Page 75 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

N othing remained of Eveleigh Priory but the east wing.

Nature had reclaimed the blackened ruins of the once-great house, built in the later years of Great Henry’s reign on the ruins of one of his ransacked monasteries.

Ivy trailed through the empty window recesses like worms through the eyes of a skull, and the dried early autumnal leaves rustled together in eddies and gathered at his horse’s hooves.

Riding pillion behind him, Thamsine’s fingers tightened in Kit’s belt and he turned to look at her.

‘I warned you,’ he said.

‘I’d not imagined that it would be quite so bad,’ she replied.

Kit put his heels to the horse, urging it forward. An old woman paused in sweeping the front steps leading up to the door. Her eyes widened as she recognised him. Before he could greet Old Alice, she dropped the broom and ran inside.

‘M’lady, m’lady!’ Kit heard her voice echoing through the house. ‘He’s back! Back from the grave.’

As Kit dismounted, a woman in a rusty black dress appeared at the door, wiping her hands on an apron. She pushed back a tendril of greying hair that strayed from beneath her cap and squinted short-sightedly at the visitors.

Kit lifted Thamsine down from the pillion saddle and turned to face his stepmother. He swept his hat from his head and gave her a low bow.

‘Madam,’ he said.

Disappointment flooded her face.

‘You! I thought … ’ she began.

He knew what she had thought. She had been expecting Daniel. He walked towards her and stood at the bottom of the steps looking up at her.

‘Margaret … ’ he started to say but got no further.

She picked up the abandoned broom and began to hit him. Kit put up his hands to protect his head from the frenzied blows Margaret Lovell rained down on him.

‘I told you never to darken my doorstep again!’

She pursued him down the stairs and forced him back against the wall of the house.

‘Margaret, please … let me explain.’

One of the blows hit the fingers of his right hand, jangling the nerves of the barely healed fingers. Kit swore volubly and slid down the wall, pressing his hand to his chest while trying to shield himself with his left hand.

‘Mother!’

A young woman appeared in the doorway.

‘Mother, stop! It’s Kit.’

‘I know who it is,’ Margaret said but she ceased her attack, throwing the broom down on the steps.

Frances Lovell cast her mother a warning glance and ran down the steps. She knelt beside her brother.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ muttered Kit through tight lips.

Frances took his hand and gasped.

‘Kit! Your hand, what happened?’

‘Another time,’ Kit said, pulling his hand back.

With what dignity he could muster, he rose to his feet, retrieved his hat from the mud, took a steadying breath and turned to face his sister and stepmother. Frances took a step towards him, a broad smile on her face.

‘I can’t believe it’s you!’ she said. ‘We thought you were dead. It was in the broadsheets … ’

He smiled at her. ‘It’s a very long story, Fran.’

Kit looked up at his stepmother, who had retreated to the top of the stairs, her arms crossed, glaring down at him.

Margaret Lovell had only been seventeen, a pretty, vivacious girl with an abundance of brown curls when she had married Kit’s father.

The eight-year-old Kit, newly brought back from France and thrust into a house of strangers speaking a strange language, had worshipped her.

Now, the years of war and the loss of her son had dealt ill with her. What he could see of her hair seemed to be almost entirely grey, her face thin and lined. Looking at her, the weight of responsibility for her troubles settled back on his shoulders where they rightly belonged.

‘Margaret, I don’t know where to begin,’ he said.

‘I want my son back,’ she responded, but all the anger had gone from her voice.

‘Oh, Mother,’ Frances sounded impatient, ‘I’m so tired of this. You cannot hold Kit responsible forever.’

‘I can and I do.’

‘Well, I’m tired of blaming Kit for this family’s ills!’ Frances continued. ‘He’s my brother as much as Daniel, and I, for one, am glad to see him.’ She fell into his arms. ‘I truly am glad to see you, Kit.’

He held her close, marvelling at how the enchanting child could have grown into such a sensible young woman. A discreet cough reminded him that Thamsine stood watching this touching family reunion. He turned to her, noting the gleam of amusement in her eye. He held out his hand and she took it.

