Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“Tell us again what court was like,” said Lettice, groaning in her impatience. “What you ate and what the gardens were like. I can’t believe you got to see it all and I was left at home.”
“So was I, do not forget,” said Giles, laughing, although Thomasin wondered whether he had felt that he’d missed out.
“It was not my invitation to extend,” she explained. “I was there as Lady Elizabeth’s guest, so I was not in a position to bring along guests of my own.”
“Next time, then,” insisted Lettice. “You must take us both to the next feast.”
“There will not be a next time,” said, Thomasin frowning, “you know we are headed back to Suffolk after this.”
They were headed to Chelsea in the carriage, a journey of four miles east along the bank of the Thames.
Thomasin was eager to see her old friends, Thomas More and his daughter Margaret, and their extended family, and looked forward to a few days of relaxation and good company before the return home.
“You might tell us about the food again,” Lettice continued, “seeing as we missed out!”
“You did not miss out entirely, did you?”
“That one gilded marzipan heart was the most delicious thing I have ever tasted in my whole life, even if it had travelled up your sleeve! I can only imagine what the rest of the feast was like. But am I never to go to court? We have come all this way to London and I am to return to Suffolk again, without having been to court or glimpsed the king and queen?”
Giles raised his eyebrows: Lettice had a point.
Thomasin knew it was unfair to the girl not to allow her a taste of the life that she had so enjoyed as a younger woman, but she was nervous about opening that particular door, especially as Lettice was so high-spirited.
Sometimes she reminded her of Cecilia, and the memories of her elder sister’s disastrous debut came flooding back.
She turned her head to the side and looked out of the window at a pasture of cows.
Eventually, they arrived in the village of Chelsea, a strange mixture of large country houses and smaller houses for the fishermen and boatmen who served the river.
The buildings were spaced out between gardens, which offered glimpses of their treasures through gateways as the carriage rattled past.
More’s house was close to the Thames, a sprawling red brick family home set in its own grounds, surrounded by a high wall.
A short driveway carried them to the entrance, before which beds of roses were just starting to bud.
Their host had heard their approach and came out to meet them, his intelligent eyes warm with welcome, his hair a little greyer than before.
Thomas More was now in his mid-fifties and in the intervening four years since Thomasin had left court, he had changed little.
The letters they exchanged regularly were full of affection and wit.
Although he was old enough to be her father, she could truly count him as one of her best friends.
“Welcome! Welcome,” he said, coming forward to embrace her as she climbed down from the carriage. “What a blessing this day is. How long we have waited for this.”
Thomasin hugged him tightly. “I have missed you so much. It is so very good to be here at last. And you remember my husband, Giles.”
More shook his hand enthusiastically. “I am so very glad to see you, my lord, very glad indeed.”
“And my younger sister Lettice.”
The girl came forward shyly and More made a bow and kissed her hand. “Another Marwood sister. You are most welcome to my home; yes, you have the family look about you! Now, come inside and have some refreshment. Margaret is waiting.”
They were ushered into an elegant hallway, lined with dark wood, upon which hung portraits, maps and sketches.
There was a faint scent of citrus and sage.
A tall cupboard displayed plate, but Thomasin’s eyes were drawn to the musical instruments dotted about the place and the shelves of books.
A bright fire burned at the far end, but More walked past it.
“Our family tend to use the room out the back here.”
Thomasin could see why at once. The wide chamber was light and airy, with long windows and an open door leading out into the garden.
Green curtains gave it a cosy feel and the woven rushes underfoot absorbed their sound.
Thomasin’s eyes were drawn by an unusual clock hanging on the wall beside her, set in its own glass case, with long pendulums hanging down.
“Oh, you are here!”
Margaret Roper, More’s daughter, came rushing in from the garden, straight into her friend’s arms. She was dark-haired, with her father’s quick eyes, a sharp nose and pert mouth.
It was easy to tell from her unlaced gown that she was expecting a child in a few months’ time.
Like Anne Boleyn, Thomasin thought. Which of them would deliver first?
“What a sight for sore eyes you are, Thomasin Marwood!”
“Waterson now,” she smiled, indicating her husband.
