The King's Man

by Alison Stuart

  Kit looked at his master. ‘Are you scared, Thurloe?’

  Thurloe returned the look. ‘I’m not a soldier, Lovell, and I’ve no wish to spend my life looking over my shoulder on the off-chance a murderous French assassin may be on the lookout for me.’

  Kit ran his good hand over his eyes.

  ‘I don’t have a choice, do I, Thurloe?’

  ‘Lovell, you have my word that this will be the very last time I call on you.’

  Kit looked up at Thamsine. ‘Did you hear that, Thamsine? I have the Secretary’s word that this is the last time.’

  Thamsine took Kit’s hand and looked at Thurloe. ‘Then we are free?’

  Thurloe nodded. He looked at Kit. ‘When Debigné is caught, we will settle our final account, Lovell.’

  ~ * ~

  A small crowd gathered outside the little chapel in the Palace of Whitehall. They pushed against the barriers for a view of the Lord Protector, who would be leaving the building within the next few minutes.

  Kit scanned the faces.

  ‘Will he be in the crowd?’ Thamsine whispered

  ‘That will depend on the accuracy of his weapon,’ Kit murmured.

  Jostled by the crowd, Kit winced as a large man brushed his hand.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Thamsine slid her arm around his waist as he caught his breath.

  ‘I’m just fine! Stop fussing, Tham!’

  ‘Well?’ A quiet voice behind them made them both turn. Thurloe, soberly dressed in black with a hat pulled down well over his brow, surveyed the crowd with nervous eyes. ‘Can you see him?’

  ‘No,’ Kit shook his head.

  ‘He must be here somewhere.’ Thurloe’s lips tightened.

  ‘And what do we do if I see him?’ Kit said. ‘Yell? Because I am damned if I can do anything else.’

  Thurloe looked at him. ‘I don’t care what you do. I’ve men scattered through the crowd, so you’re not alone.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘His Highness will be leaving presently.’

  ‘Might it help if you told us what he looks like?’ Thamsine asked, the impossibility of the task weighing on her.

  Kit shook his head. ‘Nondescript. Slight, dark hair, clean-shaven.’

  There were plenty of faces in the crowd that fitted that description, but none registered as familiar. The movement of the soldiers at the door to the chapel indicated that the service had ended. Cromwell would be leaving any moment.

  Thamsine tensed in desperation. The crowd was not so large that Debigné could remain hidden much longer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a woman carrying a wrapped bundle detach herself from the crowd, taking up a position in the shadows.

  ‘Kit.’ She touched his arm. ‘We’ve been looking for a man. Could that be him? There in that doorway, dressed as a woman.’

  She saw Kit’s eyes widen.

  ‘You’re right.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Thurloe?’

  Thurloe had melted back into the crowd and Kit swore as the chapel doors opened.

  Debigné had picked his spot well. He had a clear view of the doors of the chapel, but he was at least fifty yards away from Kit and Thamsine with a crowd between them. As they watched, frozen to the spot, the assassin raised the cloth-covered weapon.

  ‘It’s a crossbow,’ Kit said. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the man would employ such an antique weapon but it was an ideal killing machine, deadly and silent.

  Thamsine gathered up her skirts and pushed through the crowd. Kit swore and took off after her, every step sending shards of pain through his body. He caught her and grabbed her elbow.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m going to stop him.’

  ‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ he said.

  He thrust her behind him, and moving with his injuries momentarily forgotten, he pushed through the crowd towards Debigné.

  If the man had seen him coming he gave no sign. Cromwell stood for a moment, framed in the chapel door. Debigné raised the crossbow to his shoulder and fired. Someone pulled Cromwell back inside the chapel and the bolt missed its mark, crashing harmlessly into the door as it slammed shut.

  ‘To me!’ Kit yelled, hoping Thurloe’s men were nearby.

  For a split second no one moved, then half a dozen men broke away from the crowd and crashed after Kit.

  Debigné, cornered, scrabbled for a second bolt. In the time he took to reload, Kit had reached him. Debigné raised the butt of the crossbow and swung it at Kit. He ducked, but his bad leg betrayed him and the butt crashed into his injured hand. With a sharp cry he went down on his knees, his hand pressed to his chest. Debigné raised the weapon again but by this time Thurloe’s men had him.

