Chapter 10
TEN
The gardens at Whitehall were magnificent.
Darkness was falling, but torches along the paths brought enough light for Thomasin to appreciate them, perhaps even to see them at their most dramatic.
Led along by Sir Thomas, she forgot for a moment who she was with and why, and lost herself in the beauty of the place.
The space was divided up into squares and bisected by paths, which were railed and painted in the Tudor colours, and adorned with medallions carved in the shapes of vines, portcullises and roses.
Along each route stood statues, some mythical, some of animals with gilded horns, some of children.
All led towards a central fountain, ringed by seats made from trimmed bushes, packed with mosses and flowers.
“Delightful, isn’t it?” said Sir Thomas, observing her intense interest. “I remember how often I discovered you in a garden in the past; I believe you have a fondness for them.”
“I do,” Thomasin replied, before she had a chance to think. “My garden in Suffolk…”
Then she paused, weighing up her options.
She could maintain her cold, aloof exterior with Sir Thomas, a man whom she did not trust, or she could be polite and converse for a short while, to make the time pass.
After all, he was now in a greater position than she had ever known him, and she had always been realistic about the need to be polite to those in power.
“Go on,” he said. “Your garden in Suffolk…”
She shot him a quick look. His expression seemed genuine.
“It is my pride and joy. I spend most days out there, in all weathers.”
“I imagine it is delightful at this time of year.”
“Yes, indeed. It is all just coming to life; the violets are making way for the roses now. And we had so many blossoms this year.”
“Apple blossom?”
“And cherry.”
“This garden was formerly an orchard,” he said.
“Wolsey’s original garden was smaller, to the side, so Henry reclaimed and extended the orchard.
I believe there is still a row of apple trees somewhere, as a reminder.
Heavily pollarded, so you can hardly recognise them, of course.
” Sir Thomas surveyed the view. “It has worked well, I think, and catches the sun as it faces south.”
Behind them, George had found a friend and was laughing away at some lewd tale.
Sir Thomas steered her away from them, down a sidewalk.
There were a number of people like them, walking, chatting and admiring the gardens, but each time they passed, these men and women bowed or curtseyed to Sir Thomas, and in turn, to Thomasin at his side.
It was a strange sensation. For a moment, she almost felt what it must be like to be queen.
“I appreciate you giving up your time to act as companion to my wife. She grows tired of court easily, which is not compatible with me fulfilling my duties.”
“Would she not be happier at Hever? I know how much she loves it.”
“Yes, you are right. And at the moment the gardens there are glorious, but she must be here for Anne’s coronation. She can hardly miss that, can she?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“It is good for her to have pleasant company; I know she has always been fond of you, and now you seem…” He paused. “Older and wiser than before.”
Thomasin could not stop herself from smiling. Sir Thomas had never been this warm or frank before. “Older, certainly.”
“Well, our children are busy. Mary is now in Anne’s household, although she frequently takes herself off to Essex, and she has her own family to consider, too.”
“Of course.”
“And George is often engaged as ambassador; he is just back from the Low Countries, in fact. You do not find my wife too much of a burden?”
The word was harsh. “Never a burden, no.”
“Do not feel sorry for her. If she so much as senses a whiff of pity, she will send you home.”
“I understand, but it is hard not to feel that. What is wrong with her, if I may ask?”
“You may. The doctors think her mind is confused, and there are issues with her hips and back, and the headaches. We’ve tried all manner of remedies, but rest and peace are what’s best for her. She is of an age now that trials come to women, especially those who have borne children.”
“So she will be returning to Hever after the coronation?”
“Perhaps, for a few weeks, then there is Anne’s child to deliver. She will wish to be here for her confinement, to offer her assistance.”
Of course, the birth of a future Boleyn king. Thomasin understood that none of them would wish to miss that.
“Do you plan to stay in London long?”
“I had not intended to. It was to be a brief visit, to settle the questions of my uncle’s estate.”
“And do you still feel that way?”
“As I said, my Suffolk garden is my pride and joy. I would not be away from it for longer than I must.”
They had reached the far end of the privy garden.
Still leading her by the arm, Sir Thomas turned round so that the full view unrolled before them, leading back up to the jumble of roofs and spires in the palace complex.
Chimneys let up their drifts of smoke to the sky.
Torches shone as the evening air crept over them, soft and blue, catching the lights on a unicorn or a lion.
Sir Thomas looked over it with wistful eyes.
“Not even if this was your garden?”
“But it would not be my garden,” said Thomasin quickly, as a couple passed them by, nodding to the man at her side. “I would always have to share it.”
“Is anything truly our own?” he said, his eyes in shadow. “We only ever borrow things for a short space.”
Thomasin turned to him, wondering at the change in a man she had previously feared. “You have become a philosopher in my absence.”
He smiled, taut and small, before the expression disappeared. “Perhaps I have.”
A laugh from across the garden drew their attention. George had met with more young men, who were now standing in a group, close to the fountain.
“I fear for my son. He lacks direction. He only cares for pleasures, while he leaves his wife alone.”
This felt like too much private information. “He is still young,” Thomasin added.
