Chapter 2
TWO
The dusk was deepening over Green Hollow, laying down blue shadows along the paths and softening the corners of the trimmed hedges.
They had celebrated Easter only a few days before, returning to St. Luke’s to attend a service with the Marwood parents, but since then, the days felt to be growing a little longer, a little lighter.
Twilight had become one of Thomasin’s favourite times of day.
She loved to watch the colour and heat drain out of the afternoon light and the cooler air steal in.
Wrapping a shawl about her shoulders, she stood on the back terrace of the house, waiting patiently, looking out at the distant hills.
Among the trees on their boundary, there were families of bats, who often put in an appearance about this time, dancing, swooping down low, sometimes coming close to the house.
Thomasin liked to watch them, enjoying their acrobatics in the sky.
“Coming in to dinner?”
Giles had emerged from the bright interior to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.
“Yes, I was just watching for the bats.”
“Have you seen any yet?”
“Not one. I think they know I am watching.”
“I’m sure you’re right. As soon as you come in, they’ll all be out, filling the skies.” He placed a kiss on the side of her neck. “We’re happy here, aren’t we?”
“Oh yes.” Thomasin turned to him in surprise. “Very much so. It’s quite the perfect place for us, isn’t it?”
Giles smiled, but she recognised a little mote of doubt in his eye.
“Why do you ask? You’re not happy?”
“Oh, I am,” he said, turning her round to kiss her lips. “Blissfully happy. I hope you know that.”
“You’d tell me if you weren’t?”
“Of course. We agreed to tell each other everything.”
“Then what is it? And don’t say nothing, because I can see it in your eyes. It’s our wish for a child, isn’t it?”
“Well, of course that would be a blessing, but even if we never had one, you and I would still be happy together. No, it’s not that. I was just thinking.”
“What?”
“We’re very quiet here. I know that’s part of the appeal, but do you ever long to visit anywhere else, go back to London, or perhaps to Colchester or Ipswich or up north? Travel a little, see new places?”
Thomasin went quiet. Until then their world had been a little bubble, extending out to encompass Eastwell Hall and the villages, but little beyond.
They’d visited the Letchmeres in Norwich, but on the last two occasions, Harry and Ellen had come into Suffolk.
So Giles had itchy feet, she realised. “I’ve not really thought much about it.
I’ve been so happy here, I’ve not had time. ”
“I was only wondering whether it might be nice. Of course we’ll always have this place, but we could explore a little more. Visit court, even, or see friends. You’d love to see Thomas More and his family again, and your uncle Matthew, I know you would.”
Thomasin thought of her uncle in his London townhouse and her dear More and his daughter Margaret, who had become special friends of hers during her time at court.
“I can’t deny that there are faces I long to see again, but I cannot stomach the idea of court without the queen there.”
After eighteen months in the service of Catherine of Aragon, Thomasin had a fierce loyalty to her former mistress.
Despite her seclusion in the countryside, she had heard how the royal marriage had ended, through the letters of close friends.
It was almost two years now since Catherine had been cruelly banished from court and sent to stay in properties in the country, to make way for Anne Boleyn.
Thomasin wrote to her former mistress often, trying to alleviate her sorrows, and occasionally, she received letters back, written in a crabbed, Spanish hand, filled with regrets and memories of happier times.
Recently the poor woman had been moved yet again, to Ampthill Castle in Bedfordshire, a place she described as lonely and in disrepair.
For all her bravery, the former queen was a broken woman.
“Perhaps that might be a starting place,” suggested Giles. “Why don’t you write to Thomas More again and suggest a visit? Then you will know whether or not you still have an appetite for London. But look, there goes a bat!”
He pointed above her head and Thomasin spun round to see the flitting shape disappearing between two oak trees. A second one flew from its hiding place and followed.
“There,” said Giles, “the bats are at play.”
“So they are,” Thomasin replied wistfully.
Giles patted his belly. “Shall we go in to dinner? Since we are left with the pork, after you gave away our haunch of venison, which I hasten to add, is now on the road north, I asked the kitchens to prepare your favourite mustard and honey sauce to accompany it.”
“In which case,” replied Thomasin, “you had better hurry, as there will be none left for you otherwise!”
“All this country air gives you an appetite,” Giles said fondly. “Perhaps we shouldn’t remove you from here, or else I fear you might fade clean away.”
