Chapter 7
SEVEN
The carriage took Thomasin and Giles across the city into Holborn and through an imposing red brick gatehouse.
Inside, a vast complex of buildings sprawled like a palace, with a central square around a fountain.
A passing clerk directed them towards the offices which lay on the second floor, towards a corner turret where two walls met, through an arched door and up a steep flight of steps.
“Mr Ambrose Brown?” asked Giles, knocking upon the first door, as instructed.
The door swung open to reveal a short, middle-aged man in the furred robes of a lawyer, his red beard trimmed closely, his blue eyes bright and intelligent.
“Lord and Lady Waterson? Come in. Forgive my humble quarters.”
The humble quarters were sizeable, with a bay window overlooking the courtyard, and shelves of books and documents around a large desk piled with papers. Two chairs and a silver salver bearing a decanter and glasses awaited them.
“Please, have a seat. How was your journey from Suffolk?”
Thomasin looked around while Giles talked.
It was strange to be in a place such as this, with no other women around, and men studying, reading, writing letters, hidden away in these little cluttered rooms. Her eyes ran over the shelves with their reams of yellowing paper, some manuscripts bound at the edge, others in black leather with gold lettering, more in green and a few in red, containing so many words.
She wondered what they were all used for; did Mr Ambrose take them down and consult past cases, or did they sit aside gathering dust?
“Lady Waterson?”
Her attention snapped back. “Yes?”
“Is it your intention to reside at Monk’s Place?”
“Reside? Oh no, not permanently. Our estate in Suffolk will always be our main home.”
“Part of the year, then, perhaps?”
She looked to Giles. “We’ve not really reached a decision. It’s been too soon.”
“We like the idea of having a house in the city,” Giles put in. “I imagine we will use it infrequently, for visits and certain occasions.”
“So the house will not be occupied for much of the year?”
“We can hardly give numbers,” Giles continued. “Does it matter?”
“Well, perhaps.” Brown consulted the papers before him.
“There is a clause I noticed that the house must be occupied, not left to dust. Let me find it. Ah, here, yes, as I thought. Matthew Russell wished that Monk’s Place be continuously inhabited so as not to fall vacant or into decay.
He makes particular mention of the garden being cared for.
He wished for it to remain a well-kept residence as befitted the affection he felt for the place. ”
“But surely my uncle did not intend for us to move to London permanently?” Thomasin asked. “He knew we would not wish to do so.”
Brown put down his papers. “It is a condition of inheritance.”
“But there are ways round this, surely,” said Giles. “Although we may not be resident at the house all the time, we might retain staff there. That way it will always be occupied and cared for.”
“That would be a start. But it is hardly the home that I believe Sir Russell desired it to continue.”
Giles frowned. “Perhaps a tenant, then? Someone trusted. A member of the family even, or the house might be used by other friends visiting from the country?”
“I am sure there are ways around this,” said Mr Brown. “I have done my duty in reading the conditions to you, and so long as you agree to abide by them, my role is complete.”
Thomasin looked at Giles. “I do accept the conditions of inheritance. We will ensure the house is lived in and looked after as my uncle wished, with special attention paid to the gardens. It will be a family home.”
“Very good.”
“And may I take this opportunity to thank you for the provision you made for our arrival. Williams has proven an excellent steward, preparing the house and seeing that all our needs are met.”
“He was personally recommended by Sir Russell in the terms of his will. Speaking of which, there are other bequests. One moment.”
He called to a clerk outside, who brought in a small chest and set it down on the table. Brown stood up to delve into it, pulling out a cloth bag, which he handed to Thomasin.
“These were the jewels of the late Mrs Russell, and here is her prayer book, which your uncle wished you to have. There are furred gowns in the chest at Monk’s Place, which are left to you, Lord Waterson, and a tablet of gold in the chest in the back bedroom.
In addition, Lady Waterson, you will receive an annual salary of five pounds, plus the use of the Russell pew in the church of St Mary, Thames Street, and the carriage and horses currently stabled at the house. Now, I think that is all.”
They were coming down the winding staircase out into the courtyard, when the lawyer’s words hit Thomasin.
“An annual income of five pounds, plus the house and all these jewels. I wonder what uncle was thinking?”
“You mean why he left it to you?” said Giles, blinking in the bright outdoor light.
