Page 65 of The King's Man
‘All gone,’ Thamsine said in an abrupt tone that a more astute person than Lucy Talbot would have interpreted as a request to enquire no further.
As Lucy opened her mouth to speak again, Thamsine handed her the lute.
‘Now, Mistress Talbot, enough chatter. It’s time to work.’
Lucy took the instrument and, grimacing, worked her fingers over the strings. At least, Thamsine conceded, she showed slightly more musical ability than Mary Skippon.
Chapter 17
Courts in exile were no different from courts anywhere, Kit thought. The King had kept them waiting nearly two hours while pompous men in shabby suits bustled around them.
A King without a throne, and a court without a purpose.
Kit knew only too well that these bored exiles amused themselves with gossip and rumour in a manner quite unsurpassed by that of any well-established court.
He looked at the self-important faces and wondered how many of them were also taking silver from Thurloe’s hand. Nothing the young King said or did went unnoticed or unremarked in London. He had to admire Thurloe for the thoroughness with which he conducted his activities. A court full of spies surrounded Charles, and in the years after Worcester, he had been one of them. All he had to do was pass on the latest court gossip. Life as Thurloe’s agent had not been unpleasant in those days. Until Thurloe had summoned him back to London.
Fitz leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling, while Kit watched young Gerard deep in conversation with his uncle. Lord Gerard, he remembered now, had been a friend of his father’s, a well-intentioned and earnest little man.
The conversation had concluded. Lord Gerard nodded and parted from his nephew. Jack sauntered back to join them.
‘Well?’ Fitz enquired. ‘What’s happening? I thought the King was anxious to see us.’
‘He is but he has other business to attend to.’
‘God, I hate waiting,’ muttered Kit. ‘What other business can he have, for God’s sake?’
‘Patience, Lovell!’ Fitz counselled.
‘I don’t have any. I hate Paris and I hate France. I don’t know why I even came.’
‘Because you were commanded to?’ Fitz suggested. ‘Anyway, why do you hate France? I thought you were half-French.’
Kit shrugged. ‘I would rather be in England.’
Where I have some control over my life,Kit thought. Back in England, where I wouldn’t spend every moment worrying about Thamsine Granville.
‘You’ve not met my mother’s relatives,’ he continued. ‘Fortunately, they live well out of the way of Paris and I don’t have to trouble myself with them.’
This was rather unjust. His living relatives consisted of a couple of extremely pleasant aunts and some rather distant and dim cousins who lived in the crumbling chateau near Agens, where he had spent the first eight years of his life.
‘And now the French are conspiring with bloody Cromwell to have the King evicted from France,’ Kit went on, giving vent to his frustrations. ‘At least that is one thing the King and I have in common. He’s half-French too.’ Kit snorted. ‘A plague on our poxy French relatives!’
Lord Gerard appeared at the door. ‘Gentlemen, the King will see you now.’
There were the usual formalities to be observed and the three men bowed low as they entered the room. Charles sat at a table, his advisors behind him. He had changed immeasurably in the eighteen months since Kit had last seen him. He saw no trace of the eager youngster who had urged them into battle at Worcester. His hopes, his dreams and his innocence had died on that day. For a young man of barely twenty-four, he looked ten years older.
‘Your Majesty!’ Kit said, marvelling at how odd the words sounded after all this time.
‘Lovell, Fitzjames, it is good to see you both again.’ Charles inclined his head to acknowledge them.
‘My nephew Jack, Your Majesty,’ Lord Gerard added.
‘I do not intend to waste time with pleasantries,’ the King said. ‘Word of what you plan has already reached me.’
‘Your Majesty, if you would but listen to Major Henshaw … ’
‘I will have no truck with Henshaw. He is a murderer and a man not to be trusted.’ Charles’ gaze ran around the circle of men. ‘As indeed are any of you. God’s blood, gentlemen, I am surrounded by plots and plans. My mother exhorts me one way, my cousin another. Which way am I to turn?’
