Page 74 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

I n the warmth of an autumn sun, Kit lay with his head in Thamsine’s lap in the shade of one of the oaks in the park. She ran her fingers through the thick dark hair, now liberally peppered with grey that had not been there three months previously.

It had taken time for the physical evidence of Kit’s brush with death to fade, but the dreadful invalid’s pallor had gone, his eyes had returned to their normal colour, and only the faintest shadow of bruising still circled his neck.

This he hid beneath a high neckcloth. The only physical legacy of the gallows seemed to be a change to the timbre in his voice.

It now held a slight crackling edge to it.

While the physical wounds had healed, she doubted anything could heal the terrible nightmares that caused him to wake in the night.

In the days following the final encounter with Ambrose Morton, they had seen that Morton and his sister laid to rest with their mother in the graveyard at Beverstock.

Roger Knott had returned to London, leaving his daughters at Hartley, and something approaching a semblance of family life had settled over the house.

In moments like this, it seemed almost possible to forget the dark days of their previous existence.

They had talked about what they should do, how they could exist in an England that no longer wanted them.

The decision, when it came to be made, had seemed so simple.

After a lifetime of adventuring, Kit no longer felt the lure of France or the Colonies.

The lovely Elizabethan house, tucked away in the peaceful Hampshire countryside, offered them both the solace and healing they needed, so they had decided they would stay where they were, sufficiently distant from London to cause Thurloe no heartache.

Thamsine’s nieces had settled into life with their unusual aunt and uncle, and Thamsine had engaged a proper tutor for them.

When he thought she wasn’t watching, Kit delighted in teaching them card games and tricks.

Thamsine had asked Kit about his family in Cheshire but he refused to discuss them, saying he was not ready to face his stepmother, not yet, not until he had news of Daniel.

Thamsine bent over and kissed Kit’s forehead. His eyes flickered open.

‘What are you thinking?’ he murmured.

‘I was thinking that this is how it should always be,’ she said, and straightened at the sound of raised voices coming from the direction of the house. ‘Although I suspect we are about to be disturbed.’

‘Come back, sir!’

At the sound of Stebbings’ voice, Kit stretched and sat up.

Stebbings, who never hurried about anything, hastened across the lawn towards him in pursuit of a large, burly figure; a familiar figure with a badly tied scarf over his right eye.

‘Master Lovell, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him!’ Stebbings panted to a halt behind Jem Marsh.

‘Jem!’ Kit jumped to his feet to face his old friend, seizing him by the hand.

Jem looked him up and down and nodded. ‘Country life seems to suit you.’

Thamsine rose to her feet, shaking out her skirts. ‘It is good to see you, Jem. How are the girls?’

‘May’s gone and married that carter,’ Jem said. ‘We miss her in the taproom.’

‘I must send her a gift,’ Thamsine said. ‘And Nan?’

In answer, Jem rolled his eyes.

‘What brings you here?’ Kit asked.

‘I’ve a letter for ye.’ Jem fished in his jacket, produced a crumpled paper and handed it to Kit.

Kit turned the paper over and his lips tightened.

‘Thurloe,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Perhaps it is news of Daniel’s arrival,’ she said, hopefully, but a premonition of dread ran down Thamsine’s spine. Thurloe would not write unless he had very good reason.

‘You must be tired after your journey, Jem. Stebbings, make sure Master Marsh has some food and drink and is shown to the guest bedchamber. We will come up to the house shortly.’

Jem nodded, his eyes resting on Kit’s bent head.

‘A strong ale won’t go astray,’ Jem said and set off back towards the house with Stebbings panting after him.

Kit handed Thamsine the letter. ‘I can’t open it,’ he said.

She took the letter and broke the seal. Another packet fell out onto the ground. Thamsine retrieved it and turned the paper she held in her hand over. Thurloe himself had written nothing, so whatever news he wished to convey would be contained in the enclosure.

She took a deep breath and unfolded the missive, scanning the unfamiliar handwriting. A cry escaped her lips and she looked up at her husband, unable to contain the tears that started in her eyes.

‘Daniel?’ he asked through tight lips.

She nodded and handed him the paper.

He read the short missive aloud.

My Lord Thurloe,

Further to your enquiry regarding the prisoner Daniel Lovell, sent here as a traitor to the Commonwealth of England, I am reliably informed that he was indentured to one Jeremiah Pritchard of King’s County.

It is my sad duty to advise that the said prisoner died of the fever common to these parts in February of this year of our Lord.

If I can be of any further service, Yr obedient servant Willoughby

Daniel took a step back, doubling up as if someone had hit him in the stomach, all the colour draining from his face.

‘Kit … ’ Thamsine took a step towards him but he shook his head, sinking down with his back to the tree. The paper fell unregarded to the ground.

‘No! I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘No, no, no … it can’t be true.’

Thamsine picked up the fallen paper.

‘Kit, the Governor of Barbados himself says he is dead. He could just as easily have died of a fever safe in his own bed in England.’

‘No!’ Kit muffled the animal howl of pain in his hands.

‘He can’t be dead. It can’t all have been for nothing.

’ He looked up at her. ‘Every despicable act of betrayal I justified to myself with the thought it brought an innocent boy closer to his freedom. Now, all those deaths, those ghosts … they haunt me, Tham. They will haunt me until the day I die and now, Daniel … ’ His face crumpled in despair.

‘God help me, I should have died on that scaffold.’

Thamsine dropped to the ground in front of him and clasped his hands between hers.

‘I would be dead if it were not for you, Kit Lovell. You saved my life. Don’t ever forget that.

Your life was spared for a reason, and you have the rest of your time on this Earth to make amends for the events of the past years, but for now, you have to let yourself grieve for Daniel.

He chose to take up a sword and he was not a boy.

He made the decision as an adult. He was not your responsibility.

You didn’t fail him on that day or any of the days that followed. ’

Kit shook off her hands and rose to his feet. He paced the ground beneath the tree, his face working with a thousand conflicting emotions as he ran his fingers again and again through his hair.

‘No,’ he said stopping his frantic pacing. ‘No. I won’t believe it.’ He glanced down at Thamsine. ‘Not until I stand by his grave.’

Thamsine rose to her feet.

‘You are not suggesting that you go to Barbados?’

‘Thamsine, I have to satisfy myself, know how he passed these last years. You have to let me go.’

She took a step towards him, grasping his shirt by the laces. She shook her head. ‘I am not letting you walk away from me again.’

‘Thamsine, please.’

‘If you go, I go too.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I will not let you go alone. Kit, I have lost you once. Don’t make me lose you again.’

She glared at him and he returned her angry stare with a slow inclination of his head. ‘Very well. We will go together, but first there is something else I have to do.’

‘What is that?’

Kit’s lips tightened. ‘I have to face his mother.’