The King's Man

by Alison Stuart

  Her rescuer picked up his hat and stood up, fastidiously brushing the mud from the brim. She expected to see him walk away but he remained standing, looking down at her. She lowered her head, her hands hanging limply between her knees. She could debase herself no further.

  ‘Go away,’ she said.

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  She looked up at him. ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Come.’ He held out a hand to her. ‘At least permit me to buy you a decent meal. Take a moment to tidy yourself.’

  With an effort she pulled herself to her feet, declining his proffered hand. He strolled to the end of the lane and stood with his back turned as she re-laced her bodice and straightened her skirt, giving herself time to collect her scattered thoughts. Her head still rang from the blow and she put her fingers to her face, tentatively exploring the bruising.

  Taking a deep breath, she addressed his back in a stiff, formal voice. ‘I thank you for your assistance, sir, but I beg you, leave me. I’m not fit company for you.’

  He turned to face her. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ A slow, sardonic smile crossed his face. ‘It may be that I’m not fit company for you.’

  She regarded him through narrowed eyes. ‘Who are you? How do you come to be here? Were you following me?’ The questions rushed out.

  ‘As to the first, my name is Christopher Lovell, although my friends call me Kit.’ He swept her a bow. ‘Your servant, ma’am. As to the second and third questions … yes, I admit I was following you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was concerned for you.’

  ‘Concerned for me?’

  He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you so far lost that you don’t recognise genuine concern when you see it?’

  It had been so long since anyone showed her any kindness that of course she viewed it with suspicion.

  ‘You don’t know me, sir. You know nothing about me.’ She brought her chin up and met his gaze.

  ‘True, but I’ve seen your like before. Unless I’m gravely mistaken, you are like me, the flotsam of war, one of the survivors. We’re what are left when our friends and our family have nobly sacrificed their fortunes and their lives for a lost cause. I am right, am I not, Mistress … ?’

  ‘Granville,’ Thamsine said, too tired to lie. ‘Thamsine Granville.’

  Her teeth began to chatter and she drew her inadequate cloak tightly around her. It afforded little protection from the biting cold.

  His fingers tugged at the cords of his cloak and he swung it around her shoulders. It settled on her thin frame, still warm from his body. Thamsine pulled it closely around her, letting it envelop her.

  He hunched his shoulders and gave a deep, indrawn breath. ‘Well, Mistress Granville, it’s cold and we’ve both had a trying day. I meant what I said about a meal.’

  She looked down at the toe of her scuffed and leaking shoe.

  There seemed little point in any more displays of stubborn pride. For the first time in weeks she had the prospect of warmth and food. Only a fool would decline, and God alone knew she had already played the fool enough times in one day. There may be a price to pay but at least this Kit Lovell presented a more enticing prospect than her previous ‘client’.

  She raised her face and met his eyes. She inclined her head as if accepting an invitation to dance and he smiled and crooked his arm.

  ‘Mistress Granville?’

  He drew her close, shielding her from the icy wind that blew down the narrow streets. Through the sturdy cloth of his jacket, she felt the warmth of his body. It seemed to permeate her icy bones, thawing the cold places of her soul.

  Chapter 2

  Kit threw open the door to the busy taproom of The Ship Inn. Beside him, Thamsine pulled his cloak tightly across her thin body as she surveyed the sea of people. He put an arm around her and began to guide her towards his usual table. He could feel her trembling, with no more substance to her slender frame than a sparrow.

  A young woman with a riot of blonde curls falling from beneath a disreputable cap bounded forward, hooking her arm into his and beaming up at him.

  ‘Cap’n Lovell! We didn’t expect to see you out so soon!’ Her gaze switched to Thamsine and the smile disappeared. ‘Got company I see.’

  Kit suppressed a smile at the jealous suspicion in May’s voice. ‘A friend of mine, May,’ he replied. ‘Now, a slice of pie and a jug of ale would be appreciated.’

  May sniffed and disappeared into the kitchens as Kit led Thamsine to a secluded corner of the taproom.

