Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [86]
Kemp raised his massive fist and held it perilously close to her face. ‘Do not vex me, woman. I have business.’
Despite the threat, his wife did not back down, ‘I recall a time when your business was your business,’ she murmured sourly.
For a moment it appeared that Kemp would strike her, then, face flushed, he strode across the room, knocking into his drunken patrons, who called a series of good-humoured oaths after him.
Sarah Kemp looked sadly at her husband’s retreating back until a shout broke her reverie.
‘’Sfoot, Sarah! Where’s the ale?’
She turned and gave her broadest, warmest smile to the drunken youth sprawled over the wooden bar.
Kemp was glad to be out of the steaming, heaving room.
The stench of tobacco smoke, to which he was normally inured, seemed to be clinging to his lungs tonight and he gave a great hacking cough as he made his way swiftly up the stairs.
In truth, he was greatly preoccupied. The revelation of his daughter’s treachery had shaken him dreadfully and somewhat taken the shine off the news of the King’s escape. But still, it was true! His beloved monarch was free and the pressure to keep silent was almost tearing Kemp apart.
He approached the door to the little room and knocked gently. Copper’s voice from beyond bade him enter.
‘I am sorry for the delay, My Lord. My wife –’
Copper waved away his excuses. He did not look in the mood for trivia.
‘Sit down, Will,’ he said, pulling out a rickety chair from beneath the table.
Kemp sat down, feeling like a schoolboy about to get in serious trouble. He began to lick his dry lips. ‘What ails you, Sir John?’
Copper looked at him, his white brows drawn tightly. ‘The King ails me, Will. He refuses point blank to leave London.’
Kemp nodded. ‘Aye. On the grounds ‘twould look like cowardice. God, the man is a saint, I shouldn’t wonder if –’
‘Shut up,’ hissed Copper. ‘If you knew half of the situation you would not make light of it so. The King is a fool, God save me for saying it. And I fear for him every hour he remains in this stinking city. But he is ahead of us.’
Kemp leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. ‘What do you mean?’
‘His Majesty has plans to disrupt the Roundheads’ cause.
Disrupt it in a terminal fashion.’
‘How?’
‘By removing its figurehead,’ said Copper evenly.
Kemp stroked his chin. ‘Cromwell, you mean? Remove him?’ He peered closely at Copper. ‘Kill him?’
Copper nodded. ‘Plans have already been laid. It a risky venture and I would never have done things this way myself, but we have come this far in order to serve our King and we must not fail him now.’
Kemp sniffed. ‘What must we do?’
Copper began to drum his fingers on the table. ‘Fate has placed a happy coincidence in our laps, Will. A spy on the enemy side who we thought might only provide useful intelligence.’
‘Spy? Who do you –’ Kemp sat suddenly upright. ‘You cannot mean my Frances?’
Copper nodded. ‘I do.’
Kemp shook his head violently. ‘But she is little more than a child. To involve her in a conspiracy of this order...’
Copper snorted. ‘Oh, come now, Kemp. Was it not you calling her strumpet and whore only t’other night? If she has years enough to take a Roundhead as her lover she is surely of an age to help us.’
Kemp’s head sank to his breast. ‘But if it should come out...’
Copper turned away dismissively. ‘You should have considered such things before you became involved. You do not think your wife and child would in any case be spared if your part in all this should be revealed?’
Kemp shook his head. He had heard the accounts of Roundhead atrocities, of unborn infants ripped from their mothers’ wombs and troopers washing their hands in the resultant blood.
‘What do you want of her?’ he asked sadly.
Copper took out a square of paper, which was covered with his neat writing.
‘We need to know Cromwell’s movements between today and the end of the week. In detail. I don’t fret over how she gets them – she can sleep with half of Parliament for all I care
– but she must find out. You will receive further instructions then. Is