Page 8 of The King's Man
‘Jem to me friends, miss.’ He scratched his head. ‘Well if you’ve a mind to it and can manage a few rough sorts, I’ll take you on Capn’ Lovell’s recommendation.’ He tapped his patch and in a lowered voice, added, ‘If you’ve a mind to making a few shillings on the side, I’m willing to turn a blind eye, lady or no.’
‘No,’ Thamsine said, the colour staining her cheeks as she caught his meaning. ‘I’ve no need of those sorts of shillings. I am happy to serve drinks, sweep floors, wash dishes, anything, Master Marsh.’
Jem shrugged. ‘You can doss in with the girls. You met my sisters, Nan and May? Nan’s got a bit of a tongue in her head but she don’t mean much by it. You won’t mind, will you, girls?’ he bellowed across the room.
Nan and May poked their heads out of the kitchen. ‘Mind what?’ Nan asked.
‘This here’s Cap’n Lovell’s friend, Thamsine. She’s coming to work for us. You don’t mind her dossing down with you?’
The ensuing pause indicated that neither girl thought this arrangement particularly satisfactory.
‘Just as long as she’s the open-minded sort,’ May said at last.
‘Good. That’s settled.’ Kit drained his cup and rose to his feet. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Thamsine, I have an appointment to be kept.’
‘Will I see you again?’ Thamsine clutched his sleeve.
He looked down at the small, cold, chapped hand and put his hand over it, squeezing the fingers. ‘My friends and I meet here regularly for a drink and a game of cards. You will probably see me tomorrow night.’
She released her grip on his arm and straightened. A small smile caught at the corners of her mouth. ‘Good night, Captain Lovell, and thank you.’
He inclined his head. ‘Until next time, Thamsine. Keep her away from brickbats, Jem.’
The big man frowned. ‘Brickbats?’
Thamsine stared at Kit, the alarm shining in her eyes.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Kit said and winked at her. ‘Until tomorrow.’
‘Private parlour?’ Jem asked.
Kit nodded, shrugging his cloak across his shoulders. As he opened the door on a flurry of snow, he turned to look back.
Thamsine had turned to face the Marsh twins, who regarded her with such intensity that she looked like a moth trapped in a flame, her wings singeing under their gaze.
‘So, m’lady, fancy yourself as a taproom wench, do you?’ Nan flung a grimy apron at Thamsine. ‘Well, you can start with washing the platters.’
Kit smiled and shut the door.
***
Kit walked through the snow-driven streets to High Holborn where Lucy Talbot, the widow of the late Martin Talbot, wine merchant, had a small, comfortable dwelling above what used to be the wine shop.
‘Kit!’
He barely had time to shut the door against the snow as Lucy hurled herself down the stairs and into his arms, covering his face with kisses.
‘Where have you been?’ she cried, repeating the phrase between kisses.
He disengaged her, allowing himself the luxury of one last, lingering kiss. ‘Lucy, dearest, I’m cold and wet and longing for the warmth of your fire.’
She fumbled at the sodden knot on his cloak, pulling the wet garment from his shoulders and abandoning it in a soggy pile on the floor. Kit retrieved it and, carrying it before him, followed Lucy upstairs into the warmth of her parlour. He flung the cloak over the back of a chair to dry, together with his hat and gloves. He gave the dispirited feather in his new hat a regretful glance, setting it down to take the glass of wine that Lucy offered him.
He held up the fine glass, his fingers ridiculously large for the slender, twisted stem, and swirled the ruby contents, watching the play of light from the candles through the liquid before taking a deep draught of the excellent vintage. He silently thanked the good fortune that had thrown him in the path of a wealthy wine merchant’s widow.
Lucy traced a finger across his brow and down his nose. Her touch sent lightning bolts of desire shooting through his body.
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Lucy pouted. ‘Where have you been these last weeks?’