  ‘What did she mean when she said she didn’t expect to see you “out so soon”?’ Thamsine asked.

  Kit smiled. ‘I have spent the last couple of months in the Clink. A small misunderstanding concerning a horse. Now happily resolved,’ he added

  Thamsine’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve been in prison?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m often in prison. It’s an occupational hazard. Ah, here come the girls with our food.’

  May was accompanied by her twin. May and Nan were identical in nearly all respects, although Nan was slightly taller with a warier, more knowing expression on her face and a sharper tongue in her head.

  The girls slapped the food and drink down in front of Thamsine. May gave her one last, baleful glance before tending to the demands of another customer. Nan stood behind Kit running her fingers through his hair and, no doubt, giving Thamsine a hateful look as she did so, before returning to the kitchen.

  ‘They seem to regard you as their own private property,’ Thamsine observed. ‘Is this pie safe to eat?’

  Kit laughed. ‘Those two girls have the biggest hearts in London.’

  ‘And the widest legs, I wouldn’t mind betting,’ she observed, her eyes on May, who flirted outrageously with a bearded man by the fireplace.

  ‘You are hardly in a position to cast stones on that count, Mistress Granville,’ Kit reminded her. ‘Now eat before it goes cold. I’ll warrant it’s the best pie you’ll have tasted for some little while.’

  Kit picked up the pot of ale and took a deep draught as he regarded the woman who sat opposite him, demolishing the pie with all the grace and elegance of the roughest soldier he had ever known.

  Thamsine Granville, if that was her real name, appeared to be an educated and intelligent woman. Even if properly nourished she would still have been considered too thin for beauty. However, beneath the grime, she did have an arresting face with high cheekbones and large brown eyes. Her mouth was wide and mobile. Her long nose curved slightly upwards, a strong nose on an interesting face. In the right circumstances, he thought, Thamsine Granville would not go unnoticed.

  He finished his ale and poured himself another one. His reasons for going to her aid, not once but twice, went beyond altruism. True, her haunted eyes had touched something within him. He, more than anyone, knew what it was to be balanced on the edge, as this woman seemed to be. However, he also recognised that she could be useful; a card to be played when the time was right.

  In the meantime, it seemed he was stuck with her.

  He pushed his platter, with his serve of pie, across to her. She looked up at him and he inclined his head. After a momentary hesitation, she polished it off, wiping the last of the gravy up with a piece of bread. When she had done, she set aside the shining platters, taking a deep draught of ale from her tankard.

  ‘You have some colour in your cheeks again. Do you feel better?’ Kit remarked, refilling her cup.

  She nodded. ‘Better than I have for months. Thank you, Master Lovell, or is that Captain Lovell?’

  He waved his hand. ‘Kit. I think after what you and I have been through today, we can dispense with formalities. May I call you Thamsine?’

  She hesitated for a moment and nodded.

  He leaned forward. ‘Well, Thamsine Granville, as I have saved your life twice today, I think it is time to claim some form of reward.’

  Her eyes widened and her cheeks coloured. Her lips parted slightly and she s
wallowed. ‘Do you have a room we could go to? I have no wish to try another alley and no coin to pay you.’

  Kit stared at her. Did she think that after everything she had been through that day, that he wanted her body? The idea was preposterous. Anyway, why would he want this scrawny, dirty scrap of womanhood when Lucy waited for him in her warm, comfortable house in Holborn?

  Without thinking, he laughed out loud. ‘My dear Thamsine, did you think I meant that sort of payment?’

  The colour in her cheeks darkened and she looked away. ‘I have nothing else.’

  His smile faded at the misery on her face. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’m not so mean-minded as to demand such a recompense.’ The smile crept back onto his face. ‘Anyway, I prefer my women with a bit more meat on them. No, Mistress Granville, all I request by way of reward is your story.’

  She looked at him, her eyes widening. ‘My story?’

  He nodded. ‘I would like to know how the gently born Thamsine Granville came to be trying her hand at whoring in the streets of London. Oh yes – with a bit of attempted assassination on the side.’

  ‘How do you know I was gently born?’

