Page 7 of The King's Man
He raised a finger. ‘Ah, now, the arrangement was that you told me your story, not that I tell you mine.’
‘There is something in the way you speak. Your accent … ’
‘My accent?’
‘It’s not quite … English.’
Kit raised his ale in a mock salute. ‘How very perceptive of you, Mistress Granville. You’re quite right. My mother was French and by dint of my parents’ unhappy marital arrangements, I didn’t learn a word of English until I was eight. The accent has never quite left me. My friends tell me it only becomes noticeable when I’m in my cups.’ Kit looked into the depths of his tankard. ‘Obviously I’ve reached that point. Now you’ve elicited far more information from me than I have from you so, in fairness, I must insist that I hold your answers in credit for another time.’
She rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for your kindness. Now I must leave you to return to the arms of your pretty mistress, who is, no doubt, wondering where you are.’
He regarded her for a moment. ‘And where would you be going?’
She glanced at the window, where snow now tumbled softly against the heavy glass, and before she could answer he raiseda hand. ‘I’ve not gone to all the trouble of pulling you out of the gutter just to send you back out there on a cold, February night. The landlord of this establishment, Jem Marsh, is a friend of mine. He’ll give you lodging.’
She frowned. ‘As we may have already established, I’ve no means of paying for this meal let alone lodging.’
‘Can you cook?’
‘No.’
‘Wash dishes?’
She paused. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Make beds?’
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘As long as I’m not expected to lie in them.’
Kit stood up and beckoned May. She sauntered over to the table and he put an arm around her waist, drawing her in towards him. ‘May, my dear. Can you fetch your brother for me?’
May’s mouth drooped. ‘That all?’
‘That’s all.’ He released her and gave her a playful slap on the rump. The girl squealed and with a coquettish glance over her shoulder to him disappeared into the kitchen.
Wiping his hands on a grubby apron, Jem Marsh appeared in the kitchen door and lumbered over to the table. The badly tied patch over his left eye didn’t quite disguise the ugly scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone. Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw Thamsine recoil as he loomed over them. What Jem Marsh lacked in looks he made up for in his good nature.
‘Well, Cap’n Lovell. The girls said you was out of the Clink. You must have the luck of the Devil. I thought you was locked away for a goodly time.’
‘Mercifully, Jem, that little misunderstanding was resolved. Now, old friend, I have a favour to ask of you.’
‘Anything, as long as ’tis legal.’ The big man laughed.
Kit indicated Thamsine. ‘This is my friend, Thamsine Granville. Mistress Granville is a lady, who through the vicissitudes of fortune with which we are all familiar, finds herself in somewhat dire circumstances. Thamsine this is my old sergeant, Jem Marsh.’
Jem looks Thamsine up and down. ‘She doesn’t look much like a lady.’
‘Well she is, and she needs some work, Jem, to pay for lodgings and food.’
‘What’s she good at?’
Kit gave Thamsine a quick, appraising look and said, ‘Not much that is useful, but I’ll warrant she’s a quick learner.’
Doubt creased Jem’s brow and he cast a glance at Thamsine.
‘You wouldn’t want to work here, love.’
‘I have little choice, Master Marsh.’ Thamsine looked up at him.