“The famous Lord Waterson. How wonderful to see you again.” She curtseyed, slightly awkwardly due to her girth. “We expect great things from you, having managed to ensnare our Thomasin.”
“Giles, please.” He smiled. “We are so delighted to be here.”
“And this is my wife Alice,” added More, as a second woman appeared from the garden, “a most excellent hostess, among many other things.” Thomasin had never met More’s wife before, as she preferred to stay at home in Chelsea while he was at court.
She took an instant liking to the woman, who was short with soft features and a kind mouth.
“I shall call for wine and cakes,” she said. “I hope your journey was not too arduous.”
“Fortunately, it was smooth enough. And only four miles from Monk’s Place.”
“Yes,” said More, “we are not too far from court here, but quite far enough.”
The sound of children laughing outside drew Margaret’s attention.
“Come outside and see the gardens. My girls are excited to meet you.”
They stepped out into the sunshine amid beds of sprawling lavender. Three small girls in white dresses were romping about the paths, already adorned with various flowers they had picked.
“Look,” cried the eldest, showing off a crown of daisies, “we are the queens of the May!”
The smallest girl, a poppet of about six or seven, came running up to Lettice. “Come and play with us! We’ve made a den under the willow tree and we have a banquet.”
Lettice looked to Thomasin, not too old at fourteen to be intrigued by this.
“Go on,” Thomasin said, nodding. “Go and have a look.”
The little girl seized Lettice by the hand and pulled her away. In a whirl of hair, skirts and flowers, they chased away among the trees.
“There, that was easy,” said Margaret with a smile. “I hope your Lettice won’t mind; they’ll keep her entertained all day if she doesn’t escape.”
“She is used to it, with three younger ones in our family too.”
Margaret laced her arm through Thomasin’s, while More fell into step with Giles. “We have a lovely place to sit up here, amid the lavender.”
“Is your husband Will here?”
“He has business in London but will be arriving later this afternoon. I know he is keen to see you again.”
“And you are quite well, with the child coming?”
“I couldn’t be better. Honestly, I do not miss court much. I am quite content with my books here in the countryside, or at our home in Kent.”
“I was at court the other day, at the request of Lady Boleyn.”
“Really?” Margaret’s eyes widened. “I recall she was always fond of you.”
“She invited me as her companion, so I attended a feast held for du Bellay. I must say, Henry has aged, and Anne reigns supreme. All she need do is deliver a son.”
“Easier said than done.” Margaret patted her belly. “Three daughters already and I am praying for the same. But God’s will cannot be anticipated.”
“Not according to all the court astrologers.”
“Of course not. They would insist she was about to bear a unicorn if that is what the king wanted.”
“So you have not been to court in a while?”
“I have not. But I will let Father explain.”
They took their seats on some charmingly fashioned benches planted with herbs and ringed with lavender and early roses, so they were quite surrounded by scent. Lady Alice joined them, followed by servants bringing jugs of wine and plates of spiced cakes, poached pears and creamy country cheese.
After they had chatted about their families and Thomasin had described their house at Green Hollow in much detail, More led the conversation towards a more serious tone.
“You found court much changed?”
“The most obvious change being a new queen.”
“Indeed. We can speak freely here. You saw Anne?”
“As queen at the banquet. She has most of the same faces around her, but some were missing. It was strange to see her taking the position that should have been Queen Catherine’s.”
“She is quite exultant in her success. Her energy is palpable, but she is incautious. She has already fallen out with Norfolk and she quarrels with Henry, speaking to him as an equal. She will not let matters lie.”
“The late stages of pregnancy are a difficult time,” said Margaret kindly, “especially when the whole world is watching you.”
“It is precisely because the whole world is watching her that she must be more careful than ever. You heard I have resigned my position as Chancellor? For a long time I did not challenge the king over his marriage to Anne, but I could not sign the oath asking us to acknowledge him as the head of the Church of England.”
“You favour the Pope as the head?” asked Giles.
“There is no other. The Pope is God’s representative on earth, the head of the Church. No king can step in and take that role from him.”
“Was Henry angry?” asked Thomasin.