  Your voice, your demeanour, everything about you, he thought.

  ‘A guess, nothing more. Let us start with a simple question. Where are you from?’

  She took a deep breath, her gaze flitting to a space above his head. ‘You’ve been very good to me, Master Lovell, but you owe me no more kindness. You must have a wife and a home to go to.’

  ‘Neither. I told you I am like you, flotsam adrift on the streets of London. I have all night to hear your tale if that’s what it takes.’

  He refilled both their cups and sat back, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs as if in anticipation of the tale that would follow.

  Thamsine’s eyes darted around the crowded taproom. Was she seeking inspiration or an escape route?

  Kit tried again. ‘All I wish to know, Thamsine Granville, is what has brought you to this impasse?’

  ‘Captain Lovell.’ She returned her gaze to him. This time her eyes were steady. ‘What has brought me to my present position is of no interest or concern to you. It’s a story that I don’t wish to confide in anyone, whatever the debt I owe them. Suffice to say that I have lost everything in the world I hold dear and what little I brought with me to London has been either stolen or sold. I have nothing of interest or value.’

  ‘So you’re reduced to selling yourself?’

  The blunt words caused a flush to rise again to her pale cheeks. She looked away, resting her chin on her hand, and looked out of the window at the grey evening. He thought he could detect the glint of tears on her eyelashes.

  He tried again. ‘What did you hope to achieve by killing the Lord Protector?’

  This time what little colour she had drained from her cheeks. ‘Kill the Lord Protector? I didn’t mean … I would never … ’ Then she recollected herself and looked down at her cup.

  Kit leaned forward. ‘Whatever your intention, you only missed him by inches. You could hang if they caught you. If you are intent on assassinating Cromwell, you won’t kill him with brickbats, Mistress Granville.’ He lowered his voice, ‘There are better ways to kill a king.’

  She looked up. Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped. ‘Is that what brings you to London?’

  He laughed and sat back, taking a draught of ale. ‘Me? No, Thamsine. All that brings me to London is the pretty face of my mistress and the promise of some lucrative games of cards. I’m done with soldiering and conspiracies. As far as I’m concerned Cromwell is welcome to England.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘Like you, I’ve lost everything. There are some that would say that the only thing I have left is my honour and, believe me, even that is a poor commodity.’

  She tilted her head, her gaze scrutinizing his face. ‘Where are you from?’

  He raised a finger. ‘Ah, now, the arrangement was that you told me your story, not that I tell you mine.’

  ‘There is something in the way you speak. Your accent … ’

  ‘My accent?’

  ‘It’s not quite … English.’

  Kit raised his ale in a mock salute. ‘How very perceptive of you, Mistress Granville. You’re quite right. My mother was French and by dint of my parents’ unhappy marital arrangements, I didn’t learn a word of English until I was eight. The accent has never quite left me. My friends tell me it only becomes noticeable when I’m in my cups.’ Kit smiled and looked down at his tankard. ‘Obviously I’ve reached that point. Now you’ve elicited far more information from me than I have from you so, in fairness, I must insist that I hold your answers in credit for another time.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘I must leave you to return to the arms of your pretty mistress.’

  He regarded her for a moment. ‘And where would you be going?’

  She glanced at the window, where snow now tumbled softly against the heavy glass, and before she could answer he raised a hand. ‘I’ve not gone to all the trouble of pulling you out of the gutter just to send you back there on a cold, February night. The landlord of this establishment, Jem Marsh, is a friend of mine. He’ll give you lodging.’

  She frowned. ‘That is a kind thought, but I’ve no means of paying.’

  ‘Can you cook?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wash dishes?’

  She paused. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Make beds?’

  A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘As long as I’m not expected to lie in them.’

  Kit stood up and beckoned May. She sauntered over to the table and he put an arm around her waist, drawing her in towards him. ‘May, my dear. Can you fetch your brother for me?’

  May’s mouth drooped. ‘That all?’

  ‘That’s all.’ He released her and gave her a playful slap on the rump. The girl gave a squeal and with a coquettish glance over her shoulder to him disappeared into the kitchen.

