Page 136 of The King's Man
He stood poised only for an instant before the stool jerked away from beneath him. The slack in the rope caught and tightened and in that split second Kit panicked. The knot had been badly tied and he realised he was doomed to die by slow strangulation. He wanted to protest but already the rope bit in, cutting off blood and air.
The instinct for survival was strong and he struggled for breath – for life – before a red mist closed over his eyes, blocking out the memory of the slender woman with chestnut hair standing in the yard of Westminster Palace. Her face was replaced by other images – Daniel’s fear-filled face on a smoky battlefield, Fitzjames’ eyes as he had gone over the side into the murky blackness of the Thames Estuary, other memories of his mother, his home—then nothing.
Chapter 47
Nan Marsh stood in the doorway of Thamsine’s bed chamber at the house in Turnham Green, her eyes wet with tears and her mouth trembling as she held out a paper.
Thamsine did not move. She knew what news Nan brought.
‘No,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘I had hoped … a reprieve, surely.’
Nan shook her head.
‘This morning,’ she said. ‘The man who brought this said it was this morning at dawn. Said he died like a gentleman. Jem said I was to bring it to you without delay.’ Nan proffered the letter again. ‘Take it, Mistress Thamsine. They said ’tis from him.’
Thamsine recoiled from the letter as if it were on fire.
‘No, I can’t … ’ She wrapped her arms around herself, fearing that if she took the paper she would fall apart.
Nan swallowed, her mouth tightening. She crossed to Thamsine and took her by the arm.
‘Take it,’ she ordered.
Thamsine snatched at the paper and looked at her name written in an awkward scrawl. She clutched it to her chest and from deep within her a howl of despair rose, an animal noise that had nothing to do with human reason but came from the very depth of primal despair. She sank to her knees on the floor, doubling over as the dry, retching sobs shook her.
Nan’s arm circled her shoulders, her head resting on her back. She heard the girl’s sobs but had no comfort for her.
Kit was dead.Dead. The word reverberated in her mind.
Everyone she had ever loved was dead. Even Jane would leave her before many more months were out.
‘Mistress is asking what the trouble is.’ Thamsine heard the maid’s voice.
Nan rose to her feet. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Who?’
‘Her husband, you ninny,’ Nan bridled, ‘Here, she needs her sister, not us two useless lumps. Give us a hand.’
Thamsine allowed herself to be lifted upright, supported on either side and led, almost as a blind person, to the chamber where Jane sat in a well-cushioned chair before the window. At the sight of Jane’s pale, anxious face looking up at her, full of concern and love, she ran to her sister. Like a child she fell at her feet, burying her face in Jane’s skirts.
‘Lovell?’ she heard Jane ask.
Nan must have nodded. ‘Oh dearest,’ Jane whispered, stroking her hair.
At the touch of the loving hand, the tears began, an unstoppable flood of grief.
‘There, you cry. ‘Tis the best thing you can do.’
There was a pause and Jane’s tone changed as she addressed Nan.
‘When?’
‘This morning,’ Nan replied. ‘They brought a letter for her.’ The letter Thamsine still held, crushed and unopened in her hand. ‘Mistress, I cannot stay. I’ve got the loan of Jack’s pony and he needs it back this afternoon.’
‘Thank you … ’ Jane hesitated. ‘ … Sorry, I can’t remember your name.’
‘Nan Marsh, ma’am. I’m a friend of Thamsine’s and Captain Lovell’s.’ Nan’s sharp voice cracked. ‘Anything we can do, Jem, May, and I, anything. We loved him too.’
