Page 65 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)
T hamsine drew her knees up to her chin and stared out of the window at the well-ordered gardens and familiar view of her childhood.
‘What are you thinking, Aunt?’ Her niece’s voice made her jump, and she turned to look at Rebecca.
Rebecca’s serious face studied her from beneath an immaculate white cap. She looked older and wiser than her fourteen years. Thamsine patted the window ledge and the girl sat down beside her, her back rigidly straight.
‘I was thinking about my childhood,’ she said. ‘My brother and I used to climb the trees in the apple orchard and ride our ponies in the home paddock.’
Rebecca’s eyes widened. ‘You used to climb trees?’
Thamsine nodded.
‘I would never … ’ Rebecca looked down at the prayer book in her hand. ‘Aunt … ’
‘Rebecca?’
‘Is mother dying?’
Thamsine sighed. Nothing would be gained from lies. ‘Yes, dearest. I doubt she will see the week out.’
‘What will become of us?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Father says that we must leave Hartley and return to the house in Turnham Green.’
‘Don’t you want to go home to London?’
Rebecca shook her head.
Thamsine put a hand over the small, fine-boned hand clasping the prayer book. ‘You will always be welcome to visit me here.’
Rebecca’s face brightened. ‘Promise?’
Thamsine nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘Will you come back to London?’
‘No,’ Thamsine said with absolute certainty. London held too many painful memories. Nothing would induce her to return to London.
‘Will you marry again?’
Thamsine smoothed the folds of her black skirt and shook her head. ‘No. I shall never marry again.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Who?’
‘Your husband.’
Thamsine swallowed and looked away. ‘I can’t talk about him, dearest.’
‘I would have liked to meet him. Mother says he was a rogue but in a nice way,’ Rebecca continued.
‘Yes, he was a rogue in a nice way.’ Thamsine smiled. ‘A terrible rogue, but you would have liked him.’
‘There you are, Bec!’ Rachel, her fair curls escaping from beneath her cap, bounded into the room. ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere! What are you talking about?’
Thamsine looked at Rachel and smiled. She had just turned ten and promised to be everything her sister was not. Where Rebecca was the picture of the obedient, Godly child, Rachel was rowdy, untidy and lacked a scholarly bone in her body.
‘We were talking about Thamsine’s husband,’ Rebecca said.
‘Was he very handsome?’ Rachel asked.
Thamsine smiled, ‘Yes.’
Rachel sighed. ‘You must be sad he’s dead.’
Thamsine drew a heavy breath. ‘Let’s not talk about him anymore. Rachel, come here, your hair is a mess.’
She made a fuss of Rachel’s hair, trying to pin it back under the cap. If Rachel had been her daughter she would have given up the unequal struggle, but for Jane’s sake, she persisted.
‘Now,’ she addressed both girls, ‘shall we go and sit with Mama? I promised I would play her some music.’
Rebecca held up the book of prayers. ‘And I said I would read to her.’
Taking Rachel by the hand, Thamsine straightened her back and led the girls into Jane’s bedchamber.
Despite the airy atmosphere and the bright vases of roses picked from the gardens, the bedchamber carried the atmosphere of imminent death which Thamsine remembered from her childhood, as her father had forced her to sit for long hours in her mother’s sick chamber.
Jane’s life ebbed away as each day passed in a battle to breathe. Even propped up on the pillows her thin face was ashen, the lips blue. Thamsine stooped to kiss her sister’s brow. Jane’s eyes flickered open and a faint smile lifted the ravaged countenance. Thamsine no longer asked how she felt.
Rachel bounced onto the bed beside her mother and curled up against Jane with her head on her shoulder.
‘What have you been doing?’ Jane asked her daughters.
‘I’ve been down in the stable. Brown’s dog has just had a litter of puppies. He said I could have one if Papa will let me,’ she said.
Rebecca sat on the chair beside her mother’s bed. ‘I’ve brought some prayers to read with you, Mama, and Aunt Thamsine said she will play for you.’
Thamsine picked up the lute from where she had left it on the seat by the window.
‘That will be lovely,’ Jane whispered.
The sun streamed through the long casement windows, the stained glass scattered in the panes casting jewelled shadows on the floor and across the bed.
‘Will you open the window?’ Jane asked.
Rebecca looked at Thamsine, who nodded, and the girl threw open the casements. The smell of newly mown hay drifted in with soft sunlight.
Rebecca returned to her mother’s side and began to read as Thamsine picked out a quiet, contemplative piece. Rachel lay snuggled in her mother’s arm, listening to the words and the music, her eyes half closed.
‘Mama?’ Rachel cried out.
Thamsine glanced across at the bed. Jane’s eyes were open, staring at the open window. The breath rattled in her throat, then there was silence.
‘Mama!’ Rebecca jumped up from her chair, her face stricken, the prayer book dropping to the floor.
Thamsine laid down the lute and crossed to her sister’s bed. She leaned over and kissed her sister’s forehead, feeling the last warmth of life just beneath the skin. Her hand passed over her sister’s eyes, closing them forever.
Rachel rolled off the bed and threw herself at Thamsine, the tears flowing. Rebecca stood rigid staring at the bed. Thamsine moved to put an arm around the girl but Rebecca moved away.
‘Go to your father,’ Thamsine said, ‘and bring him here.’
Rebecca turned and left the room, her face immobile. Thamsine sat down on the chair Rebecca had been occupying and pulled the weeping youngster onto her lap, holding her until the tears subsided into deep, gulping sobs.