The King's Man (9 page)

Thamsine buried her head in her hands. “Nan, what are you doing here?"

"I thought a pleasant stroll in the Tower of London—what a stupid question!"

"Hello, Thamsine.” May's head appeared around the door.

Thamsine stared at them both in disbelief, as Nan set a basket down on the table with a thump and began unpacking it.

"May and I reckons you might need a few things: clean linen, stockings, cloak, petticoat and bodice. Comb. Candle, tinder, flagon of wine and one of me pies, some bread and cheese and most importantly...” There was a jangle of coins as a purse landed on the bed beside Thamsine. “That's your earnings from t'other night. Jem were right peeved when those soldiers took you away. Thought you was a nice little earner."

"You didn't have to do this.” Thamsine stared at the girls.

"Nah, ye're right. No one made us do it but after all the bother you caused us, we had a bit of an investment in you."

"Did you really hurl a brickbat at the Lord Protector?” May asked

Thamsine nodded.

"Why d'ya go and do a stupid thing like that?” Nan demanded.

Thamsine looked from one twin to the other.

"I needed a diversion,” she said. “I didn't stop to think what I was really doing."

"A diversion? What from?” Nan looked incredulous. “Come on, Thamsine. I reckons you owe us your story."

Thamsine shrugged. There seemed little point in keeping her silence.

"I ran away from a man,” she said. “A man who wanted to marry me."

"Well that's not such a bad thing in't it? I wish there was someone who wanted to marry me!” May said.

"Not like this man. He is violent and vicious and his motives for wanting to marry me have nothing to do with love and everything to do with money."

"Oh, so you have money then?” Nan's eyes narrowed.

Thamsine gave a bitter laugh. “Yes, but when I marry it goes to my husband and until I marry it is controlled by my guardian who is the same man who thinks he has a right to marry me."

"Same man?"

"Same man!"

May shook her head. “Sometimes I reckon it's best to be poor, then if a man marries you, you can think it's coz he likes you...” She sighed. “...or coz he got you in the family way."

"So what happened?” Nan put in over her sister's musings.

"He ... treated me badly."

May's eyes widened. “He didn't...?"

Thamsine grimaced as she took the girl's meaning. Of course he had tried; it had only been the chance intervention of another that had prevented it. “He tried to and he is capable of that and worse. He thought he could force me into marriage with him."

"How d'ya get away?"

Thamsine paled. “I shot him. I thought I'd killed him. I ran away to London to hide."

"You didn't kill ‘im?"

Thamsine shook her head. “No. I know I didn't kill him. He's here in London looking for me."

"How'd you know that?"

"I saw him in the crowd that day. That's why I threw the brickbat. If I hadn't, he would have caught me and then ... and then...” An unimaginable fate, far worse then her present predicament, loomed before her.

May put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her.

"Well I reckon you had as good a reason as any for throwing brickbats at Cromwell,” she said. “Have you told ‘em why you did it?"

Thamsine shook her head. “I can't,” she said. “I would rather hang then go back to that man."

Nan shrugged. “Well, that's your choice,” she said. “Are they going to hang you?"

"I don't know. I had a meeting with a really frightening man called John Thurloe. I think whatever happens to me, will be his decision.” She sighed, and changed the subject. “Is there any news of Kit Lovell and the others?"

Nan shook her head. “Nah. I feel quite sorry for poor old Noll Cromwell. Everyone seems to be trying to do him in. I tell you having half your patrons hauled away by the poll heads is not good for business. Jem's threatening death if he finds who squealed on ‘em."

"Where's your brother's loyalties?” Thamsine asked.

Nan was silent for a moment. “D'ya mean was it Jem what squealed on yer all? You can put that thought away. Jem is dead loyal to the King. Always has been, always will be. Mind you another week like this and my betting is they'll find some way to shut him down. He don't need Cromwell's soldiers tramping around arresting his customers. Now you need to eat that pie before it goes stone cold."

Thamsine sat down on the stool and attacked the pie with relish. A week of the cold, gelatinous gruel the turnkey dished up was enough to have reduced her to a state of semi-starvation again. Nan wandered around the cell, perusing it as if it were a possible apartment to purchase.