“Well, I suppose so, yes.”
“He knew your mother was already provided for, and you have your life ahead of you. You were always the one who had the position at court, not Cecilia, so I think he wanted to give you the means to be independent if you wished to resume that.”
“Resume my court position, now that Queen Catherine has been sent away?”
Giles shrugged. “Perhaps. There is always Lady Mary.”
Thomasin thought of King Henry’s daughter, whom she had last seen as a child in her mother’s apartments, a melancholy girl wounded by her parents’ quarrels. She must now be seventeen. Thomasin wondered if Mary was at court or if she had returned to Ludlow with her governess Lady Salisbury.
They were heading across the courtyard, towards the central fountain, when Thomasin spotted a figure emerging from the archway opposite.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with deft, fluid movements and a well-modelled head covered with greying hair, it was undeniably Sir Thomas Boleyn, promoted to Earl of Wiltshire since Thomasin had last seen him.
She flinched at the sight of Anne’s father, who had often made himself unavoidable in the past, but it was too late.
They were exposed in the middle of the courtyard and Sir Thomas had spotted them, preparing to pounce as an eagle upon its prey.
“Thomasin Marwood?” His deep, rich voice made her name sound sarcastic. “Well, it is many years since I have seen you.”
He stopped on the path before them, blocking their way, a favourite move often used by the family.
“Lady Waterson,” she replied coldly.
“Lady Waterson, yes, I heard of your marriage,” he said, scrutinising her face, before turning to Giles. “And you, I presume, are the husband.”
Giles refused to rise to the bait. “Lord Waterson. And who may you be?”
Sir Thomas laughed, knowing that Giles was fully aware of who he was. The father of the new queen needed no introduction.
“What business brings you to Lincoln’s Inn?”
“An inheritance from my uncle.”
“Ah, I am sorry for your loss. What form did it take? A mule? A pair of shoes?” His lips twisted into a wry smile.
“A substantial property and income,” interjected Giles. “Now, if you will please excuse us, good day to you, sir.”
He took Thomasin by the arm and plunged forward so that Sir Thomas had to step aside to let them pass. Thomasin could feel the tension in his hand as he steered her out towards their carriage, his face set.
“Odious man.”
“His daughter is the queen; we should have a care. They are crowning her soon, I think.”
News had spread even into Suffolk about Anne Boleyn’s pregnancy and the place she occupied at Henry’s side on state occasions.
They had been married in secret, even though there had been no resolution to his first marriage, the old queen merely cast out into the countryside.
Thomasin knew that Catherine must have heard about Anne’s success.
She could only wish that the news had not caused her too much pain.
Prayer was what had saved Catherine before; her former maid knew that she would be spending long hours on bended knee, dedicating her meagre days to God.
“We shall be back at Green Hollow before then,” Thomasin continued. “I cannot bear the thought of it, to be honest.”
“We will get this business conducted soon. None of the conditions Brown mentioned are insurmountable. Your parents could use Monk’s Place also, and Cecilia could bring her little girl Rose to play in the garden — Ellen and Harry too, with Benedict.
The Mores, Ropers and Dudleys will always have an invitation, so there will always be friends and family in the house. ”
“Yes,” Thomasin said, smiling. “There will be.”
“Now, let us return and see what Lettice makes of the garden in daylight. Then there are the papers to go through in your uncle’s study. It should take a day or two, little more.”
“You underestimate how much uncle loved to write letters!”
“Well, the sooner we start, the sooner we can leave.”
Outside the gate, he handed her into the carriage. “We’ll be back at Green Hollow for the feast of St Dunstan.”
“Of course we will,” she said, seating herself inside the carriage, the sudden darkness inside making her shiver.
It was a relief to return to Monk’s Place, knowing the first part of their business was concluded.
The sun came out from behind grey clouds and lighted their way into the garden, where Thomasin was delighted to see a careful hand had maintained the beautiful planting, and the lawns were freshly scythed.
Beyond, the river lay like a bright thread, dotted with small vessels, the outlines of Southwark visible behind them.
Lettice had been roaming along the colonnaded walk, but emerged upon seeing them, bright and full of energy as usual.
“There you are! Just look at all this. I have been counting all the flowers, but each time I think I have them, I spot another bush or bed. Isn’t it all glorious?”