Chapter 7 #2
“I am glad you like the garden.”
“All these secret little rooms in it, places to sit and read or think. I have seen a robin’s nest too, with blue eggs, but I didn’t touch it.
I even went round the side to the kitchen garden and smelled all the herbs.
Try this!” She held out a smudge of green between finger and thumb.
Thomasin leant in close enough to learn that it was rosemary.
“We are to have lamb tonight, Williams said so,” Lettice went on. “So I have picked this for him to bake with it. And the cook is preparing a sauce with cinnamon and ginger.”
Giles smiled. “I can’t think who you remind me of.”
“Is all your business done now?”
“Some of it,” said Thomasin. “This afternoon we must make a start on uncle’s papers.”
“How dull. Will there be time afterwards to visit the shops?”
“Perhaps tomorrow. You can help us later by going through uncle’s books and seeing what you would like. He has many treaties about science — the humours and the planets, if I recall — but some of the old French romances too, so you might find something to keep you occupied.”
For all her love of ribbons, Thomasin knew her younger sister had an enquiring mind that lapped up information, which had been sorely lacking among the small collection of saints’ lives and psalters at Eastwell Hall. Then she was reminded of another young girl under their roof.
“Lettice, have you seen Mariot this morning?”
“She was in the kitchen garden with the cook earlier. I tried to talk with her, but she was occupied.”
Thomasin nodded, turning to Giles. “I may go and see how she fares. She has been quiet since our arrival.”
“She must find it quite a change after Green Hollow.”
Leaving her husband and sister, Thomasin walked round the side of the house to the brick archway in the wall that led into the kitchen garden.
It was empty as she entered, bees humming contentedly above its vast beds of lavender, but the kitchen door stood open, and the sounds of a knife chopping on a wooden block could be heard. Thomasin hovered outside.
“Hello?”
The head of an elderly woman appeared, white-haired under her cap, knife in hand. She put it behind her back when she saw Thomasin standing there.
“My lady?”
“Cook? I trust all is well?”
“All good, my lady. We shall have a tender piece of lamb for you tonight. I’ve lots of experience; I worked at court a while, then York Place for the old cardinal, then Durham Place, and now here.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your experience. Has Miss Mariot been helping you?”
“She has done the best she can, my lady, but she lacks experience.”
“Yes, this is her first position. I trust you will guide her and give her the benefit of your wisdom?”
“Of course, it will be my pleasure.”
“Is she about?”
“I have sent her up with herbs for the bedrooms.”
“Then I will seek her there and let you return to your labours.”
Climbing the staircase, Thomasin had a sudden presentiment about what she would find. The upstairs chambers were quiet, their windows standing open to the spring day, the fireplaces having been swept and restacked with coal.
The girl was standing by the open window, looking out, her arms wrapped around herself. She had changed into a pale grey gown and a clean white apron, and her long hair was pulled back into a plait. Her expression was wistful, and she did not hear Thomasin’s approach.
“Mariot?”
She spun round and Thomasin could see her eyes were red from recent tears.
“Oh, my lady, I only paused for a moment. I am just dusting.” She picked up a cloth from the windowsill and began to rub it against the wood.
“It’s all right. Put that down a moment. Tell me, have you been crying?”
The girl’s eyes began to well up again, although she struggled against it, wiping even harder at some imagined stain.
“Come, leave that. What’s troubling you?”
“You won’t…” the girl stammered. “You’re not going to send me back there, are you? Back to Suffolk?”
“Why would I do that?”
“If I make mistakes. I broke a bowl — didn’t the cook say? Isn’t that why you’ve come up?”
“Cook mentioned no bowl. We have many bowls. You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?”
Mariot shook her head vehemently.
“Then there is nothing to worry about. No bowl is worth these tears.”
“But there’s so much to learn. So many things to remember. I’m worried I will get it wrong.”
“You are more than capable of doing this. It is all very new and overwhelming and everyone makes mistakes at first, so don’t worry. Just listen carefully to instructions and ask for help if you are unsure. Cook seems kind and knowledgeable; she will be your guide.”
“But what if I’m not intended for this? What if I was supposed to be a butcher’s wife all along?”
Thomasin was surprised. “Is that what you truly think?”
“I don’t know. There is so much in my head that it feels addled.”
“Well, we are here for a few more days before we return to Suffolk. Perhaps then you will have a better idea about what you want.”
“I’m sorry, my lady.”
“Not at all. Take each task one at a time. God bless you, Mariot.”
The girl dropped an awkward curtsey. “Thank you, my lady.” Picking up the cloth, she resumed rubbing the woodwork.
Later that evening, when the fires had been stoked up and the scent of roasting meat was stealing out of the kitchen, a boy brought a letter to the house.
Thomasin and Lettice were strolling along the paths of the garden, so it was Giles who received it and brought it outside. He handed to his wife without a word. Thomasin felt a chill as she saw the familiar B cipher pressed into the wax.
“I am tempted not to open it,” she said.
Giles nodded.
“Why?” Asked Lettice. “Who is it from?”
“A member of the Boleyn family,” Thomasin explained. “A family I do not wish to associate with.”
“Anne Boleyn’s family? She who is about to be crowned queen? I know — I spoke with the cook this morning, and she told me all about it. All of London will watch her, won’t they? But she is hated, I believe, although I’m not sure why.”
Thomasin sighed. “You know I was in the household of the real queen, Queen Catherine, not so long ago.”
“Yes, but she is gone now, isn’t she? She is old and can’t bear any more children, so she’s been sent into the country. I have heard Anne is quite beautiful and clever.”
Giles sensed Thomasin stiffening. “Come, Lettice, we shall leave her alone to read her letter.”
“What did I say? Can’t I read it too?”
“Come inside,” he said, extending his arm for her to take. “It is time to prepare for dinner.”
Lettice allowed herself to be led inside, dragging her sullen feet. At the house door, she turned and cast Thomasin a baleful look.
Thomasin waited until they had disappeared inside the house, then walked a little way down the path, between the roses, to a spot overlooking the lawn, where she broke the seal. The imprinted letter B, decorated with curlicues, broke right down the middle.
The folded paper only contained a few lines. She didn’t recognise the hand.
I was pleased to learn from my lord that you have returned to London. I would be glad if you would call on me at Durham House tomorrow morning, or at your earliest convenience thereafter.
Lady Elizabeth Boleyn.