Page 69 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

‘Just take the coin and go,’ Thamsine said. ‘I want you both gone from my house.’

Lucy yawned. ‘I’m tired, Thamsine. Pregnancy does that, but then I suppose you wouldn’t know.’

The smugness in her tone and the way her hand rested on the swell of her stomach made Thamsine turn away. The thought of this woman giving birth to Kit’s child sickened her.

Lucy jerked the heavy pistol. ‘Pick up the coin.’

Thamsine complied and they returned to the parlour. No one appeared to have moved. Roger sat with his arms around his two terrified children. Annie huddled at his feet, her thin arms wrapped around her knees, rocking herself and mumbling. Ambrose sprawled in his chair, the pistol in his hand.

Thamsine set the money bags down beside him. ‘That’s all I have. Take it and get out.’

Ambrose glanced at the windows, where a heavy squall lashed against the glass.

‘You seem anxious to be rid of us, Thamsine. As it is, you may have noticed the weather outside is vile. I have no intention of going anywhere tonight. The coach horses will take us no further and you are forgetting your skills as a hostess. I want food. Lucy?’

Ambrose tossed Lucy one of the keys. ‘Go and find the cook and get him to make some food.’

Lucy glanced at a chair. ‘Ambrose, I’m exhausted. I want to rest … ’

‘You’ll get rest, I promise,’ he said. ‘Food first.’

With the sigh of a pregnant woman, Lucy lifted the heavy pistol again and left the room. Ambrose turned the pistol he held on Thamsine.

‘Play for me, Thamsine, like you used to.’

‘I hardly think … ’ Thamsine began but saw his fingers tighten on the pistol. ‘Very well. Anything in particular?’

‘Something cheerful, I think,’ he replied. ‘And you … ’ The pistol turned on Rebecca. ‘ … you can dance for me.’

‘No.’ Roger’s arm tightened on his daughter.

‘I don’t know how to dance.’ Rebecca said in a small voice.

‘Oh yes, of course. Puritans. Annie will show you, won’t you, Annie?’

Annie looked up, hope shining in her eyes. ‘’Brose?’

‘Dance for me, Annie. You remember how you used to dance?’

She nodded and stood up, straightening her skirts. Thamsine began to play a little country jig and Annie responded, moving in her own unintelligible way to the music.

‘Dance with your friend, Annie.’ Morton indicated Rebecca and Annie took the girl’s hands, leading her in a hopping dance that took them around the room.

Morton laughed. It sounded almost an avuncular, jovial laugh as if he genuinely enjoyed watching his sister.

The dancing continued until Lucy, labouring under a tray loaded with dishes, entered through the door. She set the tray down on the table and placed a bowl of soup and a plate of cold mutton before Morton.

‘Annie, sit down there, where I can see you.’ Morton gestured at a chair.

Annie obeyed and Rebecca returned to her father’s side. Thamsine stopped playing.

‘Oh, you can keep playing, Thamsine. Something sad and wistful, I think. Let us remember poor Lovell, dancing at the end of a rope. I wonder how long he took to die?’ Morton laughed and picked up the soup bowl.

Morton ate as Thamsine played, trying to think of anything except Kit dying at the end of a rope but the tears fell unbidden onto her hands.

As Lucy picked at the food. The woman seemed so far removed from the bright creature who had captivated Kit. She wondered if she had come willingly with Morton, or had circumstance forced her hand?

Ambrose pushed the dishes to one side and belched. ‘Come, Lucy, eat up.’

‘I’m not hungry, Ambrose,’ she said. ‘I just want to rest.’

‘Well, don’t let me stop you,’ he said. ‘There are ample beds upstairs, or you can lay on that settle.’ He indicated a large oak settle that stood against the wall. Lucy pushed aside her chair, gathered some cushions, and lay down on the settle.

Rachel had fallen asleep, her head on her father’s lap. Roger’s eyes were closed, his lips moving in prayer. Rebecca and Annie sat hand in hand, watching Morton as Thamsine did, waiting for his next move, his next words.

Morton picked up the jug that Lucy had brought with the tray of food and thrust it at Annie. ‘Annie, go to the kitchen and find me more ale.’

Annie didn’t move.

His voice rose. ‘Annie!’ She jumped to her feet and took the jug from him. ‘More ale!’

Her lips moved and her unhappy eyes darted from Ambrose to Thamsine.

Thamsine stopped playing and tried to give the girl an encouraging smile. ‘Do what he says, Annie.’

Annie’s mouth twisted in a trusting smile. ‘Ale,’ she said. ‘I’ll get ale.’ Repeating the word to herself, she left the room.

‘Keep playing,’ Morton ordered.

Thamsine looked up at him. ‘My fingers are tired, Ambrose.’

He shrugged. ‘Then rest them. You … ’ He indicated Rebecca. ‘Come here.’

Roger’s eyes flashed open and he put an arm around his daughter. Rebecca didn’t move.

Morton’s tongue flicked at the corners of his lips.

‘Come here, girl.’ The pistol pointed at the girl.

Rebecca rose to her feet and walked slowly towards him. She stood just out of his reach, her eyes large and fearful.

‘Take that ridiculous cap off,’ Ambrose said.

Thamsine rose to her feet.

‘What are you doing, Ambrose?’

Ambrose ignored her. ‘Take that cap off!’

The girl complied.

‘Now the pins.’

With shaking hands, Rebecca loosed her hair, letting it fall in a shining wave nearly to her waist.

‘That’s better,’ Ambrose said. ‘Now the collar.’

‘Father … ’ Rebecca turned to her father.

‘Morton. That’s enough. Let her go.’ Roger had risen to his feet, his face ashen.

Morton laughed and raised the pistol to point at Rebecca’s head. His meaning was clear; if Roger moved, Rebecca died. Roger stared at his daughter with large, stricken eyes.

‘Father?’ Rebecca’s voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

‘You unspeakable animal,’ Thamsine said. ‘Let her go, she’s only a child.’

Morton glanced at Thamsine. ‘Jealous, my dear? Don’t worry, your turn will come later. We have all night–now, if either of you lifts a finger, the girl dies. Which do you prefer? The collar.’

With shaking fingers, Rebecca started to undo the knot on her collar.

‘Hurry up!’ Ambrose jerked the pistol at the girl.

‘’Brose! No!’

The jug of ale Annie had carried from the kitchen crashed to the floor in the doorway. She cried out like a wild animal in pain and hurled herself at her brother. Ambrose jumped to his feet and turned to face her. The pistol discharged, its sound muffled by Annie’s body as she fell on him.