The King's Man (39 page)

"'Ere, Jem!” A ragged boy appeared at the gate to the courtyard.

"That's Master Marsh to you, Harry!” Jem growled. “What news?"

The boy gave a cheeky grin. “You asked me to tell you..."

"Go on...” Jem said sharply.

"Well, they left this morning first thing. Hired a coach and left London, headed south. Constables and bailiffs were at the door after they was gone."

Kit, excluded from this conversation, looked from the boy to Jem. Jem's mouth had tightened.

"Morton and his lady friend.” Jem answered his unspoken question. “Harry here's bin watching the house in Holborn Hill these weeks past."

Kit felt in his purse for a coin and tossed it to the boy.

"Thanks, Harry, you've done well.” The boy touched his forehead and vanished into the busy street.

Kit looked at Jem. “If they've gone south, they could be heading for Portsmouth..."

"Or Plymouth or Southampton or...” Jem's mouth tightened.

"Or Hartley Hall.” Kit finished the question.

"Seems like you've no choice, Lovell,” Jem said.

Kit nodded. “I'll need you."

"What? You just want me to up and leave the Inn?"

"Nan will manage quite well without you. I can't face Morton by myself, you know that."

He held up his right hand.

Jem shrugged. “Two ‘orses it is then."

"Two good horses, Jem. Hang the cost."

Jem gave a splutter. “Hang the cost? Ye've not a farthing to yer name. I wouldn't mind betting that were your last coin you gave the boy."

Kit smiled. “I'll repay you, Jem. You know I'm good for my debts."

"Oh yes?” Jem smiled sardonically.

Thamsine stood by the window, her arms crossed, watching the rain lash against the glass. The wind bent the trees, crushing the heads of the unharvested crops and bringing the day to an early end.

She sighed and turned back to the parlor. Roger sat by the unseasonable fire, reading his Bible. Rebecca and Rachel sat on a settle opposite him, their heads also bent over Bibles. The Sabbath had always been dutifully observed in the Knott household. Annie sat by herself in a corner, absorbed in the dolls, an activity forbidden the other girls. Thamsine saw Rachel casting Annie furtive glances of envy.

She forced herself to sit down at the table where she had been working on some music. A sad ballad of tragic love cut short. She chewed the end of her pen and looked at what she had done but it seemed tearfully sentimental and, in the circumstances, inappropriate.

Somewhere in the house, a door crashed. Everyone looked up.

"Just the wind,” Thamsine said.

Then unmistakably she heard the sound of a man's boots outside the door. She looked up as the door opened, expecting to see Stebbings.

"What a pleasant, family scene."

The voice of the man standing in the doorway in the act of removing his gloves made the blood in her veins freeze. Roger and the two girls looked up from their books and stared—Roger with fear in his face, the girls with puzzlement and interest.

"'Brose!” Annie gave a yelp of delight and hurled herself at her brother.

"Hello, Annie,” Ambrose kissed his sister before disengaging her arms. He took a few paces into the room. “Thamsine, my dear. Black is not your color."

"If you came for Annie—” Thamsine began but was interrupted by Roger's hysterical voice.

"I told you! I warned you!” Roger had risen to his feet.

Ambrose turned to Roger. “Sit down, Knott. I've not come for my sister."

Roger subsided on to his seat and Ambrose wandered over to the girls. He smiled at them and patted Rachel on the head.

"These must be your daughters, Knott."

Roger gave a strangled response and Ambrose turned his attention to Thamsine.

Thamsine raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eye.

"I let Annie stay because she was plainly being neglected at Beverstock,” she said. “I would have thought as she is your only responsibility..."

"Don't presume to lecture me on my responsibilities, Mistress Lovell.” The hatred in his voice made her heart stop beating. “News must travel slowly in this part of the country. The creditors have taken Beverstock. Annie has no home.” Ambrose shrugged and his face softened as he looked at his sister. “I would have thought you were done with Mortons."

"Annie was not responsible for your actions, Ambrose."

Annie looked from one to the other, aware she was being discussed but not comprehending what she had done.

"That's right, she helped you escape, if I remember rightly. That was wrong, Annie."

He glared at his sister and Annie shrank from his fierce, angry eyes, sensing but not understanding her brother's displeasure with her.

