Page 38 of The King's Man
‘I told you she had a big heart.’
‘And I take back my comment about the widest legs. What about you?’
Kit shook his head and shrugged. ‘They’ll play with us for a while. Maybe put a couple on trial but who knows … ?’ He shrugged. ‘I have learned to have no expectations.’
The soldier put his hand on Kit’s shoulders. ‘Time’s up! Don’t want you getting too friendly, unless you’re willin’ to pay for the privilege. No? Then say your farewells.’
Kit stayed put, his eyes resting on Thamsine’s face.
‘Take care, Thamsine.’
He smiled at her as the soldier’s grip tightened and he turned Kit, propelling him in the direction of one of the round towers.
‘Kit?’ she called after him.
He stopped and turned back.
She spoke in French, not wishing the guard to understand her. ‘What will become of us?’
His eyes held hers, his face unreadable, and he replied in French, ‘Take each day as it comes, Thamsine, and if you believe in God, pray for us both.’
The soldier gave him a shove and Kit stumbled, hampered by the chains. He exchanged some sharp words with his escort that Thamsine could not quite make out. She watched until he had been swallowed up by the dark mouth of the Tower, then sank down on the damp stones with her back to the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She lowered her head and for the first time in her weeks of incarceration, she wept.
‘Dry your tears, Mistress Granville.’ The hard voice of Barkstead made her look up. He stood looking down at her, his hands on his hips. ‘Master Thurloe wishes to speak with you.’
The room overlooking the Thames was just as she remembered it and would remember it until her dying day. This time John Thurloe was alone and she was not manacled. She dropped a respectful curtsey, which he acknowledged with an inclination of his head.
‘Imprisonment has taught you some manners, Mistress Granville. Take a seat.’ He gestured at the same oak chair she had sat in last time. As she settled herself, he sat back in his chair and considered her. ‘You will be relieved to know that the Lord Protector has reviewed your case and has decided that no further action is to be taken against you. You will be released at the conclusion of this interview.’
Thamsine raised her eyes and looked up at the Secretary of State. She could feel the relief flooding her body.
‘Oh thank you!’
‘Don’t thank me, Mistress Granville. There are conditions attached.’
‘Anything.’ Anything would be better than another day, another hour in the Tower of London.
‘You must repay the damage to the coach.’
Panic arose like a gorge in her throat as the walls closed in on her once more.
‘I have no money. I have nothing.’
‘I am aware of your circumstances, Mistress Granville.’ He pressed his fingers together. ‘The debt is one that can be repaid through means other than money.’
She paled, her mind turning over the possibilities, none of them good. ‘What do you mean?’
Thurloe regarded her with hooded eyes. ‘I mean, Mistress Granville, that you are now indebted to the Commonwealth and that debt may be called in at any time.’ He paused, his lips twitching in a smile. Thamsine sensed that he took some pleasure from her paling face. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘I think I may have a solution to this dilemma. A means by which the debt can be repaid that I am sure you will find acceptable.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
Thurloe pressed his fingertips together. ‘I believe you have some talent with music.’
‘Some,’ conceded Thamsine. ‘Although lately it has been confined to singing bawdy songs in an inn.’
‘Do you play the lute?’
She nodded. ‘And the virginals.’