  In the chaotic moments that followed, as Debigné was led away and the excited crowd buzzed and murmured, Thamsine reached him. Dimly, he sensed her kneeling beside him and she laid her arm across his back. He raised a sweat-streaked face to her and she shook her head.

  ‘Your hand … ’ she began.

  Before he could respond, a shadow fell across them.

  ‘Good work,’ Thurloe said. ‘I won’t forget it. My coach is waiting. It will take you wherever you have to go.’

  Kit raised his head and looked up his tormentor.

  ‘Is that it, Thurloe?’

  Thurloe nodded. ‘That’s it, Lovell. Lay low, recover your strength, and we will talk soon.’

  Chapter 19

  ‘It’s no good,’ Nan pronounced. ‘You should never have gone gallivanting around London in your condition. You’ve done yourself no good at all and your hand … ’ she shook her head, ‘ … those fingers will not mend straight now.’

  Thamsine swallowed and forced herself to look down at the swollen, mangled mess that had been Kit’s sword hand. Debigné had hit it hard and what little the bonesetter had accomplished had been completely undone.

  ‘You heard the bonesetter,’ Nan continued. ‘There’s nought he can do. Would be best if it came off afore it turns bad and kills you.’

  ‘You’re talking about my hand!’ Kit said, his tone a mixture of anger and despair.

  ‘There’s one person who might be able to help,’ Thamsine said. ‘My sister.’

  Kit gave a snort of laughter. ‘I don’t think so, Tham. What can she do that the bonesetter can’t?’

  ‘I know no one else with her skill,’ Thamsine said.

  ‘We’ll send Jem to her.’ Nan turned to her brother, who lounged in the door of the bedchamber.

  ‘I don’t know if this is a good idea,’ Jem said slowly.

  ‘Neither do I,’ Kit agreed. He shivered, hunched his shoulders and closed his eyes.

  ‘I’m not going to stand by and watch you die!’ Thamsine said.

  ‘I’m not dying, Thamsine!’ Kit protested irritably. ‘I’ve a few broken bones, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ll die if that hand is not treated properly! Jane can help. She can be trusted.’

  Kit grimaced and waved his good hand. ‘Go, Jem. We’ll have no peace until she’s had her way.’

  ~ * ~

  Thamsine met her sister in the kitchen of the inn.

  ‘I must have your word, Jane. Please don’t tell Roger where I am.’

  Jane put her hand on her sister’s cheek. ‘You have my word,’ she said. ‘Now, where is the patient?’

  ‘Upstairs. I’ll show you.’

  Kit sat hunched at the table, a jug of wine to one side and a book laid out before him. He looked up as the women entered, and closed the book. Jane set her basket down and picked up the book.

  ‘An interesting choice of reading, Captain Lovell,’ she said.

  Kit retrieved his battered and much-worn copy of Francis Bacon’s Essays and set it back on the table, the fingers of his uninjured hand tracing the worn leather spine.

  ‘Old Bacon here has been a long-time companion of mine. I would hate to lose him,’ he said.

  ‘Which is your favourite essay?’ Jane asked.

  ‘”O
f Nature and Men”,’ Kit replied. ‘You read Bacon?’

  Jane smiled. ‘I have done. Now, I had a message you were dying,’ she said.

  ‘I’m bruised and battered but not quite at Death’s door,’ Kit replied.

  Jane placed a hand on Kit’s forehead. ‘No, I don’t think you’re dying.’

  ‘You’re so much better at this than your sister. Did you know she faints at the sight of blood?’ Kit commented.

  Jane glanced at her sister. ‘Do you?’

  Thamsine shrugged. ‘I’m not a nurse.’

  ‘So, this is Morton’s work?’ Jane gently raised the bandaged hand. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He trod on my fingers,’ Kit said.

  ‘It all took a further battering the day before yesterday,’ Thamsine put in. ‘The bonesetter says his hand should be amputated but I thought maybe you … ’ She trailed off as Jane cast her a grave look.

  ‘Thamsine, I’m a housewife. What do you think I can do that a bonesetter cannot?’

  Thamsine felt her small hope beginning to fade.