“I still have a degree of favour because I went quietly. I saw it was better to resign than argue my case. You know what happened to Thomas Wolsey?”
“We heard of his disgrace. You wrote a few details at the time.”
“I dared not commit all to paper. After the Legatine Court in the summer of 1529, Wolsey was a broken man. Henry blamed him for failing to secure the divorce and that autumn, a few months after you had gone to Suffolk, he was stripped of his offices and properties. That magnificent new palace at Whitehall was once his own.”
“Yes,” said Thomasin, “I was aware of that when I visited.”
“He had a brief respite, thinking that Henry would save him, but Anne would not allow it. He was charged with praemunire, for serving the Pope above the king. Thanks be to God that he passed on before he could face trial. I have no doubt he would have been sentenced to a traitor’s death.”
“All I can recall of him,” said Giles, “is a man who worked tirelessly to serve his master.”
“Unfortunately, it is not enough,” More said, sighing. “Especially if the real master is in fact a Mistress Boleyn! And of course, now Cromwell has taken his place, more powerful than ever.”
Thomasin shivered at the thought of that man and the harm he had done her family.
“Father has never been the same since his spell in the Tower. His sight is much worse.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said More, “but he did the right thing by leaving when he could. Did you see Bishop Fisher at court?”
“No,” Thomasin replied, recalling another old friend, “actually, I did not.”
“No.” More shook his head and reached for his wine. “Like me, he is considering it wise to remain away. He is much in Rochester these days, for the same reasons that I am always here.”
“Do you think a time will come when you can ever return to court?”
“Who knows? The wheel of fortune turns and things change. It may or may not happen.”
A servant appeared from the house and nodded to Alice More, who had been sitting silently but now rose to her feet.
“Come, dinner is ready.”
They ate well and passed a pleasant evening with card games, chess, singing and dancing.
Margaret’s husband, Will Roper, joined them and finished off the evening with tales of life as an MP, a post to which he had been elected in Sussex.
Afterwards, Thomasin and Giles were shown to a chamber with snowy white sheets across a large bed with an embroidered tester and downy pillows.
Bowls of lavender gave the air a sweet scent.
Lettice seemed pleased enough to sleep on a truckle bed in the chamber shared by Margaret’s daughters.
Before they could retire, though, a knock came upon the chamber door. Thomasin opened it to find Margaret with a conspiratorial look on her face.
“I’m worried about Father,” she said as Thomasin ushered her inside. “Does he seem much changed to you?”
“Perhaps a little. He is not his usual jovial self, but far more serious, although this is the first time I have seen him these past years.”
“That is why you are the exact person to ask. I see him most days, so I am not well placed to make the observation. He has lost his purpose.”
“He is still writing, though?”
“Oh, yes. He writes letters all day, to Erasmus and Tyndale and other scholars, and he is still translating Lucian, but I think it is a deflection. He suffers from losing his connection to court.”
“You think it is permanent?”
“It will last as long as Anne does, I am sure. He cannot swear in her favour, or in support of Henry as head of the Church, so he must remain here. I fear he will go mad without office.”
“Is there nothing else he can do? Work with your Will, or in the local assize courts, as my father does?”
“I have suggested the courts, but he says he cannot pass sentence. It is not for him to judge the unfortunate.”
“That is an admirable sentiment.”
“But it is not helping him in the meantime.”
“How about the role of ambassador to France or the Netherlands? It would get him away from the problems at court.”
“The older he gets, the less travel appeals. He would rather be here than crossing the sea.”
“What does your stepmother say?”
“Very little. She defers to him on everything; she likes having him here but has never seen the court side of him.”
Thomasin recalled More at Catherine’s court. The wit around her dinner table, the conversation and debate, along with Fisher, Mendoza and Vives.
“Then we must find a means to distract him. A new book to write, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. I am so glad you are here, Thomasin. He looks upon you as quite another daughter, and no one else understands him as you do.”
“I will do whatever I can to help.”
“We will go out riding in the countryside tomorrow, and take the hawks. That will give us more time to discuss the matter. Now I will bid you both goodnight. I shall sleep more easily with you under our roof.”
Thomasin watched as her candleflame grew dimmer and dimmer down the corridor.