May sat on the cot. “One blanket? Cold enough in ‘ere to freeze your tits off. If we can get in again, we'll bring yer another blanket."

"So how'd you come to know Kit Lovell?” Nan asked.

Thamsine looked up from the pie. “He pulled me out of the crowd that day."

"You never knew ‘im before?"

Thamsine shook her head.

The sisters exchanged glances. “We thought you was sweet on him or summat."

Thamsine forced a laugh. “Me? Sweet on Kit Lovell? What about you?"

To her surprise, Nan flushed. “Hard not to be a little sweet on him, admit it, but he's well set with that widow up in Holborn!” She shrugged. “Anyway he's not for the likes of May or I."

There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. The turnkey appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel.

"Time's up. Out!” He jerked a thumb at Nan.

Thamsine rose to her feet and embraced both the girls.

"Thank you for coming. You're better friends than I deserve."

Nan patted her shoulder and broke the embrace.

"That's enough of that. Don't need you getting all sentimental on me. I just does me bit that's all."

At the door she stopped. “It'll all be right in the end, Thamsine. You see if it isn't and if they lets you out, there's a place for you at the Ship."

"I wish I had your optimism, Nan."

Nan smiled. “Gotta look at the bright side otherwise life ain't worth living. Now you be sure to guard that purse well. Turnkeys are just as likely to sneak in while you are asleep and steal it.” She gave the turnkey a foul look.

The door closed heavily behind the girls and an overwhelming sense of loneliness washed over Thamsine. She carefully packed away the provender that Nan had brought and counted the coins. Not enough to sustain her for more than a few more days. She sighed and lay down on the cot with her arms behind her head, her mind returning to the lute melody.

"Colonel Barkstead says, seeing as it's a fine day, you can take a turn on the walls,” the turnkey said, holding the door open for Thamsine.

The chance to walk on the walls and stretch her legs and her lungs was one she seized with alacrity. Thamsine wrapped her cloak tighter around her as the cold wind blew in a gust off the river and turned her face to it, taking a deep, thankful breath. From her narrow walkway she could see down into the inner and outer courtyards of the Tower.

In the outer courtyards, children played while women stood and gossiped, babies or baskets of washing on their hips. Watching them gave her a feeling of normality. No one paid any heed to the prisoner on the wall above them.

A cheerful whistling diverted her attention to the inner courtyard. A prisoner, accompanied by a solitary guard, had come through the gate. Despite being hampered by wrist and leg irons, he still managed a confident swagger that was agonisingly familiar.

"Captain Lovell!” She had yelled his name before she knew what she was saying.

He stopped whistling and looked up.

"Thamsine Granville, as I live and breathe! ‘Ill met by moonlight proud Titania'.” He managed a clumsy bow, cut short as his escort hauled at his chains.

Kit lowered his head to speak to the man. The soldier shrugged and stepped back. Kit walked over to the wall and looked up at Thamsine. She crouched, looking down into his dirty, bruised, unshaven face. Ten yards of wall lay between them.

He grinned and spread his hands as wide as the manacles would let him. “Well, here we both are, Thamsine. Still alive. Are they treating you well?"

She shrugged. “I suppose as well as could be expected in the circumstances.” She managed a small smile, “but Nan Marsh has looked after me."

"Nan?” Kit looked surprised.

"Yes, she and May brought me a basket of food and some clean clothes."

"I told you she had a big heart."

"And I take back my comment about the widest legs. What about you?"

Kit shook his head and shrugged. “They'll play with us for a while. Maybe put a couple on trial but who knows...?” He shrugged. “I have learned to have no expectations."

The soldier put his hand on Kit's shoulders. “Time's up! Don't want you getting too friendly, unless you're willin’ to pay for the privilege. No? Then say your farewells."

Kit stayed put, his eyes resting on Thamsine's face.

"Take care, Thamsine."

He smiled at her as the soldier's grip tightened. He turned Kit, propelling him in the direction of one of the round towers.

"Kit?” she called after him.

He stopped and turned back, “What?"