  Jane sighed. ‘Well, I suppose I can at least see what harm has been done. Now,’ she said, addressing Kit, ‘I am going to look at your hand. This will hurt.’

  She began to unwind the bandages, stopping when Kit tensed to let him catch his breath.

  ‘If it’s any small consolation, I hear Ambrose Morton is no better,’ Jane said as she worked.

  ‘Where is he?’ Thamsine asked.

  Jane’s lips tightened. ‘With that doxy, Lucy Talbot. A pistol ball in the shoulder and a broken ankle, I believe.’

  ‘What about your husband?’ Kit asked in a tight voice.

  ‘Roger has gone to Kent on business. I don’t expect him back for a couple of days, which is why I was able to come to you.’ Jane drew a quick breath. ‘Oh dear, this is not good!’ Jane shook her head.

  Thamsine flinched as the bandages came away to reveal the blackened, swollen, mangled mess.

  Jane looked up at her. ‘What have you done for him?’

  Thamsine outlined the rudimentary treatment suggested by Nan and the bonesetter.

  Jane gently felt the broken bones. ‘You’re no fool, Captain Lovell. I am sure you can see for yourself that the bonesetter is right. If this is left, it will fester and you must know what that will mean.’

  Kit closed his eyes and nodded.

  ‘There must be something you can do?’ Thamsine tried to hide the anxiety in her voice.

  ‘I will do what I can to reset the broken bones. Thamsine, I need … ’

  Thamsine stared at her sister. She could already hear the world beginning to roar in her ears, and the room had begun to pitch and tilt.

  Distantly she heard her sister say, ‘Thamsine, are you going to faint? Go and fetch that big man who brought me here and stay out of the way.’

  Thamsine stumbled out of the room and passed out in the corridor.

  ~ * ~

  An hour later, she crept back into the room.

  ‘Mercifully, he fainted,’ Jane said, indicating the unconscious body on the bed. ‘God willing he will sleep now, and that is probably the best cure.’

  Jane picked up her cloak and tied it. She gestured at an array of bottles and flasks on the table.

  ‘My own receipt, sister. Feverfew and chamomile.’ She picked up the largest flask. ‘It will help with the pain and any fever. I have reset the fingers and splinted them.’ She held up a bottle. ‘A poultice of this after twelve hours.’

  ‘Will it work?’

  Jane shrugged. ‘It might, but if it worsens then the bonesetter is right. The hand will have to be amputated.’

  Thamsine grimaced and her sister laid a hand on her arm.

  ‘I don’t want to give false hope. Even if it does heal, he will never have the full use of that hand again, but I think you both know that.’ Her face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Thamsine, but at least he will be alive and that is what really matters, isn’t it?’

  She took her sister in her arms.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ Thamsine murmured.

  Jane pulled apart, holding Thamsine at arm’s length. ‘You know I must. I have strapped his hand to his chest to stop him moving it for the moment. Now, if you follow my instructions, you should be over the worst within the next twenty-four hours. Keep him cool, plenty of water, the feverfew, and this for the bruising.’ She held up a pot. ‘Don’t forget.’

  ‘I’m so useless,’ Thamsine said with a rueful smile. ‘I wish I were more like you.’

  Jane touched her sister’s cheek. ‘No, dearest, you’re not useless. Your talents are different, that’s all. Now, remember to pray. That is always useful when all else fails.’

  When Jane had left, Thamsine crept back up to the bedchamber. She stripped down to her shift and climbed into the bed beside her husband. He stirred but did not wake as she curled up against him, her hand curling around the fingers of his left hand. With her head resting against his shoulder she fell asleep.

  ~ * ~

  Ignoring Kit’s complaints and curses, Thamsine diligently followed her sister’s instructions. As she opened the door to his bedchamber with his supper tray, she reflected that Jane had failed to warn her that convalescing males were not a pleasant species. However, for all his complaining, miraculously the hand had not worsened. Over the week Jane’s poultices and unguents seemed to have had some effect. The swelling had begun to go down and the bones seemed to be knitting.

  Kit slammed his book shut and looked up at the ceiling as Thamsine set down the tray.

