Page 76 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

K it Lovell, now calling himself the Comte d’Anvers paused in the doorway looking, he hoped, like all aristocratic Frenchman when faced with an Englishman; slightly contemptuous and vaguely disapproving.

The Governor of Barbados, Lord Willoughby, mopped his face with a large kerchief and rose to his feet to meet his visitor, acknowledging Kit’s florid bow with an inclination of his head before gesturing to a chair.

Kit took the proffered seat as Willoughby seated himself behind his large table and considered his visitor from over his steepled fingers.

‘And what is it that I can do for you, Monsieur?’ he enquired.

Kit settled the ruffles of his shirt sleeves and began, ‘I come on behalf of friends in England who seek news of a member of their family.’ He spoke with an exaggerated French accent. ‘The boy was taken prisoner after that foolishness some years ago at …,’ Kit paused. ‘… Worcester, was it not?’

‘Ah, yes!’ Willoughby agreed. ‘Most unfortunate. We had a great many prisoners sent here at that time.’

Kit produced the letter from Thurloe with the order for Daniel’s release. ‘I have here with me an order for the boy’s release, but word has reached the family that the boy is now dead. I have been sent to verify the truth of this claim.’

The Governor picked up the papers that Kit pushed across the table at him.

The man’s gaze lingered momentarily on the twisted fingers of his right hand.

Politeness forbade comment and Willoughby sat back to read the letter.

‘Lovell? Oh, yes. Daniel Lovell. I remember.’ He pushed the papers back again.

‘Well, my dear sir, I can add nothing to what is written here. As I wrote to my Lord Thurloe after I received a missive from him directly, the man died of fever at the Pritchard Plantation last year. You have had a wasted trip. My condolences to the family.’

Kit struggled to control the veneer of the Comte D’Anvers’ poise as he collected the papers and carefully refolded them.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘I … they … the family hoped that there had been some error, but before I report back to my friends, I shall satisfy myself by paying a visit to this … Pritchard Plantation.’

Willoughby spread his hands. ‘Of course. It’s a good day’s ride to the south, but I must warn you that you will find little to shed any light on the boy’s death.

John Pritchard was smitten by palsy and the estate has gone to wrack and ruin.

Pity,’ the Governor added, ‘he was a good man and, if it is of any assurance to your friends, I can say with certainty that he looked after the boy well. I remember young Daniel. He could read and write, so Pritchard used him as the plantation clerk. We often saw him here in Holetown.’

Kit rose to his feet. ‘Thank you, monsieur ,’ he said. ‘You have been most helpful.’

The Governor rose. ‘Is there anything else I can assist you with? Are you staying in Barbados for long? Perhaps you and the, errr, Comtesse may like to dine one night.’

‘Thank you, but I am anxious to resolve this business with the Pritchard Plantation. Perhaps when we have returned. Good day to you, Lord Willoughby.’

With one last florid bow, Kit left the room. He returned to the comparative cool of the finest hostelry in Holetown. Taking the stairs two at a time he threw open the door to his bed-chamber.

Thamsine, reclined on the bed, dressed in nothing but her shift and fanning herself with a copy of the town broadsheet.

She sat up, putting the broadsheet to one side. ‘Well?’

‘Much as I expected,’ he said. ‘He confirmed what he wrote.’

He divested himself of his coat and flung it over the back of a chair, pulled at the suffocating folds of the linen kerchief he wore around his neck, and with a sigh, sank onto the bed next to his wife. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

Thamsine slid an arm around his shoulders and laid her head against his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Kit,’ she said.

Kit could find no words to express his feelings at that moment.

‘My dear Monsieur le Comte,’ Thamsine continued in French, ‘you have done all you can. We have satisfied ourselves that Daniel is dead. Let’s go home.’

Kit shook his head. ‘I am going out to the plantation.’

‘Hmm,’ Thamsine closed her eyes, and the head against his arm became heavy. ‘The plantation?’ she added drowsily.

‘Yes. I want to speak to this man, Pritchard, although Willoughby says he was struck by the palsy. Hopefully there may be someone there who can tell us more.’ Kit nuzzled her hair. ‘You smell nice,’ he whispered.

She pushed him away. ‘It’s too hot!’ she said but even as she said it, the nuzzling became a gentle nibbling and they collapsed backward onto the bed.