Page 43 of The King's Man
‘No, no, of course,’ the Baron replied, ‘but your English politics are causing much concern at court in Paris.’
‘How is that, Baron?’
‘The presence of Charles Stuart is an embarrassment. A king with no throne and no money! It is only the generosity of his cousin that keeps him in Paris. God willing, this is a situation that will not continue long.’
‘Why do you say that, Baron?’ Mary asked ingenuously.
‘There are ways of returning your King to his rightful throne.’ The Baron smiled. ‘But come, Mademoiselle Skippon, we are being impolite to your teacher, who is waiting patiently for us.’
The Baron smiled at Thamsine. ‘My apologies, Mademoiselle Granville,’ he said in English. ‘We have been rude. I see the music you have selected. Perhaps you will allow me to take the lute part?’
De Baas picked up a lute and began to strum with some talent, Thamsine conceded, and indeed he had quite a fine tenor voice.
At the conclusion of the lesson, the Baron lingered as Thamsine collected her music and put away the instruments. As he nattered on about the latest French fashions, Thamsine nodded and made the appropriate noises. As she walked to the door, he intercepted her, seizing her hand and placing it to his lips.
‘You are a very talented musician, mademoiselle.’
‘You are too kind, Baron.’ Thamsine tugged at her hand. ‘You are a fine musician yourself.’
He inclined his head. ‘Merci, mademoiselle.’
Thamsine freed her hand. ‘Good day to you, Baron.’
He opened the door for her. ‘Until next time,chereMademoiselle Granville.’
Chapter 11
‘No!’ Kit brought his manacled hand crashing down on the table.
The pen stand jumped out of its neat alignment with the inkpot. Thurloe calmly restored it to its rightful place.
‘You have no choice, Lovell. The girl trusts you.’
‘Trusts me? Thurloe, she’s no fool. As soon as I reveal my colours, she will work out who put her in the Tower in the first place. What trust will she have in me then?’
‘It doesn’t matter what she feels about you,’ Thurloe replied, the hooded eyes cold. ‘She has no more choice in this matter than you.’
Kit ran his hands through his hair, causing the chains to clank. ‘Thurloe, she’s a friend.’
Thurloe’s eyes flashed. ‘They’re all friends, Lovell, and yet you have no compunction about turning them in. I’ve told you before, you cannot afford to allow friendships to stand in the way of this business.’
Kit stared at the man, hating him with every fibre of his being. Thurloe rendered him as helpless as a fly struggling in a spider’s web. The harder the small creature struggled, the stronger the bonds around it became. It seemed every time he met with John Thurloe another part of his soul became ensnared by the man. He wondered how long it would be before Thurloe’s web bound him forever.
Kit’s fingers closed over the bag of coins Thurloe pushed across the table, and he strode from the room without another word.
***
The following morning, Kit lay in Lucy’s commodious bed, reflecting that life did have its compensations. With the exception of Dutton and Whitely, who remained incarcerated, the conspirators had been cast out into the dank streets. It would not be long before they reassembled for cards and a continuation of the endless game of trying to restore the King. Kit would go on encouraging them and turning them in.
Thinking of that miserable band of plotters, he sighed. He despised himself, but Thurloe had left him with little option.
Lucy sat at her dressing table, twisting her hair into the complex pattern of ringlets that suited her so well.
‘I think we shall go shopping this morning,’ she said, ‘if you have nothing else to do.’
Kit went through a mental list of things that required doing and found none that were sufficiently pressing as to delay a shopping trip. His wardrobe had been sadly depleted by his recent incarcerations and he had no desire to seek out Thamsine Granville and impart his nasty little secret.
He could already see the hurt and betrayal in her eyes as she realised that the man who had professed to be her friendhad only been waiting for the opportunity to turn her over. She would hate him, but nowhere near as much as he hated himself. She could wait.
