Page 60 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

N an Marsh stood in the doorway of Thamsine’s bed chamber at the house in Turnham Green, her eyes wet with tears and her mouth trembling as she held out a paper.

Thamsine did not move. She knew what news Nan brought.

‘No,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘I had hoped … a reprieve, surely.’

Nan shook her head.

‘This morning,’ she said. ‘The man who brought this said it was this morning at dawn. Said he died like a gentleman. Jem said I was to bring it to you without delay.’ Nan proffered the letter again. ‘Take it, Mistress Thamsine. They said ’tis from him.’

Thamsine recoiled from the letter as if it were on fire.

‘No, I can’t … ’ She wrapped her arms around herself, fearing that if she took the paper she would fall apart.

Nan swallowed, her mouth tightening. She crossed to Thamsine and took her by the arm.

‘Take it,’ she ordered.

Thamsine snatched at the paper and looked at her name written in an awkward scrawl.

She clutched it to her chest and from deep within her a howl of despair rose, an animal noise that had nothing to do with human reason but came from the very depth of primal despair.

She sank to her knees on the floor, doubling over as the dry, retching sobs shook her.

Nan’s arm circled her shoulders, her head resting on her back. She heard the girl’s sobs but had no comfort for her.

Kit was dead. Dead . The word reverberated in her mind.

Everyone she had ever loved was dead. Even Jane would leave her before many more months were out.

‘Mistress is asking what the trouble is.’ Thamsine heard the maid’s voice.

Nan rose to her feet. ‘He’s dead.’

‘Who?’

‘Her husband, you ninny,’ Nan bridled, ‘Here, she needs her sister, not us two useless lumps. Give us a hand.’

Thamsine allowed herself to be lifted upright, supported on either side and led, almost as a blind person, to the chamber where Jane sat in a well-cushioned chair before the window.

At the sight of Jane’s pale, anxious face looking up at her, full of concern and love, she ran to her sister.

Like a child she fell at her feet, burying her face in Jane’s skirts.

‘Lovell?’ she heard Jane ask.

Nan must have nodded. ‘Oh dearest,’ Jane whispered, stroking her hair.

At the touch of the loving hand, the tears began, an unstoppable flood of grief.

‘There, you cry. ‘Tis the best thing you can do.’

There was a pause and Jane’s tone changed as she addressed Nan.

‘When?’

‘This morning,’ Nan replied. ‘They brought a letter for her.’ The letter Thamsine still held, crushed and unopened in her hand. ‘Mistress, I cannot stay. I’ve got the loan of Jack’s pony and he needs it back this afternoon.’

‘Thank you … ’ Jane hesitated. ‘ … Sorry, I can’t remember your name.’

‘Nan Marsh, ma’am. I’m a friend of Thamsine’s and Captain Lovell’s.’ Nan’s sharp voice cracked. ‘Anything we can do, Jem, May, and I, anything. We loved him too.’

‘Thank you, Nan,’ Jane said. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Peggy, see that Mistress Marsh gets some refreshment before she returns to London.’

The door closed. Jane stooped and lifted Thamsine’s face.

‘Dearest, I’m so sorry.’

Thamsine rose to her feet and, shaking off her sister’s hand, turned to look out at the garden, bright with summer flowers on a perfect, cloudless morning.

She looked down at the paper in her hand and laid it on the windowsill, smoothing out the creases, trying to get some sense of the man who had written her name.

So much life, snuffed out like a candle, reduced to a cold corpse.

Yet he had been alive when he had written this.

Not even twenty-four hours had passed since she had last seen him.

She wondered where he was, what had they done with him. Had they buried him already? She frowned. Should she claim the body and return him to Eveleigh?

She ran down the stairs to the kitchen, where she found Nan just about to leave.

‘Where is he, Nan?’

The girl looked at her. ‘Jem asked where he were. Said you would want a proper burial for him but they said he were already … ’ The girl swallowed. ‘ … Already buried. There in the Tower. Do you want … ?’

Thamsine gasped and recoiled. Even the simple act of laying him to rest had been denied her?

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Let him be for now.’

When she was stronger, when the shock had passed, then she would see Thurloe and claim him.

Nan sniffed. ‘They brought his things. They’re at the inn. I didn’t think to bring ’em with me.’

Thamsine looked away as she struggled to regain her composure. She didn’t have the strength to make any decisions.

‘Keep them for me. I will send for them shortly.’ She threw her arms around her friend. ‘Thank you, Nan, thank you for everything.’

After Nan had left, Thamsine returned to Jane’s room. She picked up the letter from the windowsill where she had left it and broke the seal.

‘Dearest Thamsine … ’ she read aloud.

Her eyes filling with tears, she slid down to the floor and sat with her back against the wall, trying to decipher the terrible handwriting and make sense of Kit’s last words to her. With her forefinger, she traced every letter.

When she had finished, she pressed the paper to her lips and inhaled deeply, trying to see if some scent of him remained.

At least she had this. At least she knew he loved her.

It was more than many women had. She thought of those women who had lost the men they loved in the long years of war. What comfort did they have?

‘Thamsine?’ Jane, who had kept her silence as Thamsie read the letter, held out her hand.

Thamsine rose slowly and slid to the floor at her sister’s feet, laying her head against her knee. Jane stroked the hair away from her forehead as if she were a child again, just as she had done when Thamsine’s mother had died.

‘What will you do?’ Jane asked.

With a slight shake of her head, Thamsine replied. ‘I’ll stay with you, Jane. You and the girls are all I have left.’

‘Now is probably not the time to ask but I don’t have much time and I would like to go home, Thamsine, back to Hartley, where we were both happy. I want to die at Hartley, not here where there are so many difficult memories.’

Hartley . Thamsine had not even thought about her family home, and now she felt it calling to her. Jane was right; London held too many difficult memories. At Hartley she could heal.

Thamsine nodded. ‘I would like to do that for you,’ she said. ‘What about Roger?’

Jane’s lips tightened. ‘Roger’s opinion is of no interest to me. Can we leave tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Thamsine echoed. ‘Why not? If a coach can be arranged.’

She leaned against her sister’s knee, drained of life, incapable of moving, thinking, and making any more decisions. She just wanted to sleep, to sleep and forget that the man she loved was dead.