell, wife of the future Viscount Midhurst."

Kit rose to his feet and took the two steps towards her. He took her hand, looking her up and down.

"I think this new Thamsine will take some getting used to."

"This new Thamsine is a creature of your invention, Kit.” She slid her arms around his neck, looking into his unshaven face. “Now, are you going to kiss your wife?"

He bent his head and obliged. Thamsine laid her head on his shoulder and he kissed her hair.

"Oh Thamsine, I'm so sorry!” he murmured.

"For what?"

"For this mess, for marrying you, for ... everything."

"Don't be a fool, Kit.” Thamsine broke away from him. “It's all arranged. I have a lawyer. Roger says he is the best..."

"Save your money, Tham."

"Kit?"

"No lawyer in the world can save me. My colleagues have dug the grave for me."

"No!” Thamsine protested. “You're not just going to go to your grave without a fight."

Kit raised his good hand. “Hear me out. I've seen Thurloe and on his advice I've admitted my involvement in everything. I could hardly deny it. My comrades have betrayed me as surely as I did them."

"What will Thurloe do?"

He shook his head. “I don't know but I have to trust him, Thamsine. He's my only hope."

"He's the spy master, Lovell. Your death would suit him."

"Whatever else he is, he's a man of his word, Thamsine."

"And what exactly has he promised you, Kit?"

Kit's silence gave her the answer she sought.

She turned away. “Nothing? Kit, you've given away your hope on a slim promise?"

His face was still. “I'm not scared of death, Thamsine. I faced my mortality every time I rode into battle, every time I ever took a wound but now ... now...” He put his good hand to her cheek. “Now for the first time I have a reason to live and I am looking down a dark passage with no escape. They have selected four of us to try: Gerard, Vowells, Fox and me. The choice is deliberate—our fate is to act as a deterrent to those who seek to plot."

"And how will Thurloe help you?"

He shook his head. “He can save me from the noose."

"For what? Imprisonment? Banishment?"

"For life, Thamsine. The late King said, ‘While I have life I have hope'."

"And look what happened to him!” Thamsine could not disguise the bitterness in her voice.

"I will go to trial, admit my guilt, show contrition, remorse..."

"And maybe, just maybe ... you will end up on a slave plantation in Barbados with your brother!"

She felt him stiffen. The cell was not large enough for him to walk away but he took a step back.

"I have to believe that this is the right course of action, Thamsine."

"I have a lawyer!"

"For God's sake, a lawyer is not going to save me! They have my confession, they have the testimony of a dozen witnesses. A lawyer will just as surely send me to my grave."

Thamsine picked up her cloak and mask. She took a deep, steadying breath.

"If that is how you want it?"

"That is how it has to be,” he said gently. “Look at me, Tham."

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. Green eyes, nice eyes.

"Trust me,” he said. “Trust me."

"I don't have a choice, do I?” She managed a wan smile.

He smiled in return. “That's better. Now what's in that bundle?"

"Some clean linen.” She looked around the cell. “Money buys favors. Barkstead will improve your accommodation. If he doesn't, he will have me to answer to."

Kit smiled. “I knew there was a good reason to marry a woman with money."

"I will also have a tailor attend you,” she said. “You will need to look well for your trial. Is there a date set?"

He shook his head. “It will be a few weeks yet. They have to constitute a special court. They don't dare try us in open court before a jury. Too much public sympathy."

"So much for justice.” Thamsine gave a shudder and changed the subject. “How's your hand?"

He looked down at the filthy bandage. “It took a couple of knocks on my way here, but it's healing. Every day I get a little more movement back but...” His voice tailed off.

Thamsine unwound the bandage and touched the crooked, still splinted fingers. When she looked up, she saw the anguish in his eyes. He saw, as she did, that he would never use this hand again. Not for the things that mattered.

"I brought you Frances Bacon and a couple of your other books,” Thamsine said as she inexpertly rebound the hand with a fresh bandage, hiding the ruined fingers from sight.

She stood up and leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt his good arm encircle her, drawing her close. His lips brushed her hair. The desperate silence was broken by a rap on the door.

"Time's up,” the Turnkey growled.

They broke apart and stood looking at each other. Thamsine felt her self-control begin to crumble. She had never thought it possible to love anyone as much as she loved Kit Lovell. Their time together had been so short and yet so intense.

He lowered his head, his lips seeking out hers, his left hand meshing in her hair. They kissed as soul mates, drawing on each other's strengths, willing the other to survive no matter what.

Thamsine took the few steps to the door of the cell and looked back. Kit did not move.

His lips moved with the words “I love you".

She smiled and nodded, mouthing “And I you,” before the door closed behind her.

"We've a fine day for it!” Lord Gerard looked surprisingly cheerful for a man who was on trial for his life.

Kit raised his head. The fine July day seemed an anathema to him. The cart carrying them to Westminster lurched, throwing Kit against Gerard. The four of them were manacled hand and foot. Vowells and Fox sat in silence, their faces grim.

Gerard clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, Lovell. Don't lose hope. From what I hear tell you've been well looked after. You're fortunate to have a wife with means to ameliorate your condition. Has she paid for the services of a good lawyer, too?"

Kit ignored Gerard's question.

"What do you intend to do, Gerard?” he asked.

"Vowells and I intend to dispute the jurisdiction of the court,” Lord Gerard answered.

Kit gave a snort of laughter. “Really? Somewhat presumptuous of you."

"It is a specially constituted court, Lovell. Cromwell knows if we go before a jury we will be acquitted."

"And if the trial proceeds?"

Gerard's bearded chin jutted. “I'll not admit involvement."

"Gerard, you're a fool. The evidence is overwhelming."

"You mean you intend to admit guilt?"

Kit shrugged. “I'm guilty.” He looked at his fellow conspirators. “And all of you have willingly borne testimony to that fact. How can I deny it?"

Gerard looked at him for a moment.

"You know there were whispers about your loyalty, Lovell. There were those who said you were Thurloe's man."

"Did they?"

"I denied it of course and then once Fitzjames was unmasked, that silenced the doubters. I have no doubt that Henshaw ultimately betrayed us. But come, Lovell, I've known you, man and boy, and it is not in your character to admit defeat. Why?"

Kit looked away and didn't answer. A few interested bystanders lined the streets but it would seem the fate of a small bunch of conspirators was attracting little interest in the public.

The cart lurched and Kit winced as it jarred the barely knit bones of his hand, Ambrose Morton's legacy.

"Are you fit enough for trial?” Gerard asked.

"I've a few broken bones, not a broken mind,” Kit replied. “Anyway my trial will be brief. I told you, I will admit complicity."

Gerard shook his head. “I don't know, Lovell. Those footpads did more than break a few bones. Looks like they knocked the sense right out of you."

Westminster Hall had seen the trial of a King. Now it would bear witness to the trial of those who would seek to kill a king. Kit looked up at the vaulted roof and shivered. Despite the warmth of the day, the air in this hall felt chill. A guard pushed him and he shuffled forward to the bench where the other three sat. When the King had been tried, stands had been constructed to hold the gallery of spectators. For this trial there would be no witnesses.

He knew Thamsine would be waiting outside. He'd looked for her in the crowd but could not see her. However he knew her. Despite telling her to stay away, she would still be there; the thought provided a modicum of comfort. In the six weeks since his arrest she had visited him when she could. They had been short, hurried meetings but they had made the days pass, given him something to look forward to, some reason to hope.