Page 8 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

Kit sat back, his fingers playing thoughtfully around his tankard. ‘They meet tomorrow night. Will you be there?’

Willys shook his head. ‘No. I will have no further truck with them.’

‘So what does this committee of yours plan?’

Willys shook his head. ‘I haven’t said I was on the committee, Lovell, but if they should have need of you, can we … they rely on you?’

‘If your enterprise has the King’s Commission, then you have my sword.’

‘Fitzjames?’

‘I’m with you both.’

‘Good man.’ Willys stood up. ‘I wish you luck, Lovell. If they can be dissuaded, you’re the man to do it. Dutton trusts you.’

Kit watched Willys as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. In the taproom, Thamsine was singing a sad, mournful ballad. Beggars all in a row , Kit thought and stared gloomily at his cup.

‘Aren’t you tired of this, Fitz?’ he asked.

Fitzjames shrugged. ‘Of course I am, but I’m tired of this hand-to-mouth existence, Lovell. I want the King back on his rightful throne. If there is a chance that this Committee of Willys’ can organise something then yes, I will be there. What will you do?’

‘Dutton meets tomorrow night,’ Kit said. ‘I shall hear what he has to say and try to turn his mind to joining his enterprise with this committee.’

Fitz leaned forward. ‘The Sealed Knot,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘They call themselves the Sealed Knot.’

‘What sort of fanciful name is that?’

Fitz shrugged and drained his cup. ‘I for one will not attend tomorrow night. I’m with Willys. I want no further part of this plot.’

‘Sensible man,’ Kit agreed.

‘It’s getting late.’ Fitz rose to his feet.

‘I’ll walk with you,’ Kit said. ‘I need some fresh air after that vile tobacco you smoke.’

Fitz smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘We all have our vices, lad. Yours are women and cards. Mine are tobacco and wine.’

‘And execrable poetry,’ Kit added. ‘Don’t forget your talents as a poet, my friend!’

In the taproom, Thamsine turned and he raised a hand in farewell. She smiled in response. He felt a pang of regret. It would have been pleasant to have passed the rest of the evening sparring with Mistress Granville.

Outside the cold air hit them like a belt of sobering water.

‘I’ve no mind for my bed, yet a while,’ Fitz said. ‘I hear there is a card game at the Saracen’s Head. Fancy a chance to improve your purse?’

They lurched down the Strand towards ‘the Head’. Another dingy, smoke-filled tavern , Kit thought gloomily as Fitz wove his way between the tables to the private parlour.

Through the haze of tobacco smoke, he could make out a table of card players with about a dozen men standing around watching the game.

They waited until the hand had finished and took the seats of the losers.

‘Well, well.’ The man shuffling the cards set them down. ‘Fitzjames, unless I’m mistaken.’

Fitz’s face flashed with recognition. ‘My God. Ambrose Morton. I haven’t seen you since … must be ’47. I heard you were in The Hague. What brings you to London?’

‘Personal business,’ the man replied, moving his gaze to Kit. Kit met the cold eyes in the dark, handsome face of a man some years older than him.

‘Do you know Lovell?’ Fitz enquired.

‘No, but I have heard the name.’ Morton held out his hand. ‘Colonel Ambrose Morton.’

‘Captain Christopher Lovell,’ Kit replied.

Morton spread his hands in an encompassing gesture. ‘Shall I deal?’

With practised ease, the cards flew from his hand. Kit took the first hand and Morton dealt the cards again.

‘Lovell?’ Morton mused, his eyes on his cards. ‘Ah yes. Kit Lovell. I have heard of you. Your reputation precedes you. Few can beat you at cards, as I hear tell.’

‘I have some poor talent at cards,’ Kit replied without looking up.

‘There are many ways of winning at cards, is there not, Captain Lovell?’

Kit felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise and he glanced up to see Morton’s narrowed eyes fixed on him. ‘Are you implying something, Morton?’

Morton raised a placating hand. ‘Not at all, Captain Lovell.’

Kit pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. ‘I have never met you before tonight, Morton, but I will not sit here and have my honour so impugned. Come, Fitz.’

Fitz rose to his unsteady feet. ‘But I’ve got a good hand, Lovell.’

Kit turned his cards over. ‘I would have did not need tricks to win this hand, Morton, but I’ve lost my taste for cards.’

For a moment the two men’s eyes locked. Morton inclined his head. ‘I meant no insult, Captain Lovell. Perhaps some other time?’

‘Perhaps,’ Kit said.

Outside in the cold air, he pulled his cloak around him.

‘Not like you to take on so,’ Fitz grumbled.

‘I have no time for that sort of man,’ Kit said striding ahead of Fitz.

‘What sort of man?’ Fitz asked, puffing to keep pace with his friend.

Kit slowed his pace to allow Fitz a chance to catch up. ‘You know the type, Fitz. Cold and vicious bastards.’

‘Well, you’re probably right.’ Fitz clapped an arm around Kit’s shoulder and they wove an unsteady path towards Holborn. ‘He ran with Goring’s crew during the war. You’ll have heard the stories … ’

George, Lord Goring, had command of the King’s Army in the west, and the actions of his unruly rabble had done more to damage the King’s cause than the whole of the New Model Army.

‘There was a particularly nasty rumour,’ Fitz began, then waved a hand. ‘Doesn’t matter … I don’t like to spread gossip.’

‘What?’ Kit persisted.

Fitz sighed. ‘There was a murder. A woman and her daughter. Nasty thing – rape, mutilation. Renegades were blamed, but odd thing was that Morton and his men were the only troops in the area.’

Kit shrugged. ‘Proves nothing. Just because he was in the area, doesn’t implicate him.’

‘No, no, you’re quite right,’ Fitz slurred drunkenly.

Kit shivered. As he had looked into Morton’s cold eyes, he could well imagine the man capable of such an atrocity.

‘Where are you going now?’ he changed the subject. ‘Your lodgings are not in this direction.’

Fitz smiled. ‘A beautiful nymph awaits me … ’

‘I hope she gives you a discount for persistence,’ Kit said with a laugh.

‘Not that sort of nymph!’ Fitz protested. ‘You don’t think me sufficiently desperate that I must pay for my pleasure!’

‘Not at all,’ Kit smiled.

‘Well, this is me. See that light in the window? My darling awaits. Good night to you, Lovell.’

Kit watched Fitz weave across to the door and open it. He smiled and shook his head before turning his heels towards Lucy, waiting for him on Holborn Hill.