Chapter 6
SIX
Scents of evening were hanging in the air as they approached the city of London on the northeast road.
They were surrounded by woodsmoke, mud and the denseness of forest shadows.
The journey had taken most of the day, passing through the green fields of Essex, with its villages and church spires, its grazing flocks and glassy ponds.
Thomasin had felt herself nodding off once or twice with the motion of the carriage, but at her side Lettice was perched on the edge of her seat for the entire journey.
Every so often she pointed out a landmark, her face a picture of awe and excitement for her first ever trip to the capital.
Opposite them, Mariot sat taut and unmoving, only alive to the rolling of the wheels, equally a novice, but her reaction quite opposite to that of Lettice.
Outside the carriage window, Thomasin caught sight of Giles, who was riding alongside them on horseback, his broad back keeping pace just ahead, filling her with a sense of security.
Over his shoulder, she glimpsed a familiar landmark; the spire of St Leonard’s Church, which she always looked for as their first sign that the city was upon them.
“Look,” she said to the girls, pointing out of the window, “we are entering Shoreditch, a village on the outskirts of the city. Very soon the walls will be visible. You will see them, Lettice, if you keep watching.”
“I can’t believe we’re almost here!” cried Lettice, trying to lean out of her window to get a better look. “I think I can already see them! There are more houses up ahead and a dark line; perhaps that is them?”
Mariot, though, did not move. Her pale face was even paler than usual, her dark eyes looking huge. “Are you quite well?” Thomasin asked her. “It is a little daunting going to London for the first time.”
“It’s not that, my lady. I’m just a little queasy.”
“Oh, of course. Just sit still. We shall be there soon enough now.”
Thomasin mentally berated herself for not anticipating this; she should have brought some ginger cordial or mint leaves for the girl to chew upon. She would try to remember for the return journey.
The carriage trundled along Shoreditch Street as it ran into Bishopsgate, with its grand houses and gardens lining the route, until Thomasin spotted the outline of Bethlehem Hospital and St Botolph’s Church came into sight. She had seen them many times on her travels in and out of the city.
“Look, here are the walls,” she said, “and the gate itself, through which we will enter the city. Then you’ll see a change.”
The houses were denser now, smaller and more closely packed, with inns and stables on either side, and people on foot in the street. The gate itself loomed solid with its round stone towers and crenelated top; their wheels rattled over the wooden bridge, carrying them over the ditch beneath.
Thomasin had been right. Once they were inside the city, the world around them changed completely.
Everything was busier, faster, fuller. The streets were lined with imposing buildings, tall, timber-framed houses and shops, leaning forward as if they would topple onto the people below.
On every street corner, there were more churches, their bells pealing for evensong, seemingly ignored by those hurrying through the marketplaces and dodging carts.
For a moment, they were forced to pause to allow a horse to turn, and Thomasin looked up at the great facade of the Leadenhall, a huge building for traders of corn and leather and other goods.
Then, the carriage lurched over the cobbles and they were off again, heading south in the direction of the river.
The roads were narrower now and a dozen jolts and holes shook them in their seats.
Thomasin wrinkled her nose at the stench of waste and animals mingled with the smoke of a thousand fires, heating the homes, forges and bakeries of the city.
The sound of voices reached them, of people and animals.
The trundle and clatter of carts and feet penetrated their safe haven.
London had always been about the court to her; how had she forgotten what the city was like?
Lettice was quite lost to her now, Thomasin saw, half hanging out of the window in wonder, but Mariot’s knuckles were white as she clung to the cushion.
“It will be all right,” Thomasin said kindly. “Only a few minutes more.”
The light was fading as they turned into Thames Street.
A little further along and the gates of Monk’s Place stood open to welcome them, set with flaming torches to light their way.
The bright golden flames crackled amid the gloom.
The sight of it cheered Thomasin’s heart as she recalled her first visit, and realised how much the place felt like home.
“Here we are,” said Giles, appearing alongside them and calling the carriage to a halt.
The carriage door sprang open at once and Lettice was already tumbling out into the courtyard, looking around her at the manicured space with its clipped trees and the house that lay beyond, a hulking mass of dark grey stone, reminiscent of its days sheltering a monastic order, although the glass in the newer windows shone brightly in the setting sun.
Lettice was transfixed. “Oh, it’s so gloomy! Nothing like Green Hollow.”
No, thought Thomasin with a sudden pang for her Suffolk garden, nothing like it at all.
“This is the street side. Wait until you see round the back, where the garden goes right down to the river. You’ll love it.” She turned to offer her hand to Mariot, who was attempting to rise. “It’s over now. Come down onto solid ground.”
The girl took a couple of deep breaths and tucked her long dark hair behind her ear. Thomasin hoped she wasn’t regretting the decision to come, but then again, a shaky carriage journey was nothing in comparison with having to marry the butcher’s son.
“I’ll be right, my lady. In a moment.”
The front doors of Monk’s Place opened to welcome them.
Thomasin looked in surprise, half expecting to see her uncle Matthew standing there, as he used to, his dogs roaming about his legs, sniffing the air and nosing at the visitors.
Instead, a thin, sallow-faced man appeared, dressed in austere black. He bowed at their approach.