‘My wife, Thamsine,’ he said. ‘Thamsine, my stepmother, Margaret Lovell, and my sister, Frances.’

Both women stared at Thamsine and then back at Kit.

‘You’re married?’ Frances exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ Kit said slowly. ‘I did say she was my wife.’

Margaret sniffed and looked Thamsine up and down, taking in the elegant green gown and curling chestnut locks.

‘I suppose you know that my stepson is a disgrace to this family,’ she said.

Thamsine smiled. ‘I know all there is to know of your stepson, Mistress Lovell. Between us, I suspect he only married me for my money.’

She winked at her husband, who responded with a grin. Margaret stood to one side of the doorway and gestured for them to enter.

‘Seeing as you’re here, you may as well come in.’

Frances tucked her arm into Kit’s.

‘Take no notice of her, Kit! I, for one, am happy to see you.’

‘How’s Grandfather?’ he asked.

She stopped and looked up at him.

‘You don’t know?’

A chill of premonition settled on Kit’s shoulders. ‘Know what?’

‘He’s dead. You’re Lord Midhurst now.’

Kit took a deep, steadying breath.

‘When?’

‘Last winter,’ she said. ‘Lung fever.’

The old man was dead? So he had been Lord Midhurst for months and he’d never known. He wondered what Lucy would have thought if she’d known he was already a Viscount. An empty title if ever there was one. How could another dead man inherit a title?

In the old room that served as a parlour, Margaret turned to face him.

‘I am sorry about Grandfather,’ Kit said. ‘And more sorry that I did not know. How have you managed all these months by yourselves?’

Margaret drew herself up. ‘We’ve managed because we’ve had to.

Frances and I have been abandoned. First, they send Daniel to some Godforsaken corner of the world and then your grandfather …

and then the news you were dead.’ She drew her daughter to her side.

‘We knew nobody would be coming to our aid.’

Kit laid his hat down on the table. ‘I’m sorry, Margaret.’

‘Sorry?’ Margaret glared at him. ‘Don’t think we weren’t grateful for the money you sent, but we needed you, Kit.’

Her words lashed him and he flinched at the pain that they caused. He had deluded himself into believing that the few coins he sent were enough. But there was nothing he could have done, even if he had known of their situation.

‘So why are you here now?’ Margaret’s steely gaze moved from Kit to Thamsine.

‘First and foremost, to make my peace with you.’

Margaret gave a hollow laugh. ‘You’re a little late for that, Kit Lovell.’

Frances broke away from her mother’s side and went to stand beside Kit, clutching his arm.

‘No, he’s not! Mother, I don’t blame Kit for what happened to Daniel.

Daniel went of his own free will and nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.

The good Lord knows how much I miss Daniel but,’ she glanced up at her brother, ‘I have missed Kit too.’

Margaret shot her daughter a quelling glance and looked back at Kit. ‘And?’

‘And?’ Kit looked at Thamsine and she nodded. ‘Thamsine and I have come to offer you a home.’

Margaret straightened, her chin coming up in a familiar gesture of defiance. ‘This is my home.’

Kit ran a hand through his hair. Margaret had always been a stubborn, infuriating woman, but he loved her as much as he had his own mother.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You can stay here, Margaret, living in four rooms in a broken ruin, if that’s what you want. Frances?’

Frances looked up at him.

‘You have a home? Where?’

‘In Hampshire,’ Thamsine said. ‘There’s only Kit and me and my two nieces. There is a comfortable dower house and ample room.’

‘You really did marry her for her money.’ Frances shot a mischievous glance at her brother.

‘Absolutely,’ Kit agreed.

‘You’re not going, Frances,’ her mother said. ‘We’re not going to live on this woman’s charity.’

Kit drew a breath and laid a hand on the table with deliberate care, though he would have dearly loved to smash his hand onto the table in frustration.

