Page 82 of The King's Man
‘No, she isn’t,’ Mag said.
‘Good. I’d rather she didn’t see me looking like this. Draw me a bath in the kitchen, Mag, and be quick about it.’
Mag opened her mouth to protest and muttering to herself, stomped off to the kitchen.
Kit followed her and downed a glass of Martin Talbot’s best brandy while Mag and the kitchen maid drew the bath. Ignoring Mag and the kitchen scullion, who stared at him with large eyes, her hands wrapped in her grubby apron, he stripped off his filthy, reeking clothes and climbed into the small tub, his kneesaround his chin. With some of Lucy’s favourite rose-scented soap, he scrubbed at his self-disgust.
Thurloe had been right about one thing: being clean did make a difference to his view of the world. Mag fetched him a clean set of clothes and he retired to the parlour with a plate of cheese and a hunk of fresh bread and waited for Lucy.
He did not have to wait long. Lucy, her hair damp from the rain, came through the parlour door, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.
‘Kit. Oh, Kit, you’re home!’ She flung herself at him, covering his face with kisses that he returned with fulsome enthusiasm.
When they both paused for breath, Lucy exclaimed, ‘You smell nice! Is that my soap?’ She held his face in her hands and looked at him. ‘You look terrible! Have you been ill?’
‘I had a trying journey,’ he mumbled, sitting down.
‘Oh, you poor thing!’ Lucy stroked his face with tender concern in her eyes. ‘Was Norfolk that dreadful? How was your aunt?’
Kit shrugged. ‘I’m very tired, Mouse.’
Lucy sat on his knee and laid his head against her shoulder, her hand slipping under his shirt to run her fingers through the hairs on his chest. She smelt divine, and despite his exhaustion, he could feel his ardour rising. Thurloe may have been right about that too. A few hours of sport with Lucy and he could forget everything.
‘Did you bring me a present?’ she teased.
‘From Norfolk?’ Kit said. ‘What do you think I would find for you there? No, dearest, I am afraid all I bring you is myself.’
She made no protest as he began unlacing her bodice, and he gave an appreciative sigh, allowing oblivion to wash over him.
Chapter 24
Kit didn’t stir from the house in High Holborn for two days. On the third morning he woke to a grey and gloomy day. He lay for a long time, staring at the dark fingers of rain beating at the casement. Beside him, Lucy stirred but did not wake. He slipped from the bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and crossed to the window.
He stared up at the bleak sky, obscured by the high pitched roofs of the houses, and thought of his childhood home, Eveleigh Priory, what was left of it. He had tried not to think about his home in Cheshire for a long time but now he had a sudden, desperate urge to escape London and return to the soft, green countryside and bury himself in the obscurity of restoring the estates.
He sighed and stretched. He had spent the hours with Lucy trying to forget what had transpired on the Thames Estuary. He had convinced himself that nothing he could have done wouldhave prevented Fitz’s death, and he no longer felt it like a sharp pain, more a dull ache. A dull ache he could live with.
He needed to get back to work and he had to find out what had happened to Thamsine.
‘Kit?’ Lucy’s sleepy voice made him turn around. She had turned over and was looking at him, her eyes half closed. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I am thinking it is time I was dressed and abroad, Mouse. I have loitered too long.’ He located his clothes and began to dress.
She patted the bed. ‘It’s early and pouring with rain. Come back to bed.’
He looked at her for a moment and shook his head. ‘Sorry, Mouse, I have things to do.’
She pouted. ‘What things are so important?’
He crossed to bed and bent down, kissing her on the forehead. ‘Things that are no concern of yours.’
She frowned and flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh Kit, you’re so tiresome. Since you’ve been home it feels as if you are not here at all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kit extricated himself from her Medusa tendrils.
‘You are no fun anymore!’
‘I have things on my mind, Mouse.’ He paused. ‘When did you last see Mistress Granville?’
