Page 79 of The King's Man
‘I suggest the morning. A hard ride to Calais to catch the evening tide,’ Fitz said.
Kit nodded with relief. There was nothing he wanted more than to be back in England.
Chapter 22
Kit had faced death in many forms and had always managed to stare it down. Now he lay wrapped in his cloak on the rough bunk bed praying for a speedy demise. God had never intended him to be a sailor. He had puked until he had nothing more to puke and dry-retched into the noisome bucket by his bunk and now woke from a fitful sleep.
The lantern, illuminating the cabin in a sickly yellow light, tossed and swayed with the motion of the boat. He closed his eyes to avert the wave of nausea and realised that what had woken him was the sense of another person being in the room, of a shadow obscuring the light and a furtive shuffling.
He opened his eyes again and saw Fitzjames bent towards a lantern. He held Kit’s jacket in one hand, and in the other were Bampfield’s papers. The paper crackled as Fitz opened one of the letters.
Kit shifted his weight slightly to allow himself leverage from the bunk, and through half-closed eyes, he saw Fitz turn tohim. With his normally sharp reflexes dulled by seasickness, he had not anticipated the speed with which Fitz could move. Fitz turned on him, grabbed his shirt and pulled him into an upright position, his eyes burning with anger.
‘You bloody traitor!’
‘What?’
Fitz waved the paper in Kit’s face. ‘What the Hell is this about?’
‘I have no idea. Bampfield asked me to deliver them in London. He told me they were love letters.’
‘Love letters?’ Fitz spat. ‘They contain reports of all our meetings. Reports that leave me in no doubt that you are the one referred to as ‘our friend’. How long have you been in Thurloe’s pay, Lovell?’ He stared at Kit as the realisation of the extent of Kit’s duplicity crossed his face. ‘Every move we’ve made, every discussion we’ve had has gone straight back to Thurloe, hasn’t it? The Ship Inn, was that your work?’
‘Let go of me, Fitz. You are talking nonsense.’
The anger began to die in Fitz’s face and the grip on Kit’s shirt slackened. ‘I’d heard whispers after The Ship Inn but I couldn’t believe them. Not of you, Lovell. I thought I knew you better.’
Kit removed Fitz’s hand from his shirt. ‘Fitz, as God is my witness, I had no idea what these letters contain. You know Bampfield’s reputation.’
‘And Henshaw and Wildman, but you, Lovell … ’ Fitz shook his head.
‘Bampfield told me they were for his mistress.’
‘How can I believe you?’
‘You can’t, Fitz. You just have to trust me.’
Fitz thrust the paper he was holding into his pocket. ‘I need fresh air.’
Kit looked at the pitching, swaying lantern. ‘Fitz, it is blowing a gale up there.’
But his friend did not hear him. With heavy steps, he dragged himself to the ladder and up into the cold air of the Thames Estuary.
Kit sat on the edge of the bunk for a minute, his head in his hands. Slowly he pulled on his boots and jacket and climbed the narrow ladder. It still lacked a few hours to dawn. The night was dark and the sea a boiling, angry cauldron. Only a dark mass on the horizon gave any indication of their proximity to land.
Fitz leaned against the rail, his hair and cloak blowing in the gale. They were alone except for the helmsman who stood at the wheel, seemingly impervious to the pitching deck.
Kit grasped the rail beside Fitz.
‘Why, Lovell?’ Fitz did not even turn to look at him.
Kit sighed.No more lies.‘I have my reasons, Fitz.’
‘Is that reason anything to do with Daniel?’
Kit was silent for a moment. ‘Yes. It is everything to do with Daniel.’
‘He’s dead, Kit. You sold your soul for a vain hope.’
