The King's Man Read online

Kit stayed put, his eyes resting on Thamsine’s face.

  ‘Take care, Thamsine.’

  He smiled at her as the soldier’s grip tightened and he turned Kit, propelling him in the direction of one of the round towers.

  ‘Kit?’ she called after him.

  He stopped and turned back.

  She spoke in French, not wishing the guard to understand her. ‘What will become of us?’

  His eyes held hers, his face unreadable, and he replied in French, ‘Take each day as it comes, Thamsine, and if you believe in God, pray for us both.’

  The soldier gave him a shove and Kit stumbled, hampered by the chains. He exchanged some sharp words with his escort that Thamsine could not quite make out. She watched until he had been swallowed up by the dark mouth of the Tower, then sank down on the damp stones with her back to the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She lowered her head and for the first time in her weeks of incarceration, she wept.

  ‘Dry your tears, Mistress Granville.’ The hard voice of Barkstead made her look up. He stood looking down at her, his hands on his hips. ‘Master Thurloe wishes to speak with you.’

  The room overlooking the Thames was just as she remembered it and would remember it until her dying day. This time John Thurloe was alone and she was not manacled. She dropped a respectful curtsey, which he acknowledged with an inclination of his head.

  ‘Imprisonment has taught you some manners, Mistress Granville. Take a seat.’ He gestured at the same oak chair she had sat in last time. As she settled herself, he sat back in his chair and considered her. ‘You will be relieved to know that the Lord Protector has reviewed your case and has decided that no further action is to be taken against you. You will be released at the conclusion of this interview.’

  Thamsine raised her eyes and looked up at the Secretary of State. She could feel the relief flooding her body.

  ‘Oh thank you!’

  ‘Don’t thank me, Mistress Granville. There are conditions attached.’

  ‘Anything.’ Anything would be better than another day, another hour in the Tower of London.

  ‘You must repay the damage to the coach.’

  Panic arose like a gorge in her throat as the walls closed in on her once more.

  ‘I have no money. I have nothing.’

  ‘I am aware of your circumstances, Mistress Granville.’ He pressed his fingers together. ‘The debt is one that can be repaid through means other than money.’

  She paled, her mind turning over the possibilities, none of them good. ‘What do you mean?’

  Thurloe regarded her with hooded eyes. ‘I mean, Mistress Granville, that you are now indebted to the Commonwealth and that debt may be called in at any time.’ He paused, his lips twitching in a smile. Thamsine sensed that he took some pleasure from her paling face. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘I think I may have a solution to this dilemma. A means by which the debt can be repaid that I am sure you will find acceptable.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Thurloe pressed his fingertips together. ‘I believe you have some talent with music, Mistress Granville.’

  ‘Some,’ conceded Thamsine. ‘Although lately it has been confined to singing bawdy songs in an inn.’

  ‘Do you play the lute?’

  She nodded. ‘And the virginals.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Thurloe smiled. ‘In fact, it couldn’t be better.’

  Thamsine shifted in her chair. Thurloe’s smile was unsettling.

  ‘You will be happy to know I have some useful employment for you.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Doing what you do best. Teaching music, Mistress Granville. Would that present a problem?’

  Thamsine shook her head in amazement at this extraordinary turn in her fortunes. She had expected a pronouncement of death, not the offer of freedom and useful employment.

  ‘Who?’ She could barely aspirate the word.

  ‘The French Ambassador, Baron Bordeaux, has a pretty English mistress, Mary Skippon. He is anxious for Mistress Skippon to improve her accomplishments and has been looking for a suitable music teacher. He will pay handsomely, I do not doubt.’

  Thamsine frowned. ‘And you wish me to teach this woman music?’

  ‘Singing, lute and virginals. Three mornings a week.’

  ‘And my remuneration will go to the repair of the coach?’

  ‘Oh no. What you do with your coin is your concern. I imagine food and lodging would be something of a priority.’ Thurloe leaned forward. ‘No, all I ask of you, Mistress Granville, is to keep your ears and eyes open. You speak French?’

  Thamsine nodded.