‘Margaret,’ he said slowly. ‘God knows, I want to call a truce, but you are making it very difficult. I am now the head of this family and I am not offering you charity. You are my responsibility and I am offering you a home, nothing more. If Frances wishes to come to Hartley, she may. In fact, I insist she does. You, however, are quite free to stay here. I will make suitable arrangements to ensure you live in a modicum of comfort. Will that suit you?’

Margaret looked from one to the other and her shoulders slumped. ‘I can’t stay here alone,’ she said, in a voice that lost its defiance.

‘That is your choice,’ Kit said. ‘Think on it. Now, there is a third reason I have come. I have news of Daniel.’

Margaret stiffened. ‘Daniel?’

Kit took two crumpled and stained letters from his jacket.

‘This letter,’ he said, holding up the first sheet, ‘is an order for Daniel’s release and a pardon.’

Margaret sank into a chair and looked up at him. ‘How … ?’ she began, but Kit raised his finger to silence her.

‘It doesn’t matter how,’ he said. ‘I had secured this paper, and we were about to take ship for Barbados to bring him home when circumstances intervened.’

He glanced at Thamsine, reliving, as he still did in his nightmares, those black days. She nodded encouragingly and he took a breath and continued.

‘You said you’d seen reports of my death. Well, they’re true. To England, Kit Lovell is dead. Thamsine and I would have left months ago, but … ’ He paused. ‘My health meant a delay to our voyage.’

‘What has your health to do with Daniel?’ Margaret demanded.

Thamsine glared at the woman. ‘You have no idea, do you?’ she said. ‘Kit bought Daniel’s freedom with his life. Show them, Kit.’

Frances and Margaret watched as Kit unwound the carelessly, and, he had hoped, fashionably knotted neckcloth, revealing the faint but still visible marks of the rope.

Frances put her hands to her mouth.

‘They really hanged you?’ she said in a small, tight voice.

‘Yes,’ Kit answered, retying the cloth around his neck.

Margaret frowned. ‘Why?’

Thamsine answered. ‘Kit had an agreement with the government that if he did certain work for them, Daniel would be freed. He met his side of the bargain, which is how he secured the pardon.’

‘But why did they want to hang you?’ Frances had paled.

‘That’s a long story,’ Kit said. ‘We can save it for another time. I had an assurance Daniel would be placed on the first ship back to England. ‘

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Margaret demanded.

‘I wanted to be sure he was safe.’

Margaret‘s gaze flicked from Kit to Thamsine. Kit took a deep breath and handed his stepmother the letter from Governor Willoughby.

Margaret held it at arm’s length as if it would burn her. ‘Who is Thurloe?’ she asked.

‘The Secretary of State. The letter is from the Governor of Barbados.’

Margaret read the missive aloud. Frances gave a strangled cry and sank into the nearest chair, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders wracked with sobs.

Margaret let the letter drop to the floor and looked at Kit, her mouth working. Kit lowered his head, unable to meet her accusing eyes. He had given her hope only to snatch it away. Daniel would never be coming home.

Kit shook his head and turned away. ‘Everything I did… was for nothing.’

Thamsine laid a hand on his arm. There had been some dark days after the letter had arrived from Thurloe. Days when he had considered finished the job the hangman had begun. Only Thamsine’s unwavering devotion and patience had brought him back from that brink.

He took a deep breath, regaining his composure, and turned to face his stepmother.

She slumped in the chair, all her defiance leeched from her, and she looked old and frail. Her son had died not once but twice, and he could not even begin to imagine what that meant.

‘I have thought hard on this, Margaret,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been through too much to believe it was all for naught. I refuse to accept he is dead until I hold some evidence in my hand or stand beside his grave.’

Margaret looked up and Kit took her hand, meeting no resistance.

‘Margaret, I couldn’t have stopped Daniel from coming with me that day.

If I had locked him in his room he would have found some way to follow.

If I’d not been wounded … ’ He trailed off and went down on one knee before her.

‘Please believe me when I say not a day goes by when I don’t think of him.

I will make you this promise here and now.

I am going to Barbados and I will find out what happened to him. ’

His stepmother nodded. ‘I need to know, Kit,’ she said.

‘So do I,’ he replied.