Page 163 of The King's Man
She pursued him down the stairs and forced him back against the wall of the house.
‘Margaret, please … let me explain.’
One of the blows hit the fingers of his right hand, jangling the nerves of the barely healed fingers. Kit swore volubly and slid down the wall, pressing his hand to his chest while trying to shield himself with his left hand.
‘Mother!’
A young woman appeared in the doorway.
‘Mother, stop! It’s Kit.’
‘I know who it is,’ Margaret said but she ceased her attack, throwing the broom down on the steps.
Frances Lovell cast her mother a warning glance and ran down the steps. She knelt beside her brother.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ muttered Kit through tight lips.
Frances took his hand and gasped.
‘Kit! Your hand, what happened?’
‘Another time,’ Kit said, pulling his hand back.
With what dignity he could muster, he rose to his feet, retrieved his hat from the mud, took a steadying breath and turned to face his sister and stepmother. Frances took a step towards him, a broad smile on her face.
‘I can’t believe it’s you!’ she said. ‘We thought you were dead. It was in the broadsheets … ’
He smiled at her. ‘It’s a very long story, Fran.’
Kit looked up at his stepmother, who had retreated to the top of the stairs, her arms crossed, glaring down at him. Margaret Lovell had only been seventeen, a pretty, vivacious girl with an abundance of brown curls when she had married Kit’s father. The eight-year-old Kit, newly brought back from France and thrust into a house of strangers speaking a strange language, had worshipped her.
Now, the years of war and the loss of her son had dealt ill with her. What he could see of her hair seemed to be almost entirely grey, her face thin and lined. Looking at her, the weight of responsibility for her troubles settled back on his shoulders where they rightly belonged.
‘Margaret, I don’t know where to begin,’ he said.
‘I want my son back,’ she responded, but all the anger had gone from her voice.
‘Oh, Mother,’ Frances sounded impatient, ‘I’m so tired of this. You cannot hold Kit responsible forever.’
‘I can and I do.’
‘Well, I’m tired of blaming Kit for this family’s ills!’ Frances continued. ‘He’s my brother as much as Daniel, and I, for one, am glad to see him.’ She fell into his arms. ‘I truly am glad to see you, Kit.’
He held her close, marvelling at how the enchanting child could have grown into such a sensible young woman. A discreet cough reminded him that Thamsine stood watching this touching family reunion. He turned to her, noting the gleam of amusement in her eye. He held out his hand and she took it.
‘My wife, Thamsine,’ he said. ‘Thamsine, my stepmother, Margaret Lovell, and my sister, Frances.’
Both women stared at Thamsine and then back at Kit.
‘You’re married?’ Frances exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ Kit said slowly. ‘I did say she was my wife.’
Margaret sniffed and looked Thamsine up and down, taking in the elegant green gown and curling chestnut locks.
‘I suppose you know that my stepson is a disgrace to this family,’ she said.