  ‘You speak it well?’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Then you are to act as if you don’t. If they believe you do not understand what is being said, things may be said in your presence that would normally be kept behind closed doors.’

  Thamsine’s eyes widened as the implications of what he was saying dawned on her. ‘You want me to be a spy for you?’

  He flinched. ‘I prefer the word agent.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  Thurloe shrugged. ‘Anything that you think may be of interest. Any mention of Charles Stuart, for example. I am particularly interested in a man called Baron de Baas. Indeed, if an opportunity arises, it would be helpful if you were to befriend the good Baron.’

  ‘You expect a lot of me.’

  ‘The Baron likes a pretty face, and … ’ Thurloe regarded her with his head cocked on one side ‘ … clean and in a decent gown I am sure you would be quite presentable.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Thamsine replied in a voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘How friendly am I expected to be?’

  If Thurloe detected the edge of sarcasm in her voice, he chose to ignore it. ‘That is entirely up to you, Mistress Granville. Now, do I have your agreement to this proposal?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  Thurloe’s hooded eyes considered her from over the top of his steepled fingers. ‘You always have choices, Mistress Granville. The alternative is to spend the next few years in the Tower. Now, do I have your agreement? Your debt to the Commonwealth stands, and my next offer may not be quite so agreeable.’

  Thamsine looked up at the intricate knots in the plasterwork on the ceiling. He had her trapped and he knew it. She gave a small shrug of her right shoulder.

  ‘Very well. When do I start?’

  ‘Baron Bordeaux will expect you the day after tomorrow at ten in the morning at his residence. You have been recommended to him by my wife, Dame Elizabeth Thurloe, should the question arise. You have been instructing her in music for the last six months.’

  Thamsine blinked. ‘I have?’

  ‘And she is most satisfied.’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it.’

  ‘Of course I would only employ the best tutor for my wife, and she has written you a letter of recommendation. Now one last thing.’ Thurloe pushed a small purse across the table. ‘That should be sufficient to purchase some respectable clothes more suitable to your genteel station in life, Mistress Granville.’

  Thamsine’s fingers closed over the purse, feeling the hard edges of the coin through the soft leather.

  ‘There is also the question of your lodging,’ Thurloe continued. ‘I would advise you not to return to the Ship Inn. Apart from the fact that singing of bawdy songs in a tavern is hardly suitable employment for a lady, the inn is a den of known malignants and is not, I suggest, a sensible place for you to be. Seek respectable lodgings, Mistress Granville.’ Thurloe pushed a paper over to her. ‘Now sign this acknowledgement and you’re free.’

  Thamsine picked up the pen he proffered and stared at the paper, a short, concise acknowledgement of debt, omitting any reference as to how the debt was to be repaid. She signed her name. She was now in the employment of the man she had tried to kill. The world turned in a strange manner.

  ‘How do I inform you of any information I acquire?’

 
‘I will provide you with a contact. He will make himself known to you soon enough. You and I should have no reason to meet again. I will expect at least a weekly report, even if there is nothing of apparent interest.’

  Thamsine looked down at the purse in her hand. ‘And this money?’

  ‘Repayable in six months. An interest-free loan.’ Thurloe was no longer looking at her, his face hidden behind a large paper. ‘Now, good day to you, Mistress Granville.’

  Thamsine rose and turned to leave. She had almost reached the door when she hesitated, swivelling to look back at John Thurloe.

  ‘Master Thurloe, what is to become of Captain Lovell?’

  He set down the paper and stared at her, unblinking.

  ‘Captain Lovell’s fate is no concern of yours. Now go, before you try my patience.’

  The last few steps to the door were accomplished in quick time. She shut the door behind her and found the Lieutenant of the Tower waiting for her. He thrust a bundle at her.

  ‘Your belongings, Mistress. The Lord Protector must be feeling in a particularly generous mood today. Follow me.’

  Clutching her bundle to her chest, she followed the Lieutenant through the gates, taking in all the details that had been lost on her when she had arrived.