“My Lord and Lady Waterson, welcome. I am Patrick Williams, engaged by the estate of Sir Matthew Russell as steward until such time as you make your own arrangements. I trust I have prepared the house to your approval.”
“That is most thoughtful,” said Giles, about to step across the hearth, before he turned to his wife. “No, Thomasin, you should enter first, as it is your house.”
With a small smile, she did as he bid. The familiar scent of beeswax and old wood rushed up to meet her, although someone — presumably Williams — had placed spring flowers and herbs about the place, their bright scents lying above those of the house.
Before her, the grand staircase of dark wood wound up to the first floor, and the passage led straight through to the back door, beyond which lay the gardens.
“I have laid a fire in the parlour, my lady, and dinner is ready for service as soon as you wish.”
“Thank you. I think we shall eat,” Thomasin said. “It has been a long journey. Is there a man to unload our trunks?”
“Already being done, my lady, and a cook in the kitchen and maid for the chambers.”
Thomasin could not help but smile. “Whose work is this? You said my uncle’s estate?”
“All overseen by Mr Ambrose Brown at Lincoln’s Inn.”
“How very thoughtful,” added Giles behind her, taking off his cloak. “Come on, I am ready to dine.”
Thomasin caught her breath as they entered the dining room.
With its long table and rows of chairs leading to the fireplace, it had hardly been touched since her last visit four years earlier.
Many times she had sat here, eating her uncle’s delicious fare, sharing news, laughing, telling stories, and with such mixed emotions.
She had sat here with her old love, Rafe Danvers, believing herself about to wed; here they had awaited news of Cecilia after her disappearance; and here they had worried about her father during his incarceration in the Tower.
She had first arrived as an innocent girl, green to the world, her heart full of hope.
Tears welled in her eyes at the memory of that girl, but she choked them back fiercely.
“Now this is very grand,” said Lettice, running her hand over the carving on the mantlepiece and inspecting the candlesticks. “I can quite see myself dining here.”
“Well, take a seat. You don’t have to imagine it,” said Giles, gesturing her towards a chair.
“Come and be seated with us,” Thomasin said to Mariot, who hovered in the doorway, unsure exactly what her place was and whether she should seek out the kitchen. “For tonight at least, before we get things settled.”
“If you’re sure, my lady.”
“It’s been a long journey. We’re all tired and hungry. We’ll eat and then retire, and begin things afresh in the morning.”
A rich, meaty stew was brought out in deep bowls, with freshly baked bread and rich, creamy cheese. Thomasin’s stomach rumbled in appreciation, as it had been hours since they had eaten a midday meal at an inn along the route.
“This is most welcome,” said Giles at her side, digging in at once, while Williams filled their wine glasses.
“What will we do tomorrow?” asked Lettice, her energy seemingly undimmed.
Thomasin sighed. “Well, there is much business to attend to in regard to this house. We must pay a visit to Lincoln’s Inn to sign the paperwork, and there are domestic arrangements to be made.”
“But when will we go to court? I can’t wait to see it all.”
Giles shot his wife a look.
“Well, we shall see,” said Thomasin, unwilling to tell her excited sister that she had no plans to visit court at all. “Soon we’ll be off to Chelsea to visit Thomas More and his family. He has three little granddaughters who will be keen to meet you.”
“When will we go? Tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow, but perhaps at the start of next week.”
“And what shall I do until then? Can we visit some of the London shops? I want ribbons and aiglets and cloth of silver.”
“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” counselled Giles. “One day at a time. London has many attractions, so do not fear you will miss out.”
When they had finished their meal, Thomasin rose to her feet, suddenly feeling the fatigue of the journey.
Williams appeared in the doorway. “My lady, I have prepared the main chamber and the two on the east side. Fires have been made up in each. Is there anything else you require?”
“Thank you, that will be all. Except, I might just glance at the garden. Is the south door still unlocked?”
“It is, my lady. I will not lock it until I retire for the night.”
“Thank you, Williams.”
“If you please, my lady,” said Mariot, rising to her feet, “unless there is anything you need me for, may I be excused for the night?”
“Of course.” The girl looked tired. It had been an overwhelming day. “Williams, please take Mariot to her quarters. She will be assisting us in the coming days. It is her first time in London.”
With an understanding nod, the steward led the girl away.
Thomasin held out her hand to Lettice, who rose eagerly to take it, and Giles followed.
“Now, this garden is very special,” Thomasin explained, as they passed through the corridor towards the back of the house.
Moonlight streamed in from the windows above, lighting their way, giving the house a dreamy quality.
The familiar door stood before them, swinging open gently to the touch and inviting them outside.
The garden rolled away in waves of grey and purple, the paths criss-crossing about the central fountain, with beds of roses and box, patches of lawn and sheltered seats.
To the right was the colonnaded walkway with its classical statues, which led down towards the little dock where Thomasin knew a small boat was tied up, barely visible among the reeds.
Lettice clapped her hands in delight. “But this is wonderful! Just wonderful, and it’s all yours!”
“Hush!” Said Giles, pressing his finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”
They listened again in the darkness, and after a moment it came again: the hoot of an owl.
“Yes,” said Lettice, “I think we shall be very happy here, owls and all.”