Page 132 of By the Sword
The door opened and Nell glided in.
‘How did you children get in here? I thought we told you.’
‘It’s all right, Nell,’ Jonathan said. ‘They’re fine. Ann brought me flowers. Can you put them in water?’
Nell took the flowers from her daughter and shooed the children in the direction of the door.
Tom stuck his head around the door frame. ‘Can we play chess?’
‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ Jonathan said as Nell closed the door behind them.
His sister stood by the door, regarding her brother with her hands on his hips. Jonathan in turn studied his sister. Kate had told him that the baby would be coming soon.
‘Did you come from Seven Ways in that condition?’
She sniffed. ‘The coach still has wheels. I wasn’t going to sit on my hands in Worcestershire when my only living relative was so intent on dying.’
‘Sorry, you came all this way for nothing.’ Jonathan smiled.
‘Complete waste of time,’ Nell agreed.
She walked over to the bed and with a sigh sat down on the chair beside him, easing her aching back.
‘However, I think this child will be born in London,’ she said. ‘I can’t see me making it back to Seven Ways. Quite the family reunion, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve met my daughter?’
Nell smiled. ‘I have. No denying her parentage, is there? She and Tom seem to be getting on very well.’
‘Are they? That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ Nell said. ‘Now would you like the gossip?’
‘Giles is safe?’
‘Giles is in Amsterdam. You know the King made it back to Paris safely?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Did he get the George back?’
‘Giles delivered it personally. Did Kate tell you how we got Giles away?’
Jonathan lay back against the bolsters and let his sister talk about the sojourn in Yorkshire and the trivialities of life at Seven Ways. Her voice drifted over him and just for a few brief moments, he allowed himself to hope that the unfortunate circumstances of his recent detention might finally end his fugitive life and there might yet still be a future here for him in England.
Chapter 48
Kate sat by the window of the parlour, pretending to be intent on the smock she was sewing for Nell’s baby. Out of the corner of her eye, she was watching with some amusement, the game of chess being waged between her son and Jonathan.
She wondered if Jonathan deliberately pretended to be losing, lulling his opponent into a false sense of superiority, before apparently turning the tables.
‘Ha,’ Tom declared. ‘Check.’
Jonathan narrowed his eyes and squinted thoughtfully at the board. As he lifted his knight to make his move, the door to the parlour opened and Henrietta entered, making way for a dark-haired man of middle height.
Jonathan rose slowly to his feet, still holding the chess piece. What little colour he had regained, drained from his face and something about Henrietta’s tight mouth and deferential manner left her in no doubt that the visitor could be none other than John Thurloe.
‘Thornton.’ The man inclined his head. ‘I must say you look somewhat improved since our last meeting.’
‘Master Thurloe,’ Jonathan responded, setting the knight back on the board with deliberate care.
