Page 49 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

M ay carefully tilted the pan of hot wax across the candle moulds.

‘Hold it still, Thamsine,’ she grumbled. ‘You really aren’t cut out for hard work, are you?’

Thamsine shook her head.

May set the pan down and sank onto the stool. Her natural good spirits were returning, but she had moments of terrible melancholy and Thamsine recognised now as one of them. The girl’s brow creased and a tear ran down her cheek. Thamsine moved to take her in her arms but May held up a hand.

‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’ She took a deep, quivering sigh. ‘When do you suppose it stops hurting?’

Thamsine knew she meant the emotional pain, not the physical bruises, which after three days were already fading to a purple-green.

May’s bruises served as a reminder of her own violent encounters with Ambrose Morton.

If it hadn’t been for Kit Lovell, who had dulled the pain with his love, she may have been lost forever.

‘I don’t think it does, May, not really. It’s always there.’

May looked at her and took her hand. ‘I forget you’ve had your moments with the bastard. I’ve always liked a bit of a romp with a man,’ she said. ‘No harm done, a bit of fun and a shilling perhaps for later, but always my choice. Never done it against me will before. What he did … ’

Another tear started to course down her cheek.

‘What he did was done to your body, May, not to your heart.’ Thamsine put a hand on her friend’s chest. ‘He can’t hurt what’s inside you.’

May’s lips twisted into a weak smile. ‘Listen to me. What a misery. I’ll be fine. Just see if I’m not!’

Thamsine reached out for the girl’s hand and squeezed it.

‘I’ll see the brute dead. You both have my word on that.’

Both women looked up to see Kit sitting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, roughly dressed in breeches and a shirt.

‘How long have you been there?’ Thamsine demanded.

‘Not long. It took me a full five minutes just to get down the stairs. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t be up, and how did you get dressed?’ Thamsine demanded.

‘With difficulty,’ Kit responded with a glimmer of his old humour, ‘but I’m not going to lie in bed being fussed over any longer. Three days with you wittering women is enough for any man. Where is everyone?’

‘Nan’s gone to do some shopping. Jem’s in the taproom,’ Thamsine replied.

Kit pulled himself to his feet, wincing as he did so, and holding his ribs with his good hand, limped over to the chair where he subsided.

Thamsine poured him a cup of small ale.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘May has been showing me how to make candles. My sister would tell me that work is good for the soul,’ Thamsine said.

May smiled. ‘Helps make things seem more normal.’

The door opened and Nan stepped in, shaking the water from her cloak.

‘Pelting down, it is.’ She glared at Kit. ‘’Ere, what you doing out of bed?’ She set the basket she carried on the table. ‘Never mind. There’s bin no sign of that devil Morton. Jem has a boy watching the house … says he’s laid up good and proper.’

‘If he feels anything like me, he’ll be keeping his head down for a few weeks yet,’ Kit said with what Thamsine detected as a gleam of satisfaction in his eye.

‘With any luck you killed him,’ May responded.

Kit shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘More’s the pity,’ Nan responded. ‘I’ve a message for you.’ She handed over a grubby, slightly damp piece of paper.

Kit took it and gave it to Thamsine. ‘You read it. I recognise the seal and I don’t want to know what’s in it.’

Thamsine broke the seal and read the few scrawled lines. She swore in an unladylike fashion. Thurloe required Lovell attend him immediately. She handed it to him and he read it without emotion on his face.

‘He calls, I must go,’ he said with weary resignation.

‘And how do you plan to get to Whitehall?’ Thamsine asked.

Kit managed a watery smile. ‘Very slowly.’

‘I’m coming too,’ Thamsine declared flatly. ‘Whatever Thurloe has to say, he can say to both of us.’

***

They found Thurloe in his office in Whitehall. He rose to his feet as they entered and looked them both up and down.

‘Well, well, the Lovells. What a fine pair you make.’

‘Excuse me, Thurloe. I am in no mood for your jesting.’ Kit lowered himself painfully onto a chair and rubbed his right knee.

‘You have looked better, Lovell,’ Thurloe remarked. ‘Footpads, your wife tells me?’

‘That’s right,’ Kit said. ‘Ten of them.’

Thurloe raised an eyebrow.

‘Why do you want to see me?’ Kit continued.

‘I thought you might like to know that we got everyone, except Henshaw and you of course. Happily for you, Henshaw managed to get away in circumstances that might suggest to the casual observer that he could have been the agent.’

‘Is he one of yours?’ Kit enquired.

Thurloe shrugged. ‘I don’t care about Henshaw. However, I do care that we haven’t found the Frenchman.’

‘De Baas?’ Kit asked.

Thurloe’s lip curled. ‘That popinjay is already on his way back to France with a flea in his ear. No, the other Frenchman, the assassin.’

‘Debigné? He was not with De Baas?’

‘No,’ Thurloe replied sourly. ‘And De Baas swears he has no idea where he is. Says Debigné operates alone. Is there any chance you know where he could be?’

Kit shook his head. ‘No. I couldn’t find him. He changes lodgings every day or two and I doubt even Henshaw or Gerard would know where to find him. They used to leave messages in a location I wasn’t privy to if they wanted to meet him.’

Thurloe pressed his fingertips together. ‘Do you think he’ll carry out the plan even though the plot is discovered?’

Kit considered for a moment. ‘He’s a professional, Thurloe. He has been well paid to do a job. Yes, I think he would.’

‘So when will he strike?’

‘What day is it?’

‘Saturday.’

‘Tomorrow then, as Cromwell leaves the chapel. He’ll be there,’ Kit said with certainty.

Thurloe was silent. ‘You’re the only one who knows what he looks like.’

Kit raised his head. ‘Thurloe, look at me! I am in no condition to stop a determined old woman, let alone an assassin.’

‘I just need you to identify him, that’s all.’

‘Just stop Cromwell going to chapel tomorrow,’ Thamsine put in.

Thurloe looked at her. ‘If this man is a professional, do you think changing the Lord Protector’s routine will make a difference? None of us will be able to sleep at night until Debigné is caught.’

Kit looked at his master. ‘Are you scared, Thurloe?’

Thurloe returned the look. ‘I’m not a soldier, Lovell, and I’ve no wish to spend my life looking over my shoulder on the off-chance a murderous French assassin may be on the lookout for me. I know I was on the list.’

Kit ran his good hand over his eyes.

‘I don’t have a choice, do I, Thurloe?’

‘Lovell, you have my word that this will be the very last time I call on you.’

Kit looked up at Thamsine. ‘Did you hear that, Thamsine? I have the Secretary’s word that this is the last time.’

Thamsine took Kit’s hand and looked at Thurloe. ‘Then we are free?’

Thurloe nodded. He looked at Kit. ‘When Debigné is caught, we will settle our final account, Lovell.’