Page 59 of The King's Man
‘This is a lovely piece,’ she said, seating herself at the virginals.
De Baas stood behind her. ‘I had it brought from France. I cannot abide the solid, boring English furniture.’
She looked up at him. ‘There seems little about England you like.’
He shuddered and threw his hands in the air. ‘Where do I begin? The food, the wine, the weather … and,mon Dieu, the so-called English court!’
‘What of it?’
‘Where is the grandeur, where is the formality? A farmer who calls himself King?’ The Baron’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘I would not lower myself to remove my hat in his presence.’
Thamsine bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. Farmer or not, Cromwell was the head of state, and by refusing to remove his hat in his presence the Baron had probably committed a grave breach of protocol.
As she began to play, De Baas stood over her, so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She shrugged her shoulders but he failed to take the hint.
‘You play well, mademoiselle,’ he purred in her ear as he traced the line of her spine from her collar to the hairline with his forefinger. The unwelcome touch made her feel physically nauseous.
‘Thank you, Baron,’ she said and began another piece of music, anything to distract herself. As she felt his lips brush her hair, she stood with an abruptness that threw him off balance. ‘Did you say we were to eat?’ she demanded.
The Baron recovered himself. ‘Of course.’
He clapped his hands and the manservant appeared at the door. ‘Joachim, food … ’
‘Sir, there are two men outside who wish to speak with you.’ The servant spoke in French.
De Baas waved a hand. ‘Not now,’ he replied in the same language.
‘Sir, they are most insistent.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Messieurs Gerard and Fitzjames.’
At the names, De Baas went silent. ‘Very well, show them in.’ He turned to Thamsine and addressed her in English. ‘My dear, I have some tedious business to discuss. Perhaps you would be so good as to wait next door?’ He indicated the door through which he had entered. ‘I shall not be long.’
The room beyond the door proved to be De Baas’ bedchamber. Thamsine shuddered. The light of a dozen candles filled the chamber and the massive bed had been turned down, no doubt in expectation of her agreeing to a night between the fine linen sheets. If those were his intentions, he would be sorely disappointed.
She had left the door open a barest crack and she knelt on the floor to see who entered. Her eyes widened as she recognised both men from The Ship Inn: the tall, fair-haired man was Kit Lovell’s friend, Fitzjames; the younger one must be Gerard.
Kit’s friend?Her jaw tightened. Kit did not have friends. Did Fitzjames know his friend was a turncoat, hanging on his every word, ready to betray him when the time was right?
The men spoke in low voices that made it hard to understand what was being said. De Baas glanced at the door and suggested they speak in French. Secure in the mistaken belief that they were not being overheard, their voices raised to a level that Thamsine could understand.
Fitzjames gestured at the table. ‘We have interrupted you, Baron.’
De Baas waved a hand. ‘I just request that you are brief.’
‘It is on the matter of the Lord Protector … ’
‘Your Lord Protector … ’ De Baas wrinkled his nose as if he had detected a bad smell. ‘ … is an incompetent nobody. A farmer, playing at being a statesman. He knows nothing of international diplomacy.’
‘What about Bordeaux?’ Gerard asked.
De Baas dismissed the French Ambassador with a wave of his hand. ‘Bordeaux is also incompetent. My God, he has even taken an Englishwoman as a mistress.’ De Baas leaned closer to Fitzjames. ‘Your Cromwell is playing a dangerous game. He can lie down with the bear or the wolf, but not with both.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gerard asked.
‘Spain or France, the choice is simple.’ De Baas illustrated his point by turning first his left hand palm-up and then the right. ‘This regime of Cromwell’s is ready to be overthrown. I have seen the soldiers. They are feeble and dissipated.’