Thomasin laughed and hurried inside to the great hall, where Lettice was waiting. Her pale face wore a sombre expression that drew her sister to a halt.
Lettice was not alone. A man stood with her, dressed in his riding habit and cloak. His grey eyes looked tired, although they contained wisdom, and his shoulders had the slight stoop of advancing years.
“Father?”
Thomasin hurried towards Sir Richard Marwood, surprised to see that he had made the ride over from Eastwell at this time of day.
“Ah, Thomasin, my dear, and Giles, there you are. Forgive me: I have come to shatter your peace.”
Thomasin felt a chill run through her. “What on earth do you mean, Father? Is mother well? And Cecilia?”
In the past, Lady Elizabeth Marwood had suffered from a malaise in her breast, causing her discomfort, although with attention from the royal doctors, her worst days of discomfort had passed.
Thomasin and Lettice’s elder sister Cecilia had returned to live with her parents, to raise her young daughter, Rose.
“They are well, quite well. It is your uncle, Matthew Russell, of whom I bring tidings.”
“Uncle Matthew? But we were only speaking of him a moment ago. Weren’t we, Giles?”
At her side, Giles nodded, although his face looked ominous in anticipation of the news.
“I am sorry to have to tell you that we received a letter today from Dr Butts in London. He writes that yesternight, your uncle passed on to be with the Lord.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. “Uncle Matthew is dead?”
“Yes, my dear. He had a good, pious life, he did not suffer, and we must rejoice that he has gone to be with the Lord.”
Thomasin struggled to agree. She felt Giles’s arm wrap around her shoulders and leaned into him. He always knew the right thing to do and say.
“We are grieved to hear of his loss, but we will join you to rejoice in his blissful accession to life eternal. Our deepest condolences to you and your wife, his dear sister, Lady Elizabeth.”
“How has Mother taken it?” Thomasin asked.
“She is well enough, finding comfort in prayer. I am afraid I cannot stay longer. I only came to give you the news as soon as possible, but I should return to her now.”
“It is growing dark, Father. Is it safe?”
“Quite safe, never fear. These country roads are so quiet and I have brought two Eastwell servants with me.”
He strode forward to Thomasin and planted a kiss on her cheek, then shook Giles by the hand. “I have quite ruined your lovely evening, but only think of Uncle Matthew at rest with the angels, and enjoy this earthly paradise that you have.”
“Wait, one moment.”
Thomasin hurried to a cupboard at the side, which was stacked with silver plate, and fetched down a bulbous little jar.
“Here, these are mother’s favourite preserved gooseberries, from last season. Take them to her.”
Sir Richard nodded. “That is thoughtful of you.” He turned to his younger daughter. “And Lettice, I hope, is behaving herself.”
“Of course I am, Father!” she insisted.
“Yes,” Thomasin agreed. “She is no trouble at all. She may stay here with us as long as you please.”
“There may be business to attend to in London, winding up your uncle’s affairs, closing up the house in Thames Street, but the news is still fresh. I will send you word of when I depart.”
“You’re sure you will not stay the night, my lord?” asked Giles.
“No, Lady Elizabeth expects me. I will come again another time soon.”
“Godspeed, then. Thank you for bringing us the news, for the trouble it has taken.”
“No trouble. Look after yourselves.”
They went to wave him off from the front of the house, where a stately driveway led down to the main road. Giles stood in the middle of the two sisters, watching until the three horses were out of sight and silence had fallen again. The sky still bore the traces of sunset, but tinged with lilac.
“We must try and do as your father says,” Giles advised. “Think of your uncle in heaven, all his aches and pains relieved, his daily cares vanished away. He is not gone, merely awaiting us with God. We will see him again one day.”
Thomasin nodded, blinking back tears. She knew that Giles spoke the truth, but her heart still grieved for the kind old man who had welcomed her into his home.
“And now, this young lady must have her dinner.” Giles nodded to Lettice. “We cannot let you starve, no matter what. There is no help in that.”
“Are you sure you can eat?” asked Lettice, her lips trembling. “I don’t want to if it’s not right.”
“Of course we must eat,” Thomasin insisted, forcing a smile. “Come on, we will raise a toast in Uncle Matthew’s honour.”