  It had been snowing and the snow lay in drifts against the grey walls. Thamsine shivered as the cold wind off the river bit through her inadequate clothes as she waited for the heavy gate to be opened. Barkstead took her by the arm and thrust her out onto the bridge across the foetid moat.

  ‘If you’ve any sense in your head, young woman, you won’t be back again,’ he said.

  As the gates closed behind her, Thamsine set down her bundle and stretched out her arms, taking a deep breath. Much as she had hated it, freedom was now as precious to her as her own life had been. As she began to walk through the narrow streets, she contemplated the strange twist of fate.

  I am merely a music teacher, she told herself, with a penchant for gossip. That’s all I am. Not a spy, not an agent. She felt the comforting weight of the coins in her purse and smiled. Maybe there were worse things in life to be than an agent for John Thurloe, at least for the moment.

  Chapter 5

  Despite Thurloe’s advice, Thamsine returned to The Ship Inn. At the end of the day she had nowhere else to go, and no one who could offer her friendship as the Marshes had done.

  She pushed open the door of the quiet taproom. Jem looked up from polishing the pewter mugs and smiled.

  ‘Well, well, let you go, did they?’

  She nodded. ‘It was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jem agreed with a knowing wink. ‘Looking for your old job, are you?’

  Thamsine shook her head and straightened. ‘No, I am seeking proper lodgings.’

  Jem squinted at her with his one good eye. ‘Come into some money, have you?’

  Thamsine produced the purse. ‘I have secured respectable employment. Now, Master Marsh, a plain, comfortable room is all I need.’

  A shriek from the doorway announced May Marsh. ‘You’re back! Nan, she’s back.’

  Clasped to May’s ample bosom, Thamsine looked over her head at the twin who gave a cursory nod of her head and a half smile of welcome.

  ‘She’s here for lodging. Got herself a proper job, she has. Show Mistress Granville to the small bedchamber,’ Jem said, with a low bow.

  ‘Oh!’ May released Thamsine and looked up at her. ‘Watcha going to be doing?’

  ‘A music tutor in the household of the French Ambassador.’

  ‘Go on!’ Nan’s voice was disbelieving. ‘You get carted off to the Tower, on charges of attempting to do in Old Ironsides no less, and a few weeks later you’re released with a job at the Frog Ambassador’s?’

  Thamsine shrugged. ‘Well that’s how it happened. Now I am filthy and stinking and would really like a bath. Is such a thing possible?’

  The twins looked at each other. ‘A bath?’ they chorused, as if such an idea had never entered their heads.

  ‘A bath to begin with,’ Thamsine said. ‘And if I can borrow some respectable petticoats from someone, I must go shopping for new clothes.’

  ~ * ~

  ‘No!’ Kit brought his manacled hand crashing down on the table.

  The pen stand jumped out of its neat alignment with the inkpot. Thurloe calmly restored it to its rightful place.

  ‘You have no choice, Lovell. The girl trusts you.’

  ‘Trusts me? Thurloe, she’s no fool. As soon as I reveal my colours, she will work out who put her in the Tower in the first place. What trust will she have in me then?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what she feels about you,’ Thurloe replied, the hooded eyes cold. ‘She has no more choice in this matter than you.’

  Kit ran his hands through his hair, causing the chains to clank. ‘Thurloe, she’s a friend.’

  Thurloe’s eyes flashed. ‘They’re all friends, Lovell, and yet you have no compunction about turning them in. I’ve told you before, you cannot afford to allow friendships to stand in the way of this business.’

  Kit stared at the man, hating him with every fibre of his being. Thurloe rendered him as helpless as a fly struggling in a spider’s web. The harder the small creature struggled, the stronger the bonds around it became. It seemed every time he met with John Thurloe another part of his soul became ensnared by the man. He wondered how long it would be before Thurloe’s web bound him forever.

  Kit’s fingers closed over the bag of coins Thurloe pushed across the table, and he strode from the room without another word.

  ~ * ~

  Thamsine smoothed the petticoats of her new green wool gown. A spotless collar and cuffs edged with lace, new shoes that pinched her feet, and a hat and sturdy cloak completed the ensemble. She had tamed her hair within the confines of a neat white cap, and she hoped that she presented a picture of genteel modesty.

