The King's Man

by Alison Stuart

  ‘What is it going to take to convince him?’ he snorted.

  ‘I think the memory of Worcester is close to his heart,’ Kit said. ‘Who can blame him?’

  ‘Worcester was three years ago,’ Fitz said. ‘Lovell, pour the wine. I feel like getting drunk!’

  ‘Well, that will be a real contribution to the cause,’ Kit said. ‘Let’s all get drunk!’

  He looked up as the door opened, without a knock, to admit a tall, dark man. They all jumped to their feet.

  ‘Your Highness!’ Lord Gerard said, bowing.

  Prince Rupert of the Rhine poured himself a glass of wine and, looking around the assembled company, took a seat.

  ‘I hear your meeting with my cousin was not satisfactory,’ he said.

  ‘Not the conclusion we should have wished,’ Lord Gerard said glumly.

  ‘Charles has lost his courage,’ Rupert remarked.

  ‘He has lost heart,’ Kit said.

  Rupert looked at him.

  ‘That too.’ Rupert took a sip of wine. ‘It happens that the Queen does not agree with her son. She believes firmly that the King’s fortunes will prosper in more … ’ He frowned, looking for the words, ‘ … active hands.’

  ‘I have heard the Duke of York,’ Lord Gerard said, referring to Charles’ younger brother James, ‘would not hesitate.’

  ‘I agree,’ Rupert said quietly. ‘I myself would lead an army into England to return the throne to the rightful King.’

  ‘You, Your Highness?’ Lord Gerard said.

  Rupert’s eyes flashed. ‘I am hardly in my dotage yet, Gerard.’

  ‘I did not mean it that way, Your Highness. I meant merely to imply that you at the head of an army would have a greater chance of success than any other I could name.’

  ‘But there is one stumbling block.’ Rupert leaned forward. ‘Cromwell. He is not just the Lord Protector, he is the head of the army and a man to be feared. God knows we all know his power of leadership.’

  Kit drained his cup, remembering Cromwell’s unprecedented tactics that had won the battle at Worcester.

  ‘Are you saying you agree with us, Your Highness?’ Fitz asked carefully.

  ‘Remove Cromwell and the army will be like a chicken without its head.’ Rupert swirled the contents of his glass, staring at it thoughtfully.

  ‘What of the Sealed Knot?’ Kit asked.

  Rupert waved a long, slender hand. ‘Politicians. Old men with no wish except to die in their beds.’

  ‘Do you know who they are?’ Kit asked.

  Rupert shook his head. ‘No. That is one of the few closely guarded secrets in this court.’

  Kit bit back his frustration. Did no one know who these men were?

  ‘We cannot discount them. They hold the King’s Commission,’ Lord Gerard said.

  ‘That is just a piece of paper.’ Rupert drained his glass and rose to his feet. ‘We will talk again tomorrow, Gerard, you and I.’

  They bowed as the formidable soldier left the room. Kit watched the door close behind the man he once would have followed to his death. The rumours were true. The court was divided, with the Queen and Rupert firmly in one camp, advocating action, while the King counselled caution. Who, if anyone, was right?

  Chapter 10

  Lucy stood by the window, glancing up and down the street.

  ‘Are you waiting for someone?’ Thamsine enquired, her patience wearing thin. Lucy had been up and down all through the lesson.

  ‘Just a friend. He said he would call this morning to hear me play.’

  ‘I see,’ Thamsine remarked. She didn’t think Lucy had made quite such good progress as to warrant public performance. ‘Is there a particular piece you would like to play for him?’

  A male friend, Thamsine thought.

  Lucy sat down again and made pretence of studying the music. ‘This one, I think.’ She picked up the sheet of paper and handed it to Thamsine. ‘I told him I had been having lessons and he said he was most anxious to hear me.’

  ‘A good friend?’

  ‘I’m keen to impress him.’ Lucy looked up with a small, smug smile on her lips.

  ‘What about Lovell?’

  Lucy gave a careless shrug, dismissing her lover.

  ‘He’s been away for two weeks without a word. A woman can get lonely in that time.’ She looked at Thamsine through narrowed eyes. ‘Why? Do you miss him?’

  ‘Why would I miss him?’ Thamsine replied with a studied carelessness.

