‘Am I disturbing you?’
Thamsine looked up and smiled. Kit Lovell stood watching her, his hat in his hand. Her heart gave a skip at the sight of his smile.
‘Lovell! You’re free.’
He inclined his head. ‘The same could be said for you, Mistress Granville.’ He tilted his head to one side and looked her up and down. ‘Might I say you look remarkably respectable for someone who has just spent the better part of a month in the Tower of London.’
Thamsine felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘My fortunes are somewhat changed since last we met. I have employment.’
Kit raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed?’
‘I am tutoring a member of the French Ambassador’s household in music.’
Kit raised his eyebrows. ‘You surprise me! How did you stumble on this good fortune?’
Thamsine looked down at the paper she had been working on. ‘Through a friend,’ she mumbled and hoped Kit would ask no more questions.
Unbidden, Kit sat down opposite her. ‘Is it going well?’ he asked.
Thamsine looked up and gave a wry smile. ‘The girl has no ear for music. Hence … ’ She waved a hand at her simple composition.
Kit turned it towards him and frowned in concentration.
‘A pretty piece,’ he commented. ‘Your work?’
She nodded. ‘You read music?’
He shrugged. ‘I had a well-rounded gentleman’s education. Can’t sing a note to save my life, but I can find a tune on a guitar or the lute. My brother had a marvellous voice when he was younger … ’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Anyway, among my many talents, music sadly is not one I have had much time to pursue in recent years.’
‘I suppose not.’ Thamsine smiled. ‘And you, Lovell? You’re free to roam the streets of London again?’
‘They had no evidence to hold us, so we were released a few days ago. Dutton and Whitely are still languishing in the confines of the Tower.’
A few days ago? Thamsine felt a knot of disappointment settle in her stomach. He had been free and not sought her out until now?
He looked around the quiet taproom. ‘Why did you come back here?’
She shrugged. ‘I feel safe here and I had nowhere else to go. What about you?’
He hesitated a moment before answering. ‘My mistress has, as always, proved remarkably good about taking me back in.’
‘I see.’
A heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she imagined Lovell with another woman.
‘You don’t seem the domestic type, Lovell.’
‘My arrangement with Lucy is just temporary. Lucy’s not the domestic type either, Thamsine. She’s a wealthy widow who likes her independence.’
‘Lucky woman,’ Thamsine replied with feeling.
‘Not always so lucky. She did have to endure ten years of marriage to a man thirty years her senior.’
Thamsine shrugged. ‘At least your Lucy is now free. For those of us who are forced into marriage against our wills, it is a frightening prospect.’
His eyes narrowed and the sharp, evaluating look he gave her surprised her.
‘Is that what you are running from?’
She hesitated, her usual denial on her lips, but his unexpected honesty with her invited a return of confidence.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am running from a marriage that is far from my choice or desire, and which would be contracted for no other reason than the benefit of the man involved.’
‘And your father sanctioned it?’
She gave a hollow laugh. ‘My father thought he was looking after my best interests. Before he died he not only contracted the marriage but made the man my guardian until such a marriage took place.’
‘Is that why you ran?’
She met his eyes. Time for the truth. ‘I ran because I thought I had killed the man.’
Kit’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You killed a man? Mistress Granville!’
She shook her head. ‘No, he is alive and well and stalking the streets of London looking for me. I know because I saw him in the crowd that day I met you. That’s why I threw the brick. I needed a distraction.’
‘Ah.’ Kit sat back and regarded her for a long moment. ‘You must have been desperate to go to such lengths. Is there no one you can turn to?’
She shook her head. ‘My one hope proved to be as duplicitous as my suitor. Now, can we talk of more pleasant topics?’
Kit looked out of the smoky window. ‘Would you care for a walk? It is a surprisingly fine day. One could almost think spring was imminent.’
Thamsine considered for a moment. He might be living with his mistress, but an hour or so of his company would be preferable to her present occupation. She nodded.
