Page 144 of The King's Man
‘He’s back in London.’
Kit looked up. ‘Back from where?’
‘I hear he’s been on the Continent these last few weeks. Come back to find his lady love up to her ears in creditors, he has.’
‘So?’ Kit feigned disinterest.
‘It hasn’t occurred to your wooden head that as far as the world is concerned, your Thamsine is now a widow?’
Kit shrugged.
‘A wealthy widow,’ Jem added.
‘He can’t force her to marry him. Any agreement with her father is nullified. She’s safe enough from him.’
Jem reached across the table and grabbed the front of Kit’s shirt, hauling him up until they were nose to nose.
‘And you think that matters to him? Remember Bedlam? What he did to our May? He can force her to do anything he damn well wants, and you’re just going to sit there and let it happen?’
Kit stared into Jem’s one bloodshot eye.
‘Let go of me, Marsh,’ he commanded in a voice Jem knew well.
The big man’s mouth tightened but he let Kit go and he subsided back on the stool and picked up his cup.
‘How do you know what Morton is up to?’ Kit asked
‘I’ve been keeping an eye on him, these last months,’ Jem said, tapping his one good eye. ‘Don’t want him paying any unexpected calls on me and mine again.’
Kit raised the cup to his lips and set it down without taking a drink. ‘Do you think he’ll go after Thamsine?’
Jem shrugged. ‘What choice does he have? The Talbot woman’s no good for him now, and he’s not a man to survive long without money.’
Kit ran a hand through his greasy and knotted hair. He hadn’t dared to look in a mirror since the day he had “died” and dreaded he would see the face of a hanged man. Little wonder he had tried to expunge his nightmares with alcohol.
He swept the cup from the table, rose unsteadily to his feet and went in search of a looking glass.
Peering into the mottled depths of Nan’s pride and joy, for a brief moment, he didn’t recognise himself. The eyes of a madman stared back at him, the whites obscured by the red of broken capillaries. Nearly three weeks’ growth shadowed his chin and his hair, as he had suspected, hung in greasy, knotted, unkempt strands. Both his beard and hair had streaks of grey where none had been before.
He tugged at the cloth he had tied loosely around his neck to reveal the livid shadow of the noose still marring his skin. He shuddered as his fingers traced the line of the rope, the very twists of the hemp still discernible.
He set the mirror down and leaned his head against the wall. He couldn’t go on pretending to himself that Thamsine was better off without him. The truth was that he was no good without her. He needed her as a starving man needs food.
Jem had been right. The time had come to find her—if she would have him back.
Chapter 52
Thamsine drew her knees up to her chin and stared out of the window at the well-ordered gardens and familiar view of her childhood.
‘What are you thinking, Aunt?’ Her niece’s voice made her jump, and she turned to look at Rebecca.
Rebecca’s serious face studied her from beneath an immaculate white cap. She looked older and wiser than her fourteen years. Thamsine patted the window ledge and the girl sat down beside her, her back rigidly straight.
‘I was thinking about my childhood,’ she said. ‘My brother and I used to climb the trees in the apple orchard and ride our ponies in the home paddock.’
Rebecca’s eyes widened. ‘You used to climb trees?’
Thamsine nodded.