  The music lessons at the French Ambassador’s continued in Kit’s absence. Mary Skippon’s little talent had improved, to the evident delight of her lover. Thamsine had not seen De Baas since the night of his planned seduction, and she had little to report to John Thurloe. Every Friday she dispatched a note, dutifully signed “John Grey”, and waited for Kit Lovell to walk through the door of The Ship Inn. Without him she felt adrift. His absence from London and from her life left a void that the cheerful company at The Ship Inn failed to fill.

  She sighed and forced her attention back to her present pupil. Unlike poor Mary Skippon, Lucy Talbot had some natural talent and was a fast learner. However, she was easily distracted and this afternoon seemed worse than usual.

  Lucy returned to her seat and picked up the lute. She bent her head to the task, awkwardly feeling for the notes of the simple melody Thamsine had found for her.

  A firm knock at the front door made them both start. Lucy jumped to her feet, the neck of the lute clasped firmly in her hands. Thamsine had never seen her so on edge. They heard footsteps on the stairs. The ill-tempered maid, Mag, flung the door open, and the blood in Thamsine’s veins froze as a tall, dark-haired man stepped into the room.

  Ambrose Morton stood framed by the door, savouring the silence.

  ‘Thamsine,’ he said a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘You have led me a pretty dance.’

  ‘Ambrose,’ she breathed his name in one long aspiration.

  ‘Is this the girl?’ Lucy said. ‘Was I right?’

  Ambrose crossed the floor to where Thamsine stood rooted to the spot. He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to look up into his eyes.

  ‘Oh yes, Lucy my dear, this is the girl. My betrothed. Do you know she tried to kill me, Lucy?’ Ambrose curled a lock of her hair in his finger. He touched his head, just above the right ear. ‘You did no more than knock me out. Unfortunately, by the time I had regained my senses you were long gone.’

  Thamsine struck his hand away and backed off, her eyes searching for a way out, but Ambrose stood between her and the door. The windows were at least twelve feet from the ground and firmly fastened against the cold, damp spring day.

  Ambrose smiled. ‘It’s pointless looking for an escape, Thamsine. You don’t think for a moment I’m letting you go after I have spent months combing the streets of London for you. You’ve been most elusive, my dear. I thought I had you cornered that day at the Lord Protector’s parade. I really must commend you on your ability to disappear.’

  ‘Lucy!’ Thamsine turned in appeal to the woman who had betrayed her. ‘How do you know this man?’

  Lucy smiled a cold, hard smile and moved beside Ambrose, tucking her arm into his.

  ‘Kit Lovell introduced us.’ She looked up at Ambrose Morton’s handsome face. ‘How could I resist? Ambrose had told me all about you, long before I met you. Of course, as soon as I saw you, I knew who you were. Ambrose was so pleased when I told him that you were Kit’s little pet.’

  Ambrose Morton patted Lucy’s dainty little hand. ‘Does Lovell know the truth about you, Thamsine?’

  Thamsine said nothing.

  ‘He doesn’t! You haven’t told him,’ Lucy declared.

  ‘Your friend Lovell,’ Morton said, ‘seems curiously protective of you, so we have bided our time until he was out of the way, in Norfolk or wherever he is in reality.’

  Ambrose advanced towards her.

  Thamsine turned to Lucy. ‘Lucy! You have no idea what this m
an has done. What he is capable of!’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘You are legally betrothed to him — ’

  ‘A betrothal I broke off ten years ago.’

  Ambrose smiled and waved a hand. ‘Idle promises made in our youth. What matters is that your father formally contracted our betrothal before his death, Thamsine.’

  ‘My father was not in his right mind. He was ailing … your mother forced him into it … ’ Thamsine broke off and looked away, the memory of that betrayal still raw.

  Lucy crossed to Thamsine and looked up at her with a humourless smile on her lips.

  ‘If you think Kit Lovell will come to your rescue, forget it. By the time he returns from wherever he is, you will be married and beyond his reach.’ She narrowed her eyes and appeared to study her face. ‘I can’t think what he saw in you. You’re hardly his type.’

  ‘Why are you doing this, Lucy? What do you get from this alliance with the Devil?’

  Lucy’s lips tightened. ‘I am really rather possessive about my men, Mistress Granville, and I don’t need you to distract my dear Kit any longer. I have my own plans for him.’