“He is quite old enough, when I think of what I had already undertaken by the time I was his age.”
“But what of Anne?” asked Thomasin, rapidly changing the subject to a positive one. “You must be proud. She has achieved great heights.”
“An overnight queen,” he said, sighing, “only seven years in the making. So long as her son is born healthy, all will be well.”
“Her son?”
“All the astrologers predict it. They will call him Henry, of course. Although she must curb her tongue. She has grown too sharp with her power; she has angered Norfolk in the process so that he is often away from court when he should be her ally. She is not so high that she can afford to make enemies.”
Thomasin frowned, her mind circling around Sir Thomas’s doubts, although she did not feel it was her place to add to them.
“I suppose I should return to Lady Elizabeth. I am to accompany her back to Durham Place.”
Her companion seemed to mentally pull himself together. “Yes, yes, of course. She no longer confides in me. That part of things is gone.”
Again, Thomasin felt the intimacy of this comment and recoiled a little from him. When he started to head down the path, she hurried to match his pace, keen to end the conversation.
They walked swiftly past the fountain, just as George threw back his head and roared with laughter at some comment made by his circle.
Thomasin heard Sir Thomas tut under his breath and he tightened his grip on her arm.
As they reached the passageway to re-enter the palace, the scents of roasted meat rushed out, and the bright lights of the hall seemed to invite Thomasin to stay, sheltered by incomparable royal warmth and luxury.
For a moment, the sensation rushed over her that she had missed such places as this, and she might be happy here again.
But the idea was fleeting, did not root, and she quickly chased it away, surprised at herself.
Before they entered, she paused, looking round at the garden again.
Dusk was deepening and the figures moving outside were all washed to a navy blue, until they were caught in the torchlight and briefly returned to life.
But at the far end — was that a lone figure, in black robes?
Her stomach flipped. Was there something familiar about him, with the longer hair, the broad shoulders, that way of leaning?
It was too dark to see, but she could have sworn he was watching them. She almost said his name.
“It was most pleasant to speak with you again, Thomasin,” said Lord Thomas, leading her inside. “Again, I offer you my gratitude for your kindness.”
Wasn’t it strange, Thomasin thought, that Sir Thomas had not mentioned him either? This man of the shadows, who used to be in his employment, who used to follow him about, doing his bidding? Where was he now?
Henry, Anne and their party had long since departed, leaving the dais to be cleared by servers.
The hall was emptying, but Lady Elizabeth remained where they had left her, at the top table, although she now had the companionship of a small man dressed in dark robes.
As she approached, Thomasin realised it was the Imperial Ambassador, Eustace Chapuys.
He turned as they moved towards him, his smooth features resolving themselves into a greeting, and he rose to his feet, being much shorter than Thomasin anticipated.
“My lord,” he said, bowing to Sir Thomas. He then made as if to depart.
“Do wait,” said Lady Elizabeth. “I wish you to meet dear Lady Waterson — Thomasin Marwood, as was. She served the former Queen Catherine.”
A change came over Chapuys’ face. Beside her, Thomasin was aware of Sir Thomas excusing himself and stalking away.
Chapuys waited until Sir Thomas was out of earshot, then took Thomasin’s hand enthusiastically. “Any friend of the queen is a friend of mine. It is good to have allies in this place where there is so much hostility to my cause.” His tones were clipped, his vowels almost staccato.
“Thomasin was a particular favourite of Catherine’s,” added Lady Elizabeth, her perception and faculties nowhere near as faulty as her husband had presented them. “I know that she trusted Thomasin particularly.”
“Then you have the gratitude of the Empire,” said Chapuys, his eyes darting about. “Have you any communications still with that royal lady?”
“Only the occasional letter, and I have sent her some warm clothes and food from time to time, but I am mostly in Suffolk now.”
“We must do what we can to bring comfort to her in this time of trial. I am doing all I can to plead her case, and that of the Princess Mary, so that they might at least be allowed to visit each other.”
“Are they not permitted that?” asked Thomasin, a thorn lodging itself in her heart when she thought of the fierce love that Catherine had borne for her daughter.
“Not at present.” The ambassador curled his lip, as if he would speak more if it were not for the presence of the new queen’s mother.
Lady Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet. “It is late. I must be getting back.”
Chapuys bowed. “A pleasure, my lady. Lady Waterson, I hope we might meet again, speak of the dear queen, perhaps somewhere a little more private.”
Thomasin had not intended to be drawn into the old factions once more, nor to engage in court intrigue, no matter how strong her private sympathies for Catherine might be.
“I’m afraid I will not be at court much longer. I intend to visit M…” She paused before she pronounced his name, recalling how More was out of favour with Henry. “I shall visit some friends in Chelsea, and soon after I shall be returning to Suffolk.”
“A shame,” said Chapuys. “I need all the friends I can get here. I bid you a good night.”
Lady Elizabeth watched him go, then gestured to Thomasin. “To my carriage. Back to Durham Place; I have drunk too much rich wine and eaten too much cream. I am already suffering for it.”
“Of course.” Taking the old lady by the arm, Thomasin led her gently out of the opposite door, into the courtyard, where the stable boys were waiting.