Page 3 of The Crown’s Gift

Thomas ducked beneath the guard's arm.

He had never in his life struck a soldier, but he drove his shoulder into the second man's side, slipped on a fallen napkin, recovered, and reached the King as hands seized the back of his coat.

"Forgive me, sir," he gasped.

He locked both arms around the royal body, braced his clasped hands beneath the King's ribs, and heaved with all his strength.

Nothing.

The King's body convulsed. Thomas heaved again.

A sword left its scabbard with a hiss.

On the third desperate heave, the plum stone flew from the King's mouth, struck Mr Lucas upon the lapel, and dropped to the floor.

The King dragged in a breath. It was a ragged, whistling sound, but it was breath.

Thomas released him.

Steel touched the hollow beneath Thomas's jaw.

Another blade pressed between his shoulder blades. The guard whose arm he had evaded twisted his wrist behind him until pain flashed to his elbow. Somewhere behind the wall of uniforms, Mrs Bennet screamed his name.

Thomas had time for one absurd thought: he had not marked his place in his book.

Then the King coughed, spat a streak of sugared plum juice upon the polished floor, and raised one shaking hand.

"Stop."

No one moved.

"Put up your swords." His voice rasped. He coughed again and looked at Thomas through watering eyes. "That gentleman saved my life."

The blade beneath Thomas's chin disappeared.

His knees nearly followed it.

Queen Charlotte reached the King and took his face between her hands without the smallest concern for ceremony. "You can breathe? George, answer me."

"I can breathe, Charlotte." He touched her wrist, then looked again at Thomas. "Thanks to him."

The room exhaled.

Noise rushed in: weeping, questions, orders, the physician at last forcing his way through. Thomas was moved backward and then forward, examined as if he too might be injured, and asked his name by three people in rapid succession.

"Bennet," he said. "Thomas Bennet, of Longbourn."

Mr Lucas stood nearby with a streak of sugar glaze upon his lapel. He dabbed at it very slowly.

Mrs Bennet broke through the company with Jane and Elizabeth behind her. "Mr Bennet! Oh, Mr Bennet, they had swords. I saw the swords. I knew we should not come. I said from the first that the roads were damp."

She seized his arm with both hands. Her face was colorless beneath her bonnet.

"I am quite well."

"You are not. You have torn your coat."

Elizabeth said nothing. She stood with the abandoned plate still in her hands, staring at him as though he had become a stranger.