  Thamsine searched the woman’s hard face, looking for a shred of human decency that would respond to an appeal. All she saw was a spoiled woman who let nothing stand in the way of what she wanted – and what she wanted was Kit Lovell. She wondered why. Was it possible, for all her protestations, that Lucy had been betrayed by her own emotions? Had she fallen in love with Kit Lovell?

  Lucy turned to Ambrose. ‘Well, are you taking her? This interview is getting a little tiresome.’

  Thamsine made a dive for the windows. Far better to break a leg, or her neck, in a bid for freedom than submit to this man. Ambrose caught her by the waist, lifting her from the ground as if she were a doll. He clapped his hand over her mouth, and numbed shock gave way to desperation. Thamsine kicked and clawed and struggled but Ambrose was a powerful man, and apart from a satisfying scratch on his cheek, her efforts were useless.

  He held her firm as they heard footsteps on the stairs. Mag threw open the door to admit a man of middle age, thin and slightly stooped with lank hair and a long, sad face. Ambrose dropped his hand, and Thamsine felt the breath catch in her throat as she recognised the visitor. Her sister’s husband, the lawyer Roger Knott.

  ‘Roger,’ she spat.

  ‘How nice,’ Lucy said. ‘A family reunion. You would not know, I suppose, that dear Roger has been a loyal friend of my family for, oh, more years than I can remember!’

  Roger Knott bowed to Lucy, and then turned to where Thamsine stood immobile in Ambrose’s grip.

  ‘Thamsine. I am pleased to see you are well,’ he said. ‘We have been most concerned for your welfare.’

  Thamsine glared at her brother-in-law. War had torn her family apart, with Roger taking up a sword for Parliament, while her father espoused the King’s cause. She had not seen her sister, Jane, or her husband, until she had fled to their quiet house in Turnham Green six months previously. He had betrayed her then, and now it seemed he would betray her again.

  ‘The coach is by the door, Morton,’ Roger said, standing aside as Ambrose lifted Thamsine from her feet and carried her down the stairs. He thrust her into a coach, one hand holding her firmly, the other dabbing at his cheek where she had scratched him. Roger Knott climbed into the carriage after them, shrinking into the seat, his pale face shining in the gloom of the carriage.

  As the carriage lurched forward she found her voice.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘I’m taking you to your sister in Turnham Green,’ Ambrose said.

  ‘You can’t force me to marry you, Ambrose,’ she said with more bravado than she felt.

  ‘Be assured, Thamsine, our marriage will be contracted legally and with your consent. I have no wish for anyone to question its validity at a later date.’

  ‘I will burn in Hell first.’

  ‘You may well do that, Thamsine, but not until I’m ready to let you,’ Ambrose replied.

  Thamsine spat at him.

  ‘Tut, Mistress Granville. You have been too much in rough company and forgotten your manners,’ Ambrose said as he wiped his face. ‘You will be pleased to know that your brother-in-law has some scruples and is most insistent that you shall stay at Turnham Green until you are of a more amenable state of mind. Of course, it is not my preferred course, but I am prepared to defer to him in this matter. I want a willing wife to come to my bed.’

  Not while I have breath in my body, Thamsine thought as she subsided against the cracked leather of the seat, beyond misery. She had been delivered up to the enemy, sold on the marriage market by an old, sick man who could not resist his wife’s harassment any longer, and then betrayed by her sister’s husband, the only other person who had been trusted to see to her welfare.

  The house in Turnham Green stood set back from the London road, a pretty red brick building surrounded by a rambling garden that was the delight of her sister, Jane.

  Thamsine’s heart sank as the coach stopped in the courtyard. Ambrose dragged her from the coach, nearly knocking over the maid who opened the front door to them. As Thamsine stumbled across the doorstep she collided with her sister.

  ‘Jane!’ She flung herself at her sister, feeling Jane’s arm around her, drawing her close.

  ‘You found her!’ Jane spoke over her sister’s head, no doubt addressing her husband. ‘Oh, my dear, you’ve no idea how worried I’ve been.’

  Thamsine was wrested away from Jane’s reassuring arm by Ambrose. He held her by the shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

  Jane looked at her husband. ‘Roger, I don’t understand.’