Kit looked her up and down as she returned with her cloak and hat. ‘Might I say your new gown becomes you well?’
She could not resist a small smile of pleasure at the compliment and dipped a curtsey. ‘Why thank you, kind sir. ’Tis a long time since someone paid me such a compliment and it’s good to be clean, well-fed and have some coin in my pocket, all for doing what I do best.’
‘Amen to that sentiment,’ he said, returning the curtsey with a studied, courtly bow. He raised an eyebrow and crooked his arm. Thamsine tucked her hand into his elbow. They ambled at a gentle pace, in perfect step with each other.
‘Do you intend to stay at the Ship?’ Kit asked.
‘It suits me. I have nowhere else to stay. Where are we going?’ Thamsine asked.
‘I thought we might stroll to the New Exchange,’ Kit said. ‘I heard that a coffee house has opened there. Have you ever sampled coffee?’
‘No. What is it?’
‘It is a brew made from a bean they discovered in the New World. It is becoming quite fashionable, particularly among those who abhor strong drink.’
‘What does it taste like?’
Kit shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve not sampled it myself. Does a bit of adventure suit you?’
‘It sounds a mild adventure compared to my recent experience.’
Kit grimaced and stopped, rubbing his right leg.
‘Are you all right?’ Thamsine asked.
‘An old wound that did not take kindly to the conditions in the Tower. Pay me no heed.’
He took her hand in his arm and they started walking again, but Kit’s limp had become noticeably more pronounced than she remembered it being before.
‘Does it bother you much?’ she asked needlessly.
‘Only when it gets cold and damp, or I ride for too long. In other words, most of the winter,’ Kit grumbled. ‘But I’ve learned to live with it.’
‘How did you get it?’
‘Worcester,’ he said shortly.
‘My brother died at Worcester,’ Thamsine said. ‘He wanted his chance of glory.’
The muscles beneath her hand tensed and his lips tightened. Without looking at her he said, ‘He was not the only hot-headed young fool who thought to avenge his family’s honour.’
She bit back the questions that rose to her mind, but decided instead to change the subject. ‘So, Kit Lovell, are you done with conspiracies?’
He looked down at her, and the twinkle of humour returned to his eyes. ‘I can make no promises. Don’t look like that, Mistress Granville. It’s hard to break the habits of a lifetime.’
‘Why not give it all away and settle for a quiet life?’
‘What’s a quiet life?’
‘Have you no home at all here in England?’
His face shadowed. ‘There is the pathetic remnant of the family estates in Cheshire, but my welcome there would hardly be warm. Anyway, even if I wished to settle to what you call a quiet life, it wouldn’t be in England.’
‘Then where?’
He shrugged. ‘There is France, but in truth it is the lure of the New World that attracts me.’
‘I have estates in Virginia,’ Thamsine said.
He looked down at her. ‘You are a surprising woman,’ he said
.
‘My grandfather and my father made their fortunes trading in tobacco and other commodities from the New World.’
‘Kit!’ A woman’s voice came from behind them.
At the sound of his name, Kit froze, dropping Thamsine’s hand from his arm. They both turned to face a small, fair-haired woman who stood no more than five paces behind them, her arms full of parcels.
‘Lucy, what are you doing here?’
Thamsine had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. The woman he had called Lucy looked Thamsine up and down, a quizzical look on her face. From her proprietorial air and hard eyes, Thamsine had no doubt that they had encountered Kit’s long-suffering mistress. She had not thought that Kit Lovell was the sort of man to become discomposed, but he looked distinctly flustered.
‘Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Lucy kept a frosty smile turned on Thamsine.
Kit made the formal introductions and Thamsine, biting her lip to stop from smiling, curtsied. Lucy, also unsmiling, returned the compliment, made awkward by her parcels.
‘My brother served with Captain Lovell in the late wars,’ Thamsine said in an attempt to provide Kit with a reason for being caught in the company of another woman.