  Clutching the folio containing some sheet music that she had also purchased the previous day, she knocked on the door of the French Ambassador’s house.

  Baron Bordeaux greeted her in the parlour.

  ‘Mademoiselle Granville, I am so glad you could come,’ he enthused, as if she were an honoured guest, not a prospective employee. ‘The Lord Protector spoke most highly of you.’

  Thamsine’s eyes widened. ‘The Lord Protector?’

  ‘Indeed, he said that you had made quite an impression on him at your last meeting.’

  Thamsine swallowed. ‘Well, I hope that I can live up to the Lord Protector’s opinion of me,’ she said.

  ‘Now, tell me, do you speak French?’

  ‘I am afraid not,’ Thamsine replied.

  ‘It must be something of a problem for you in the rendering of French lyrics, mam’selle,’ he observed.

  Thamsine flushed. ‘I read the words but I am afraid I do not understand the meaning.’

  ‘Well, perhaps we can help with that. A little, how would you say … “quid pro quo”? As it is, your pupil is English so language will not be a problem. Marie, ma cherie?’

  He only raised his voice slightly, and a side door opened to admit a slight woman with protruding teeth and freckles. Bordeaux’s mistress was not what Thamsine had expected. Thurloe’s idea of the “pretty English mistress” was not hers. Even in a poor light Mary Skippon would only be described as passably plain. However, Thamsine considered uncharitably, she must be possessed of hidden talents that brought her to the bed of one of the most powerful men in the country.

  ‘Mistress Skippon is most anxious to improve her skills in the lute and the virginals.’ Bordeaux indicated a table in the corner of the room where a closed, painted box sat beside a lute. ‘Would you be so kind as to give us an example of your work, mademoiselle?’

  Thamsine selected a piece of music from her folio and opened the box. A pretty piece, she thought, admiring the bucolic scenes of shepherds and shepherdesses cavorting across the inside of the lid. She spared a thought for her own pla
in and unadorned virginals, sitting disused at Hartley Court.

  It had been a long time since she had played, but her fingers caressed the keys with practised familiarity. She had selected a simple English country air and she sang as she played. Mary Skippon applauded as the last note died away.

  ‘Oh, that was lovely. Do you think I shall play like that, Baron?’ She looked up at her lover and he smiled and patted her hand.

  ‘I am sure Mistress Granville will do her very best for you, my dear. We are agreed, Mistress Granville, you will come on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at ten in the morning and spend two hours in the instruction of Mistress Skippon.’

  He named, as Thurloe had said he would, a comfortable fee.

  ‘If Mistress Skippon wishes, we could start instruction immediately,’ Thamsine said.

  ‘Excellente!’ Bordeaux smiled. He had a charming smile beneath the moustache. He picked up Mary Skippon’s hand and kissed it. ‘Until this evening, cherie.’

  She giggled and watched as the door closed behind him. ‘You are not shocked, Mistress Granville?’

  ‘Why should I be shocked? You are fortunate to have so attentive a man.’

  ‘His wife does not agree,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘She will be even less than enamoured when she discovers that I am with child.’

  As she spoke she placed a hand protectively on her still-flat stomach. The smile became a small, tight smile of triumph. An ugly look on the plain face, Thamsine thought.

  Thamsine retrieved a piece of music from her folio. ‘Now, Mistress Skippon, shall we commence with the lute?’

  Mary Skippon had no ear for music. After half an hour, Thamsine tried not to grimace as the girl hit yet another wrong note in the simple air that she was attempting. She wondered, as she gazed out of the window at the wintry sunshine, whether she should have accepted Thurloe’s offer with quite such alacrity.

  Both women looked up as the door opened to admit a man dressed in what Thamsine could only hazard was the most outrageous of Paris fashion, a red velvet suit covered in silver lace and bows. He gave them both a deep, florid, all-encompassing bow.

  ‘Pardonez-moi,’ he said, as he straightened. ‘I heard the voice of an angel and just had to see for myself. Mademoiselle Skippon … ’