Page 41 of The King's Man
Jem squinted at her with his one good eye. ‘Come into some money, have you?’
Thamsine produced the purse. ‘I have secured respectable employment. Now, Master Marsh, a plain, comfortable room is all I need.’
A shriek from the doorway announced May Marsh. ‘You’re back! Nan, she’s back.’
Clasped to May’s ample bosom, Thamsine looked over her head at May’s twin who gave a cursory nod and a half smile of welcome.
‘She’s here for lodging. Got herself a proper job, she has. Show Mistress Granville to the small bedchamber,’ Jem said, with a low bow.
‘Oh!’ May released Thamsine and looked up at her. ‘Watcha going to be doing?’
‘A music tutor in the household of the French Ambassador.’
‘Go on!’ Nan’s voice was disbelieving. ‘You get carted off to the Tower, on charges of attempting to do in Old Ironsides no less, and a few weeks later you’re released with a job at the Frog Ambassador’s?’
Thamsine shrugged. ‘That’s how it happened. Now I am filthy and stinking and would like a bath. Is such a thing possible?’
The twins looked at each other. ‘A bath?’ they chorused, as if such an idea had never entered their heads.
‘A bath to begin with,’ Thamsine said. ‘And if I can borrow some respectable petticoats from someone, I must go shopping for new clothes.
***
Thamsine smoothed the petticoats of her new green wool gown. A spotless collar and cuffs edged with lace, new shoes that pinched her feet, and a hat and sturdy cloak completed the ensemble. She had tamed her hair within the confines of a neat white cap, and she hoped that she presented a picture of genteel modesty.
Clutching the folio containing some sheet music that she had also purchased the previous day, she knocked on the door of the French Ambassador’s house.
Baron Bordeaux greeted her in the parlour.
‘Mademoiselle Granville, I am so glad you could come,’ he enthused, as if she were an honoured guest, not a prospective employee. ‘The Lord Protector spoke most highly of you.’
Thamsine’s eyes widened. ‘The Lord Protector?’
‘Indeed, he said that you had made quite an impression on him at your last meeting.’
Thamsine swallowed. ‘Well, I hope that I can live up to the Lord Protector’s opinion of me,’ she said.
‘Now, tell me, do you speak French?’
‘I am afraid not,’ Thamsine replied.
‘It must be something of a problem for you in the rendering of French lyrics, mam’selle,’ he observed.
Thamsine flushed. ‘I read the words but I am afraid I do not understand the meaning.’
‘Well, perhaps we can help with that. A little, how would you say … “quid pro quo”? As it is, your pupil is English so language will not be a problem. Marie,ma cherie?’
He only raised his voice slightly, and a side door opened to admit a slight woman with protruding teeth and freckles. Bordeaux’s mistress was not what Thamsine had expected. Thurloe’s idea of the “pretty English mistress” was not hers.
Even in a poor light, Mary Skippon would only be described as passably plain. However, Thamsine considered uncharitably, she must be possessed of hidden talents that brought her to the bed of one of the most powerful men in the country.
‘Mistress Skippon is most anxious to improve her skills in the lute and the virginals.’ Bordeaux indicated a table in the corner of the room where a closed, painted box sat beside a lute.‘Would you be so kind as to give us an example of your work, mademoiselle?’
Thamsine selected a piece of music from her folio and opened the box. A pretty piece,she thought, running an appreciative hand over the bucolic scenes of shepherds and shepherdesses cavorting across the inside of the lid. She spared a thought for her own plain and unadorned virginals, sitting disused at Hartley Court.
It had been a long time since she had played, but her fingers caressed the keys with practised familiarity. She had selected a simple English country air and she sang as she played. Mary Skippon applauded as the last note died away.
‘Oh, that was lovely. Do you think I shall play like that, Baron?’ She looked up at her lover and he smiled and patted her hand.