  Wiping his hands on a grubby apron, Jem Marsh appeared in the kitchen door and lumbered over to the table. He loomed over them.

  ‘Well, Cap’n Lovell. The girls said you was out of the Clink. You must have the luck of the Devil. I thought you was locked away for a goodly time.’

  The badly tied patch over his left eye didn’t quite disguise the ugly scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone. Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw Thamsine recoil. What Jem Marsh lacked in looks he made up for in his good nature.

  ‘Mercifully, Jem, that little misunderstanding was resolved. Now, old friend, I have a favour to ask of you.’

  ‘Anything, as long as ’tis legal.’ The big man laughed.

  Kit indicated Thamsine. ‘This is my friend, Thamsine Granville. Mistress Granville is a lady, who through the vicissitudes of fortune with which we are all familiar, finds herself in somewhat dire circumstances.’

  Jem peered at Thamsine’s shabby person. ‘She doesn’t look much like a lady.’

  ‘Well she is, and she needs some work, Jem, to pay for lodgings and food.’

  ‘What’s she good at?’

  Kit gave Thamsine a quick, appraising look and said, ‘Not much that is useful, but I’ll warrant she’s a quick learner.’

  Doubt creased Jem’s brow and he cast a glance at Thamsine.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to work here, love.’

  ‘I have little choice, Master Marsh.’ Thamsine looked up at him.

  ‘Jem to me friends, miss.’ He scratched his head. ‘Well if you’ve a mind to it and can manage a few rough sorts, I’ll take you on Capn’ Lovell’s recommendation.’ He tapped his patch and in a lowered voice, added, ‘If you’ve a mind to making a few shillings on the side, I’m willing to turn a blind eye, lady or no.’

  ‘No,’ Thamsine said, the colour staining her cheeks as she caught his meaning. ‘I’ve no need of those sorts of shillings. I am happy to serve drinks, sweep floors, wash dishes, anything, Master Marsh.’
r />   Jem shrugged. ‘You can doss in with the girls. You met my sisters, Nan and May? Nan’s got a bit of a tongue in her head but she don’t mean much by it. You won’t mind, will you, girls?’ he bellowed across the room.

  Nan and May poked their heads out of the kitchen. ‘Mind what?’ Nan asked.

  ‘This here’s Cap’n Lovell’s friend, Thamsine. She’s coming to work for us. You don’t mind her dossing down with you?’

  The ensuing pause indicated that neither girl thought this arrangement particularly satisfactory.

  ‘Just as long as she’s the open-minded sort,’ May said at last.

  ‘Good. That’s settled.’ Kit drained his cup and rose to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Thamsine, I have an appointment to be kept.’

  ‘Will I see you again?’ Thamsine clutched his sleeve.

  He looked down at the small, cold, chapped hand and put his own hand over it. ‘My friends and I meet here often for a drink and a game of cards. In fact you will probably see me tomorrow night.’

  She released her grip on his arm and straightened. A small smile caught at the corners of her mouth – the first time she had smiled all evening. ‘Good night, Captain Lovell, and thank you.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Until next time, Thamsine. Keep her away from brickbats, Jem.’

  The big man frowned. ‘Brickbats?’

  Thamsine stared at Kit, the alarm shining in her eyes.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Kit said and winked at her. ‘Until tomorrow.’

  ‘Private parlour?’ Jem asked.

  Kit nodded, shrugging his cloak across his shoulders. As he opened the door on a flurry of snow, he turned to look back.

  Thamsine turned to face the Marsh twins, who regarded her with such intensity that she looked like a moth trapped in a flame, her wings singeing under their gaze.

  ‘So, m’lady, fancy yourself as a taproom wench, do you?’ Nan flung a grimy apron at Thamsine. ‘Well, you can start with washing the platters.’

  Kit smiled and shut the door.

  ~ * ~

  Kit walked through the snow-driven streets to High Holborn where Lucy Talbot, the widow of the late Martin Talbot, wine merchant, had a small, comfortable dwelling above what used to be the wine shop.