  Roger swallowed. ‘This is not your concern, Jane. Thamsine is to be confined to the small bedchamber until I am satisfied that she is contrite for her high-handed behaviour towards Colonel Morton.’

  ‘Thamsine?’ Jane looked at her sister.

  Thamsine opened her mouth to speak, but Ambrose had shifted his grip to her arm. With Roger following, he half-dragged, half-carried her up the stairs and thrust her inside the smallest bedchamber. Thamsine stumbled against the bed, falling onto it.

  Ambrose stood over her, his handsome face completely devoid of expression.

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’ Her voice quavered. She knew only too well what he was capable of doing.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, straightening. ‘I intend to do nothing for the moment. Your brother-in-law seems to think he can persuade you to see sense.’

  He took a step back, allowing her to sit up. Roger stood in the doorway. She remembered him as a serious young man with good prospects in the law. Now in early middle age, his narrow face was lined, the blue eyes faded and sunken. His thinning, fair hair hung lankly to his collar. He stepped into the room and stood beside Morton. He barely reached Morton’s shoulder in height.

  ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ he asked, employing the tone he would use for one of his daughters.

  ‘Roger,’ Thamsine sat up, straightening her collar. ‘You know this is wrong. My father was coerced into signing that paper. The Mortons want control of the estate.’

  ‘It’s all quite legal, Thamsine. Your father signed the contract before his death and Morton is entirely in the right. But I have told him you must go to the altar willingly. I am hoping that after a day or so you will see sense,’ he said, but his eyes avoided hers, giving her the answer she sought.

  She took a step back. ‘What does he have over you, Roger? How can he bend you to his will?’

  Ambrose smirked. ‘Your morally upright brother has been a little indiscreet, my dear. There are certain letters in existence which I am sure he would not wish the world to know about, least of all his wife.’

  Ambrose cast Roger a sidelong glance that left Thamsine in no doubt as to the nature of the indiscretion. She felt sick.

  ‘I don’t believe you. Roger loves my sister – he would never…’

&nb
sp; Ambrose cocked his head to one side. ‘How little you know of men, my dear. He proved such a comfort to poor Mistress Talbot in her widowhood.’

  Thamsine cast her brother-in-law a look of disgust. He looked away, unable to meet her angry gaze.

  ‘You mealy-mouthed hypocrite,’ Thamsine spat, ‘canting Bible verses while all the time you were swiving that whore!’

  ‘My, my,’ Ambrose remarked blandly. ‘Six months on the streets of London has taught you some colourful language, my dear Thamsine. That will have to change.’

  Roger had gone chalk white, and she closed in on his weakness.

  ‘What is to stop me telling Jane?’ Thamsine spat.

  ‘You’ll not tell Jane because you love her too much. She’s not strong, she couldn’t bear it.’ Roger’s voice lacked conviction.

  ‘You should have thought about that before leaping into bed with Lucy Talbot.’

  Roger frowned and she knew she had gone too far. Anger replaced hurt and he crossed to her, striking her across the face. She had not been expecting the blow and the force knocked her back across the bed.

  Holding a hand to her face, she sat up, all the fight knocked out of her. Without looking at Ambrose, Roger said, ‘Leave us, Morton!’

  Ambrose did not move. ‘We are agreed, Knott? If you waver on me, I’ll deal with her in my own way.’

  Roger looked up at the taller man. ‘Leave her to me, Morton. She’ll marry you, I promise.’

  ‘I’ll return in a week, Knott, and I expect her to be agreeable. If she has gone or if she still refuses me, you know the consequences.’

  Thamsine saw her brother-in-law swallow. She wondered what had become of the serious young lawyer who had courted her sister. She did not know this man.

  Morton left the room, closing the door behind him. Thamsine rose to her feet. Without Ambrose present, Roger did not scare her.

  ‘Roger, how have you let this happen? How could you be such a fool?’

  His shoulders hunched. ‘Martin Talbot was a friend as well as a client. After he died, his widow looked to me for assistance. I never intended anything to happen.’ There were tears in his eyes. ‘Jane was at my mother’s house. You’ve met Lucy Talbot. You know what she’s like. She flattered me. She captivated me. I was beset by the Devil. The Devil made me write letters I shouldn’t have, neglect my responsibilities. I was led into temptation by a witch and now I must pay the price.’