‘By happy chance I encountered Mistress Granville this morning,’ Kit added.
Thamsine smiled sweetly. ‘Just pure coincidence. We were just going to the new coffee house. Would you care to join us, Mistress Talbot?’
‘I don’t care for coffee.’ Lucy’s blue eyes bored into Thamsine’s tall, slender frame. ‘What brings you to London, Mistress Granville?’
‘I have a position as a music tutor, Mistress Talbot.’
Lucy’s eyes widened. ‘Really? I have been meaning to engage the services of a music tutor. Would you be willing to take me on, Mistress Granville?’
‘Mouse, I really don’t think you need to trouble Mistress Granville,’ Kit spluttered.
Lucy looked up at him. ‘On the contrary, Kit. It is something I have been meaning to do for some time. Will you be able to come to my house on Friday, Mistress Granville?’
Thamsine looked at Kit, delighted to see him flushed scarlet with embarrassment. Kit always seemed so much in control of his life and everything in it that she saw no harm in causing him some discomfiture. Besides, the thought of spending some time with his mistress intrigued her.
‘I would be delighted,’ Thamsine said.
Lucy smiled and held out her hand to Thamsine. ‘Shall we say two in the afternoon? Talbot’s Wine Merchants in High Holborn; you can’t miss it. Now, I have an appointment with my tailor. If you will excuse me, Mistress Granville.’
The women curtsied with punctilious politeness.
‘Kit, I shall see you this evening.’ Lucy smiled and held out her hand. Kit bent low and kissed it.
Lucy gave Thamsine a last, triumphant look before pushing her way through the crowd, her high pattens clattering on the cobbles. ‘So that is your Lucy,’ Thamsine said.
Kit looked defensive. ‘She is not my Lucy, any more than I am hers. I assure you, our relationship is one of pure mutual convenience, not ownership.’
‘I am not sure that she shares that sentiment,’ Thamsine observed.
‘What do you mean?’
Thamsine shrugged. ‘I’m a woman, Captain Lovell. I know these things.’
‘Then you are mistaken,’ he replied, ‘and as for this ridiculous notion of music lessons, I am asking you, as a friend, not to do it, Thamsine.’
She gave him a quick sideways glance. His mouth had set in a thin, hard line, the brows creased.
‘I am hardly in a position to refuse work when it is offered, Captain Lovell.’
‘Well, you will refuse this!’
She brought her chin up and looked him squarely in the eye. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Lovell. This is a private matter, and if it causes you awkwardness then I make no apology.’
‘Causes me awkwardness?’ Kit’s eyes widened. ‘I try very hard to keep my private life just that, private!’
‘And your private life is entirely your concern, just as my right to accept a commission is my concern!’ Thamsine said. ‘Do you still wish to partake in coffee?’
Kit brought his attention back to her. ‘Yes. That was the purpose of this excursion.’
They walked in silence. Kit glowered and limped beside her, his hands behind his back. Thamsine, unrepentant, straightened her back and ignored her surly companion.
The smell emanating from the coffee house hit them even before the door opened. Thamsine stood still, breathing in the heady aroma. ‘Oh, I have never smelt anything like that. Do you suppose it tastes as good?’
Kit’s face lightened and he closed his eyes. ‘It does have a pleasant smell. After you, Thamsine.’
They secured a small table, in a dark corner away from the crowd, and a servant brought them two small cups filled to the brim with the dark, steaming brew. Thamsine sniffed it suspiciously and took a tentative sip. The smell belied the bitter taste. She wrinkled her nose and set the cup down.
Kit watched her. ‘Is it bad?’
‘It’s an acquired taste!’ she said, watching as Kit took a sip.
He frowned. ‘I must agree with you. I can’t see it replacing a good ale.’
‘So, tell me how you met Lucy Talbot,’ Thamsine asked.