Thamsine forced her mouth to work.

"If you've not come for Annie, why are you here, Ambrose?"

Ambrose reached out and curled a lock of Thamsine's hair in his finger.

"Why am I here? What an excellent question."

"He's here to claim what is rightfully his."

A woman's voice came from the doorway. Lucy stepped into the room. Kit's Mistress Mouse looked pale, travel-stained and weary, a far cry from the bright-eyed creature of London.

Ambrose looked at her. “London has become a little ... uncomfortable, hasn't it, dearest?"

"What do you mean?” Thamsine demanded.

Ambrose sighed, “Too many debts, too many memories. Time for a new start in a new place."

"What do you want?” Roger rose to his feet again, his voice strong.

"Oh, it's quite simple, really. I want money, Thamsine. I want anything of value in this house."

Thamsine straightened. Money. All he wanted was money.

"Oh, I see you look surprised? Did you think I still wanted you?” He stroked her face. “No, you're soiled goods now. Why would I want you after Lovell has swived you? Pity he's dead. You're far too young to be a widow and such a desirable one at that."

Ambrose removed two pistols from his belt and laid them on the table.

"I think the contents of your strong box and some refreshments are in order. It has been a long, tedious journey made more so by my companion's delicate condition.” Ambrose sat himself on a chair and crossed his arms.

Thamsine stared across his head at Lucy, who averted her eyes.

"You're with child?” Thamsine's barely aspirated words hung heavily in the air. “You told me you could not conceive."

"Apparently the doctors were wrong. I have conceived.” She threw aside her cloak, revealing a high-waisted gown below which the swell of her stomach was clearly visible. “I am told the child will be born about Christmas,” she said.

Thamsine did a quick mental calculation. The child must have been conceived in late February or early March when Kit was still with Lucy Talbot.
Oh Kit
, she thought to herself,
is there no justice in the world? How could you leave this woman with child and not me?

Ambrose looked around the pleasant room.

"And to think this was so nearly mine,” he said.

His eyes rested on Thamsine as Annie crept up next to him and put her hand on his knee.

"'Brose?” she said.

Without looking at his sister, he hit out at her, a brutal blow that flung her several feet. The two little girls gave a shriek of alarm and Rebecca ran to Annie's side.

"You hurt her!” she cried.

He rose to his feet and grabbed Rebecca's arm, pulling her away from the sobbing woman-child.

"Let her go!” Roger took a step.

Ambrose ignored him. He took Rebecca's chin in his fingers and forced her face upwards.

"How old are you, child?"

"Fourteen...” Rebecca's voice faltered.

"Let her go, Ambrose,” Thamsine said.

But Ambrose continued looking down at the girl, the hooded, wolfish look in his eyes that Thamsine had seen before. Her blood ran cold. Roger gave a strangled cry and took a step towards Ambrose, but without even looking at him, Ambrose picked up one of the pistols and put it to Rachel's head. “Sit down, Knott,” he snarled.

"Oh let her go.” Lucy sounded bored. “She's far too young."

"I like them young,” Ambrose said, but he released the frightened girl who ran to her father, burying her head in his jacket.

Roger put a protective arm around both his girls, drawing them close.

"What have you done with the servants?” Thamsine asked.

"I've locked them up."

Ambrose, still holding one of the pistols, produced two keys which he placed on the table beside the other pistol.

"Now, Thamsine, would you go with Lucy and fetch the contents of your strong box?"

Thamsine stood her ground. “I'll not leave this room until I have your word that you will not harm anyone in it."

Ambrose waved the pistol. “I've no intention of harming anyone. I just want your money."

He handed Lucy the second pistol. “Here, dearest take this."

"Do you even know how to use it?” Thamsine hissed contemptuously as Lucy stood aside to let her out of the room.

The pistol looked ridiculously large in Lucy's hands and it took her both hands to hold it steady.

"The coin,” Lucy said fiercely.

Thamsine led her into the study. She lifted the strong box out from its hiding place beneath the bricks of the fireplace and opened it with the key she carried at her waist. The month's rent money and the money from the harvest, maybe eighty pounds in all, were worth the price of her freedom. Lucy took the bags and weighed them in her hand.

"Is this all?” Her eyes glittered greedily.

"Yes, that's everything."

"What about jewellery, silver?"

