Page 77 of The King's Man
‘She is my sister,’ Jane said. ‘I can’t allow this travesty to occur.’
Ambrose struck without warning, a cracking open-handed blow to Jane’s face that sent the frail woman flying against the door. Roger uttered a cry and Thamsine rose to her feet. Ambrose pushed her down as Roger knelt beside his stunned wife, cradling her in his arms.
‘You see, Thamsine, it’s not just you,’ Ambrose said. ‘There are others involved. Your sister, those two pretty little nieces of yours … ’ He left the sentence unfinished but his meaning was clear. Thamsine shuddered.
‘And what of your sister?’ she said. ‘What has become of Annie? Did you punish her for handing me the pistol?’
‘Annie has nothing to do with this. You know I would never hurt her.’ The nerve in Ambrose’s temple began to twitch, and she knew what she had always suspected. Annie, with her bright, innocent eyes, was his Achilles’ heel.
‘But you think nothing of hurting other women. That maid I found you with, my sister, who knows how many others … ’
Ambrose turned away, waving his arm in a gesture of disgust. ‘Enough of this talk, Thamsine. We will be married within the next few days, whether you consent or not.’
‘And who will you find willing to marry us if I have to be dragged protesting to the altar?’
‘There will be someone,’ Ambrose said. ‘There is always someone whose conscience can be eased with a few coins. You will marry me, Thamsine, or someone close to you is going to be hurt.’ He looked meaningfully at Roger, who shrank away from his gaze, still holding Jane in his arms.
‘Morton, I must protest,’ Roger said, his voice lacking conviction. ‘If you wait just a little longer … ’
‘I’ve had enough of waiting, Knott. You have had your chance to make her see reason and she shows no sign of repenting herpast stubbornness. Our arrangement is at an end. I am taking her with me and I assure you I have far more effective ways of breaking this stiff-necked pride.’
‘I will rot in Hell first!’ Thamsine spat as she leapt to her feet.
‘Indeed you will,’ Ambrose hissed in her ear. ‘Because Hell is precisely where you are going. You need some time to consider your future, Thamsine Granville, and after a few days I can guarantee you will be crawling to me on your knees.’
He made to grab at her but Thamsine ducked out of his reach. An absurd game of tag around the table ensued until Ambrose drew his sword. He pushed Roger aside and pulled Jane to her feet, holding the tip of the sword to her throat.
‘Enough. Come here, Thamsine,’ he said.
Thamsine gasped and Ambrose smiled as he drew the sword lightly across Jane’s throat, leaving a thin, bloody line. She did not doubt that he would kill Jane if she did not obey.
As soon as she was within arm’s reach, Ambrose thrust Jane at her husband and struck out at Thamsine, the same hard blow that had sent Jane to the ground.
Her head reeling, Thamsine fell back against the table and slid to the ground. Unable to move, the world fading from her consciousness, she heard Roger’s shaky voice.
‘Where are you taking her?’
‘I told you. I’m taking her to Hell.’
Ambrose lifted Thamsine, throwing her across his shoulder like a bag of chaff. His shoulder dug into her abdomen. Unable to breathe, she lost consciousness.
Chapter 21
Kit stared into his ale. The French did not know how to make good ale. He took a swig of the tasteless beverage and set the pot down, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle.
Henshaw, Fitzjames and Gerard appeared to be turning in ever-decreasing circles, meeting first with one party and then another. No decisions, no promises of help. The King remained obdurate. He would not countenance a move on Cromwell without the support of the Sealed Knot. The delay frustrated Kit beyond measure.
The Sealed Knot – the Sealed Knot seemed aptly named. The composition of this mysterious committee was one of the few well-kept secrets in the court. He had nothing to take back to Thurloe.
He hated every moment spent in Paris and realised that for the first time in his life he wanted a home and hearth and a good woman. A good woman, not the likes of Lucy Talbot.
He took a deep draught of his ale as he dismissed that thought. Experience had taught him that women were nothing but trouble, a distraction he did not need.
So why, then, did thoughts of Thamsine Granville keep him awake at night? In the dark hours, he imagined the tilt of her chin, the warm, brown eyes, the humorous lift of her mouth. He missed her intelligent companionship and her high-handed disrespect for him.
‘Deep in thought, Lovell?’
Kit looked up. He knew and disliked the man who sat down unbidden at his table. Colonel Bampfield was known to turn his coat with the frequency of his linen. Despite having executed a daring rescue of the young Duke of York from under Parliament’s nose some eight years previously, he enjoyed a worse reputation than Henshaw for suspect loyalty.