He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Am I to get no peace on this subject? Very well! I bumped into her, or should I say, she bumped into me. She was not watching her step owing to the number of parcels she carried. Lucy and the parcels went flying. What more could a gentleman do than assist her?’ He set the cup down and looked at her. ‘Now, tell me how things are with the French Ambassador.’
She shrugged. ‘There is nothing to tell. His mistress is pleasant but rather dull. Bordeaux himself is charming, and then there is this odious little man called Baron de Baas … ’ She broke off as Kit looked up. ‘Do you know him?’
‘I … ’ Kit grimaced and looked out of the window for a moment before turning his attention back to her. He sighed. ‘I think it is time for honesty with each other.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Thamsine, when you were in the Tower, I believe you met with a man called John Thurloe.’
Thamsine felt her heart skip a beat. Did he suspect her of being a spy? She bit her lip and replied slowly. ‘I was questioned by a man of that name. What of him?’
‘I know why you’re working for Bordeaux. Thurloe put you there.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her heart skipped a beat. She must be bad at this game if he had already guessed. Best to try and brazen it out, she thought.
Kit’s shoulders hunched and he looked away. ‘Thamsine, this isn’t easy for me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We are in the pay of the same employer. Thurloe told you he would provide you with a contact. I … I am to be to be your contact.’
‘What!’
‘Keep your voice down. You heard what I said.’
‘You mean you are in his pay?’
He looked over her shoulder and swallowed. ‘Yes.’
She stared at him as the implications of his words sank in. ‘You’re a turncoat?’
He flinched. ‘Keep your voice down, woman! I take no pride in it, but it pays well and I do it.’
Thamsine stared at him in disbelief. ‘You double-faced rat! All your professions of loyalty to the King’s cause and all the time you take Cromwell’s shilling?’
He returned her gaze, his green eyes flashing. ‘Before you start throwing stones, Thamsine Granville, may I remind you that you have sold your soul to the same Devil?’
‘I … ’ she began but realised she couldn’t deny it. ‘I had no choice.’
‘Well, neither did I!’
‘Why? What does Thurloe hold over you, Lovell? What possible reason could you have other than the money? Tired of scraping a living in exile so you returned to trade your friends’ confidences for Cromwell’s shilling?’
She had hurt hi
m. She could see the pain in his eyes. ‘My reasons are my own,’ he said quietly.
‘I suppose it was you who betrayed The Ship Inn Plotters?’
He swallowed. ‘Yes.’
Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. ‘And me? You betrayed me?’
His momentary silence was all she needed. She rose to her feet and struck him across the face with all the force she could muster.
‘Tais-toi!’ Kit grasped her wrist and pulled her downwards. ‘Sit down and stop making a spectacle of yourself,’ he continued in French. ‘You have to trust me. You have no choice.’
She recognised the tone of command in his voice and sank to her seat, glowering at him. The man she had thought had saved her had thrown her into the Tower of London for his own reasons, and now he wanted her to trust him?
‘You hypocrite. All those solicitations, all that concern for my wellbeing. I was just a prize to be handed over to Thurloe when the time was right,’ she said in a low, angry voice.
Kit rubbed his stinging face, his green eyes flashing. ‘I am not going to deny it. Now,’ he said, his mouth a thin, angry line, ‘put the slanging to one side, Thamsine. We have work to do.’
She glared at him. ‘What work?’
‘I am your contact. Is there anything I need to know?’
She looked away, fighting back the stinging tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. The first rush of anger slipped away, to be replaced by hurt and betrayal.
‘I thought you were my friend,’ Thamsine said in a low, uneven voice. She looked up at him, searching for the man she thought she knew, the man she had thought of every day since they had met.
‘I don’t have friends,’ he said in a harsh, flat voice.
She looked into the face of a man who had commanded men, men who would have followed him to Hell if he had asked. They were both bound for Hell, and she had no choice but to follow him.
‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth?’ she asked, summoning the last edge of defiance.
He shook his head. ‘You have no reason to trust me, but ask yourself – how would I know that you are in Thurloe’s employ unless he himself had told me?’
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