  ‘I’m so bored,’ he grumbled. ‘This is worse than jail. At least there I can play cards or talk to someone. Here, I’m stuck in the company of three over-solicitous women, and if that –’ he pointed at a flask on the tray’ – is any more of your sister’s damned nostrums, forget it!’

  ‘I thought you enjoyed the company of women?’

  He looked at her and his face softened. ‘Come here and sit down.’

  He pushed the chair back from the table and patted his lap. Thamsine smiled and complied, perching herself primly on his knee. He picked up her hand in his good one and turned it over as if inspecting it. He laid it on the table and traced the lines on the palm.

  ‘Do you see this, Tham?’

  ‘See what? Since when you have you been a palm reader?’

  ‘A woman I knew a long time ago taught me a few things. This line is your lifeline. It tells me that you’re going to live a long life.’

  ‘That’s reassuring.’

  ‘Now this line is your love line.’

  ‘And what does that tell you?’

  ‘That you are going to meet an impossibly handsome, yet penniless rogue, who is not going to let you out of his sight for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Thamsine said. ‘That sounds rather grim. I hope his name is not Ambrose Morton.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Kit gave a snort of laughter. ‘Penniless aristocratic rogue, then!’

  Thamsine smiled. ‘Palm reading is a rather inexact science,’ she said. ‘What will happen to this penniless, aristocratic rogue?’

  ‘He will fall in love with a beautiful, talented woman.’

  Kit slipped his hand behind her neck, drawing her face towards his. She twisted her body so their lips almost touched.

  ‘Ah, but does the rogue truly love me?’ Thamsine whispered.

  ‘Oh yes, he truly does. The question is, do you love him enough to want to spend the rest of your life with him?’

  Thamsine paused and frowned as if deep in thought. ‘The rest of my life? You did say it would be a long life … ’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could.’

  ‘Good.’ Kit tightened his grip and their lips touched.

  ‘You must be feeling better,’ Thamsine whispered.

  His lips drifted to her ear. ‘Much better,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps, if you promise to be gentle with me … ’

  A knock on the doo
r startled them. Thamsine barely had time to jump to her feet before the door opened.

  ‘Oh dear, am I interrupting?’ Thurloe stood in the doorway, carefully removing his gloves.

  Thamsine straightened her skirts. She gave Thurloe the benefit of a shaky curtsey.

  He inclined his head. ‘Mistress Lovell. Good evening.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see your husband.’ Thurloe looked Kit up and down. ‘I trust you are on the road to recovery, Lovell?’

  ‘I’m mending,’ Kit replied.

  Thurloe walked over to the window and stood looking out over the street, his hands behind his back.

  ‘I have a problem,’ he said. ‘Or rather, you have a problem. I’m afraid your friends have been most forthcoming about your involvement in the plot. You’ve been named several times as one of the main conspirators, and I have troops scouring London with a warrant for your arrest. You’ll be flattered to know that there’s quite a reward for information leading to your detention.’ He turned to face them. ‘London is not a particularly healthy place for you to be right now, Lovell.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Kit inquired, lightly drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table.

  ‘If they find you, there will be nothing I can do about it, but … ’ Thurloe reached into his jacket and produced a paper, which he flung down on the table, ‘ … I’m mindful of our agreement.’

  Kit picked it up and turned it over.

  ‘It’s an order to the Governor of Barbados to release one Daniel Lovell, with a full pardon for his youthful indiscretions,’ Thurloe said.

  Kit looked up at Thurloe.

  ‘I have made enquiries after your brother and when last I heard, admittedly some months ago, your brother had been well treated and was in good health. He has the advantage of youth and education to set him apart from his fellow captives.’ Thurloe answered the unspoken question.

  Kit looked down at the paper in his hand. ‘I hope that’s true, Thurloe.’

  Thurloe shrugged. ‘You can see for yourself. There’s a boat sails from Gravesend to Barbados tomorrow evening. Be on it, Lovell, or I can’t help you any more. You are looking rather pale. The sea voyage will do your health good.’ He turned to Thamsine with a smile. ‘And of course, your lovely wife will be accompanying you.’ The smile faded. ‘In short, I want the pair of you out of England. The sooner I am rid of the both of you, the sounder I will sleep in bed.’