Page 12 of The King's Man
‘They’d say that about anybody. Fact is they were too incompetent to catch her,’ Whitely said. ‘Well good luck to her, wherever she is. Pity is, she missed.’
‘Cromwell conducts himself more and more as if he were King, not the usurping yeoman that he is,’ Gerard spat.
Kit laughed. ‘My young friend, like it or not, he is our head of state. I for one would not have the task!’
‘Pssh!’ Whitely snorted. ‘Gone soft in gaol, Lovell.’
Kit sighed. ‘Getting old, Whitely. So what brings this sorry band together?’
The men looked at each other.
Gerard leaned across the table to address Whitely. ‘Is he to be trusted?’
Whitely gave the young man a hard look. ‘Of course, he’s to be trusted. Lovell’s a King’s man to the bone. He stood behind the King’s colours at Edgehill and Worcester.’
Fitzjames placed a hand on Kit’s shoulder. ‘He’s one of us, Gerard.’
The others nodded in agreement.
‘So, Dutton,’ Fitz said. ‘What’s the news?’
The gaze of every man in the room turned to Richard Dutton. The man raised his wineglass, took a quaff, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and set the glass down with a dramatic flourish.
‘There is a plan,’ he announced.
Kit’s heart sank. There was always a plan, and if Dutton had anything to do with it, it was unlikely to be a very good plan.
Dutton leaned forward, his voice lowered. ‘As we discussed in Lovell’s absence, it’s early days yet but steps have advanced.’
‘And?’ Whitely tapped his foot with obvious impatience.
Dutton shook his head. ‘I am loath to say much more for the present. However, if we meet back here in a week, I will then have something to report.’
Hiding his frustration with a shrug, Kit produced a battered pack of cards. ‘Well, until next week, then. In the meantime, I for one would welcome a diversion, not to mention a small boost to the purse. Anyone willing to take me on?’
After several rounds of cards, Dutton rose unsteadily to his feet.
‘Go to go,’ he slurred. ‘Busy day tomorrow.’
Kit shot to his feet. ‘I’ll see you to your lodgings,’ he said.
The two men lurched into the cold street. Snowflakes fell on their hats and shoulders but melted before reaching the slushy filth of the ground.
‘Your damned luck hasn’t changed,’ Dutton remarked, swaying to one side of the road.
Kit took his arm and propelled him back in a straight line. Dutton was a heavyset man some years older than he was. As with the rest of the company at The Ship Inn, the recent conflicts had dealt ill with him. He had lost his home and family, and the war had left him embittered and penniless, with a fondness for wine that loosened his tongue and made him dangerous.
‘Plenty of time in the Clink to hone my skills. You should try it sometime,’ Kit said.
‘I did.’ Dutton spat into the gutter. ‘Remember those stinking cells after Worcester?’
Kit suppressed a shudder. There were some memories he preferred not to recall. ‘Tomorrow night, Dutton? You and me, a couple of comely wenches … ?’
Dutton stopped in the middle of the street, swaying slightly. ‘Tomorrow … No, tomorrow I must go away.’
Kit caught the man as he staggered forward. ‘So where are you off to, Dutton?’
Dutton tapped the side of his nose and gave Kit a heavy, conspiratorial wink. ‘Secret.’
