The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [30]
I remembered what Eliot had said about Mrs Howard – how friends such as John Gay had hoped for preferment when the king came to power last autumn. And how it had transpired that she had no sway with her lover at all – after all those years of service. It must have been a humiliating blow. And a triumph for her rival. How many hours had the queen devoted to securing such a complete victory?
The queen was a pragmatic woman. If her husband must take a mistress, let it be someone as passive and powerless as Henrietta Howard. She was beautiful, yes, and charming. But the king would never turn to her for advice, and that suited the queen very well.
‘It would be tiresome to train a new servant.’
The queen agreed, pleased by the careful dance we had taken about the subject. She gathered up all the papers she had collected on me and handed them to Budge, who threw them on the fire. She rose slowly to her feet and held out her hand. I knelt and kissed it. She bent down, closer to my ear. ‘I know it was your little trull who fired the pistol,’ she murmured. ‘You must love her very much, to take the blame for murder. To lie to your queen.’
I kept my head down. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘I believe you would do anything to protect her.’ She paused – smiled as I met her gaze. ‘I am glad you have come to my attention, Mr Hawkins. I think you will be a most loyal servant.’
She waved her hand. I was dismissed.
Chapter Eight
Home. I locked the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes with relief. Here in the dark I untied my cravat and slipped a hand beneath my shirt, reaching for my mother’s cross. I was safe – for now. No need to fear a visit from Gonson. No need for a moonlight dash from the city. But for how long – and at what cost?
‘Tom…?’ Kitty stood at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in an emerald wrapping gown embroidered with silver thread that twinkled softly in the candlelight. ‘You went out at last,’ she cheered, skipping lightly down the stairs. ‘I’m so glad! Have you been drinking at Moll’s all evening? You must-’
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, long and deep. A moment’s surprise and then she flung her arms about my neck. I pushed her gently against the wall and kissed her throat, her jaw. ‘Angel,’ I murmured, cupping her face as I kissed her again.
She snatched off my wig, my coat, unbuttoned my waistcoat. Drew me closer. My sword clattered to the floor. I ran a hand under her gown to find her naked beneath. Felt myself grow hard. I moved my hand higher and she moaned softly, guiding me. There. No. There. ‘Tonight,’ she whispered, biting my ear. ‘Tonight, Tom.’
Yes, yes, tonight – why not, damn it? After all that had happened, why wait another moment? I was tempted to take her there in the hallway, but I wanted her in bed, the first time. I gathered her up and carried her to our room, while she giggled with surprise. Dropped her down on the bed and knelt over her, unwrapped the gown so she lay naked beneath me. Just her necklace, with Fleet’s gold poesy ring hung upon it. I paused, just for a moment. Then I pulled off my shirt and lowered myself over her. I traced my tongue across her breasts and then lower, lower. She shuddered and arched her back, gasping with pleasure. She was mine, she was mine – and no one would ever take her from me.
She pulled me back up the bed, eyes heavy with desire. Slid her fingers down and unbuttoned my breeches. Hesitated. ‘My hands are cold,’ she said, blowing on them.
I took them between mine and chafed them together roughly. ‘There.’
She stared down at my knuckles, bruised and bloodied from pummelling Burden’s door. I had almost forgotten. And I had told the queen I was not a violent man. Kitty sat up slowly. ‘What’s this? You were in another fight?’
‘With a door.’ I reached to kiss her.
She pushed me away.
‘Sweetheart… it means nothing. Come here.’
She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees. The cold chill of disappointment seeped over the bed. Again.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I sighed. ‘I drank too much punch and scraped my knuckles, that is all. There’s no need to make such a damnable fuss.’
Kitty, it is fair to say, did not agree with this assertion.
>
Exile, then. Cast out of my own warm bed. Most certainly not tonight, Tom. I stamped upstairs, shirt and blanket under my arm, scowling to myself as if I were the injured party. As if I had not in fact kicked and beaten at our neighbour’s door and waved my sword in his face in front of the entire street. Damn Kitty. Damn her stubbornness and her temper. Damn the world and everyone in it.
At least there was a spare bed at the top of the house, in Jenny’s old room. I placed the candle on the chair by the bed, threw on my shirt and huddled beneath the covers, seething to myself. There had been no fire lit in this room for days and the walls felt damp to the touch. A crack in the window let in a thin draught, sharp as a blade. Even with an extra blanket, I couldn’t stop myself from shivering.