She spoke in French, not wishing the guard to understand her. “What will become of us?"

His eyes held hers, his face unreadable. He replied in French, “Take each day as it comes, Thamsine, and if you believe in God, pray for us both."

The soldier gave him a shove and Kit stumbled, hampered by the chains. He exchanged some sharp words with his escort that Thamsine could not quite make out. She watched until he had been swallowed up by the dark mouth of the tower then sank down on the damp stones with her back to the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She lowered her head and for the first time in her weeks of incarceration, she wept.

"Dry your tears, Mistress Granville.” The hard voice of Barkstead made her look up. He stood looking down at her, his hands on his hips. “Master Thurloe wishes to speak with you."

The room overlooking the Thames was just as she remembered it and would remember it until her dying day. This time John Thurloe was alone and she was not manacled. She dropped a respectful curtsey, which he acknowledged with an inclination of his head.

"Imprisonment has taught you some manners, Mistress Granville. Take a seat.” He gestured at the same oak chair she had sat in last time. As she settled herself, he sat back in his chair and considered her. “You will be relieved to know that the Lord Protector has reviewed your case and has decided that no further action is to be taken against you. You will be released at the conclusion of this interview."

Thamsine raised her eyes and looked up at the Secretary of State. She could feel the relief flooding her body.

"Oh thank you!"

"Don't thank me, Mistress Granville. There are conditions attached."

"Anything.” Anything would be better than another day, another hour in the Tower of London.

"You must repay the damage to the coach."

Panic arose like a gorge in her throat as the walls closed in on her once more.

"I have no money. I have nothing."

"I am aware of your circumstances, Mistress Granville.” He pressed his fingers together. “The debt is one that can be repaid through means other than money."

She paled, her mind turning over a hundred possibilities, none of them good. “What do you mean?"

Thurloe regarded her with hooded eyes. “I mean, Mistress Granville that you are now indebted to the Commonwealth and that debt may be called in at any time.” He paused. Thamsine sensed that he took some pleasure from her paling face. “However,” he continued, “I think I may have a solution to this dilemma. A means by which the debt can be repaid that I am sure you will find it acceptable."

"What do you want me to do?"

Thurloe pressed his fingertips together. “I believe you have some talent with music, Mistress Granville."

"Some,” conceded Thamsine, “although lately it has been confined to singing bawdy songs in an inn."

"Do you play the lute?"

She nodded. “And the virginals."

"Excellent.” Thurloe smiled. “In fact it couldn't be better."

Thamsine shifted uneasily. Thurloe's smile was unsettling.

"You will be happy to know I have some useful employment for you."

"Doing what?"

"Doing what you do best. Teaching music, Mistress Granville. Would that present a problem?"

Thamsine shook her head in amazement at this extraordinary turn in her fortunes. She had expected a pronouncement of death, not the offer of freedom and useful employment.

"Who?” She could barely aspirate the word.

"The French Ambassador, Baron Bordeaux, has a pretty English mistress, Mary Skippon. He is anxious for Mistress Skippon to improve her accomplishments and has been looking for a suitable music teacher. He will pay handsomely I do not doubt."

Thamsine frowned. “And you wish me to teach this woman...?"

"Singing, lute and virginals. Three mornings a week."

"And my remuneration will go to the repair of the coach?"

"Oh no. What you do with your coin is your concern. I imagine food and lodging would be something of a priority.” Thurloe leaned forward. “No, all I ask of you, Mistress Granville, is to keep your ears and eyes open. You speak French?"

Thamsine nodded.

"You speak it well?"

"Very well."

"Then you are to act as if you don't. If they believe you do not understand what is being said, things may be said in your presence that would normally be kept behind closed doors."

Thamsine's eyes widened as the implications of what he was saying dawned on her. “You want me to be a spy for you?"

He flinched. “I prefer the word ‘agent'."

"What do you want to know?"

Thurloe shrugged. “Anything that you think may be of interest. Any mention of Charles Stuart for example. I am particularly interested in a man called Baron De Baas. Indeed if an opportunity arises, it would be helpful if you were to befriend the good Baron."