"There's no silver. It all went to the King's cause as did the jewellery,” Thamsine said bitterly. “I am not as rich as Ambrose supposed."

Lucy regarded her coldly. “What do you suppose Kit Lovell married you for?"

Thamsine smiled. “The reasons Kit married me are long and complicated, Lucy, and I have no intention of sharing them with you."

Lucy's lower lip trembled. “You know he would have been a Viscount? I would have had his title."

"Instead you have ended up penniless and pregnant and beholden to a man who I know is a rapist and worse. There is a just God after all."

The pistol shook. “You don't understand, Thamsine. Ambrose and I..."

"...are birds of a feather, Lucy. Kit would never have married you and you know it."

Tears welled in Lucy's eyes and she took one hand off the pistol to dash them away impatiently. It occurred to Thamsine that Lucy may actually have loved Kit but she could find no pity in her heart for this woman who had betrayed her to Ambrose and stood by while Ambrose had beaten and crippled the man she supposedly loved. No, Lucy had got the reward she so richly deserved.

"Just take the coin and go,” Thamsine said. “I want you both gone from my house."

Lucy sighed. “I'm tired, Thamsine. Pregnancy does that but then I suppose you wouldn't know."

The smugness in her tone and the way her hand rested on the swell of her stomach made Thamsine turn away. The thought of this woman giving birth to Kit's child sickened her.

Lucy jerked the heavy pistol. “Pick up the coin."

Thamsine complied and they returned to the parlor. No one appeared to have moved. Roger still sat frozen with his arms around his two terrified children. Annie huddled at his feet, her thin arms wrapped around her knees, rocking herself. Ambrose sprawled in his chair, the pistol in his hand.

Thamsine set the money bags down beside him. “That's all I have. Take it and get out."

"Now, Thamsine. You may have noticed the weather outside is vile. I have no intention of going anywhere tonight. The coach horses will take us no further and you are forgetting your skills as a hostess. I want food. Lucy?"

Lucy had subsided wearily on to a chair. She looked up. Ambrose tossed her a key. “Go and find the cook and get her to make some food."

"Ambrose, I want to rest..."

"You'll get rest, I promise,” he said. “Food first."

With the sigh of a pregnant woman, Lucy lifted up the heavy pistol again and left the room. Ambrose looked at Thamsine.

"Play for me, Thamsine, like you used to."

"I hardly think...” Thamsine began but saw his fingers tighten on the pistol. “Very well. Anything in particular?"

"Something cheerful I think,” he replied. “And you...” The pistol turned on Rebecca. “...you can dance for me."

"No.” Roger's arm tightened on his daughter.

"I don't know how to dance.” Rebecca's voice was small but firm.

"Oh yes of course, puritans. Annie will show you, won't you, Annie?"

Annie looked up, hope shining in her eyes. “'Brose?"

"Dance for me, Annie. You remember how you used to dance?"

She nodded and stood up, straightening her skirts. Thamsine began to play a little country jig and Annie responded, moving in her own unintelligible way to the music.

"Dance with your friend, Annie.” Ambrose indicated Rebecca and Annie took the girl's hands leading her in a hopping dance that took them around the room.

Ambrose laughed. It sounded almost an avuncular, jovial laugh as if he genuinely enjoyed watching his sister.

The dancing continued until Lucy, laboring under a tray loaded with dishes, entered through the door. She set the tray down on the table and set a bowl of soup and a plate of cold mutton before Ambrose.

"Annie, sit down there, where I can see you.” Ambrose gestured with his hand.

Annie obeyed and Rebecca returned to her father's side. Thamsine stopped playing.

"Oh, you can keep playing, Thamsine. Something sad and wistful, I think"

Ambrose drank the soup as Thamsine played. Lucy picked at the food. To Thamsine's eyes, Lucy looked like a woman strained to breaking point. She wondered if she had come willingly with Ambrose or had circumstance forced her hand?

Ambrose pushed the dishes to one side and belched. “Come, Lucy, eat up."

"I'm tired, Ambrose,” she said. “I want to rest."

"Well don't let me stop you,” he said. “There are ample beds upstairs or you can lay on that settle.” he indicated a large oak settle that stood against wall. Lucy pushed aside her chair, gathered some cushions and lay down on the settle.