Page 3 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

K it threw open the door to the busy taproom of The Ship Inn.

Beside him, Thamsine pulled his cloak tightly across her thin body as she surveyed the crowd.

He put an arm around her and began to guide her towards his usual table.

The woman within the circle of his arm had no more substance to her slender frame than a sparrow and she trembled like a trapped bird as he led her to a secluded corner of the taproom.

She subsided onto a stool with her back to the wall, her eyes darting around the room. The sister of the publican, a young woman with a riot of blonde curls falling from beneath a disreputable cap bounded forward, hooking her arm into his and beaming up at him.

‘Cap’n Lovell! We didn’t expect to see you out so soon!’ May’s gaze switched to Thamsine and the smile disappeared. ‘Got company I see.’

Kit suppressed a smile at the jealous suspicion in her voice.

‘A friend of mine, May,’ he replied. ‘Now, a slice of pie and a jug of ale would be appreciated.’

May sniffed and disappeared into the kitchens.

‘What did she mean when she said she didn’t expect to see you “out so soon”?’ Thamsine asked.

Kit smiled. ‘I have spent the last couple of months in the Clink. A small misunderstanding concerning a horse. Now happily resolved,’ he added

Thamsine’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve been in prison?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m often in prison. It’s an occupational hazard. Ah, here come the girls with our food.’

May was accompanied by her twin. May and Nan were identical in nearly all respects, although Nan was slightly taller with a warier, more knowing expression on her face and a sharper tongue in her head.

The girls slapped the food and drink down in front of Thamsine.

May gave her one last, baleful glance before tending to the demands of another customer.

Nan stood behind Kit running her fingers through his hair and, he had no doubt, casting Thamsine a proprietorial and suspicious look as she did so, before returning to the kitchen.

‘They seem to regard you as their private property,’ Thamsine observed. ‘Is this pie safe to eat?’

Kit laughed. ‘Those two girls have the biggest hearts in London.’

‘And the widest legs, I wouldn’t mind betting,’ she observed, her eyes on May, who flirted outrageously with a bearded man by the fireplace.

‘You are hardly in a position to cast stones on that count, Mistress Granville,’ Kit reminded her. ‘Now eat before it goes cold. I’ll warrant it’s the best pie you’ll have tasted for some little while.’

Kit picked up the pot of ale and took a deep draught as he regarded the woman who sat opposite him, demolishing the pie with all the grace and elegance of the roughest soldier he had ever known.

Thamsine Granville, if that was her real name, appeared to be an educated and intelligent woman.

Even if properly nourished she would still have been considered too thin for beauty.

However, beneath the grime, she had an arresting face with high cheekbones and large brown eyes.

Her mouth was wide and mobile. Her long nose curved slightly upwards.

A strong nose on an interesting face. In the right circumstances, he thought, Thamsine Granville would not go unnoticed.

He finished his ale and poured himself another one.

His reasons for going to her aid, not once but twice, went beyond altruism.

True, her haunted eyes had touched something within him.

He, more than anyone, knew what it was to be balanced on the edge, as this woman seemed to be.

However, he also recognised that she could be useful; a card to be played when the time was right.

In the meantime, it seemed he was stuck with her.

He pushed his platter, with his serving of pie, across to her.

She looked up at him and he inclined his head.

After a momentary hesitation, she polished it off, wiping the last of the gravy up with a piece of bread.

When she had done, she set aside the shining platters, taking a deep draught of ale from her tankard.

‘You have some colour in your cheeks again. Do you feel better?’ Kit remarked, refilling her cup.

She nodded. ‘Better than I have for months. Thank you, Master Lovell, or is that Captain Lovell?’

He waved his hand. ‘Kit. I think after what you and I have been through today, we can dispense with formalities. May I call you Thamsine? That is your name?’

She hesitated for a moment and nodded. ‘It is.’

He leaned forward. ‘Well, Thamsine Granville, as I have saved your life twice today, I think it is time to claim some form of reward.’

Her eyes widened and her cheeks coloured. Her lips parted slightly and she swallowed. ‘Do you have a room we could go to? I have no wish to try another alley and no coin to pay you.’

Kit stared at her. Did she think that after everything she had been through that day, he wanted her body? The idea was preposterous. Anyway, why would he want this scrawny, dirty scrap of womanhood when Lucy waited for him in her warm, comfortable house in Holborn?

Without thinking, he laughed out loud. ‘My dear Thamsine, did you think I meant that sort of payment?’

The colour in her cheeks darkened and she looked away. ‘I have nothing else.’

His smile faded at the misery on her face.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’m not so mean-minded as to demand such a recompense.

’ The smile crept back onto his face. ‘Anyway, I prefer my women with a bit more meat on them. No, Mistress Granville, all I request by way of reward is your story.’

She looked at him, her eyes widening. ‘My story?’

He nodded. ‘I would like to know how the gently born Thamsine Granville came to be trying her hand at whoring in the streets of London. Oh yes – with a bit of attempted assassination on the side.’

‘How do you know I was gently born?’

Your voice, your demeanour, everything about you.

‘A guess, nothing more. Let us start with a simple question. Where are you from?’

She took a deep breath, her gaze flitting to a space above his head. ‘You’ve been very good to me, Master Lovell, but you owe me no more kindness. You must have a wife and a home to go to.’

‘Neither. I told you I am like you, flotsam adrift on the streets of London. I have all night to hear your tale if that’s what it takes.’

He refilled both their cups and sat back, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs as if in anticipation of the tale that would follow.

Thamsine’s eyes darted around the crowded taproom. Was she seeking inspiration or an escape route?

Kit tried again. ‘All I wish to know, Thamsine Granville, is what has brought you to this impasse?’

‘Captain Lovell.’ She returned her gaze to him.

This time her eyes were steady. ‘What has brought me to my present position is of no interest or concern to you. I have no wish to confide my story in anyone, whatever the debt I owe them. Suffice to say that I have lost everything in the world I hold dear and what little I brought with me to London has been either stolen or sold. I have nothing of interest or value.’

‘So you’re reduced to selling yourself?’

The blunt words caused a flush to rise again to her pale cheeks. She looked away, resting her chin on her hand and he thought he could detect the glint of tears on her eyelashes.

He tried again. ‘What did you hope to achieve by killing the Lord Protector?’

This time what little colour she had drained from her cheeks as she stared at him. ‘Kill the Lord Protector? I didn’t mean … I would never … ’

She recollected herself and looked down at her cup and this time a tear dropped from her lashes into the dregs of the ale.

Kit leaned forward. ‘Whatever your intention, you only missed him by inches. You could hang if they caught you. If you are intent on assassinating Cromwell, you won’t kill him with brickbats, Mistress Granville.’ He lowered his voice, ‘There are better ways to kill a king.’

She looked up. ‘Is that what brings you to London?’

He laughed and sat back, taking a draught of ale.

‘Me? No, Thamsine. All that brings me to London is the pretty face of my mistress and the promise of some lucrative games of cards. I’m done with soldiering and conspiracies.

As far as I’m concerned Cromwell is welcome to England.

’ He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

‘Like you, I’ve lost everything. Some would say that the only thing I have left is my honour and, believe me, even that is a poor commodity. ’

She tilted her head, her gaze scrutinising his face. ‘And Where are you from, Captain Lovell?’

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?’