Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Giles had already found them a space halfway down the hall.
Thomasin hurried over to the table before the place filled up, knowing how busy it could become, guiding Lettice to sit beside her.
The Dudleys settled opposite them. Cromwell was already at the top table, with Ralph Sadler and some of his other minions, eyeing the crowd with his porcine stare.
“You remember John Dudley and his wife Jane?” Thomasin asked Giles. “They’re good friends of mine from my days of serving Queen Catherine.”
“Of course,” Giles said, beaming, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Did your business with the king fare well?” asked John.
Thomasin saw the hesitation in her husband’s face before he spoke. “Not quite as I had hoped. It might require a second visit, as the king was pushed for time.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“But we will have to return?” asked Lettice brightly.
“Giles will have to return,” Thomasin said at once. “Whether or not you do depends upon the success of today’s visit.”
Lettice clammed up at once, although she transferred her energy to her eyes, watching as the servers appeared with jugs of wine.
“I had not thought to be at such a court as this,” said Thomasin softly to the Dudleys, “with such a queen.”
“Things are not as they used to be,” Jane replied. “On the surface all is opulent enough, but scratch below that…”
After a short silence, Thomasin went on, “And we have just come back from Chelsea, visiting Thomas More and his family. Again, I was surprised to find such great change.”
“God bless him,” said John at once. “A pure, true man who would not compromise his principles. Most of us swallowed our pride and swore whatever oaths were required of us, but Thomas’s conscience will not allow it.”
“It’s a case of survival,” Giles agreed. “You either go with the king or you step out of his world. There’s no room for compromise.”
“If only it was his world.” John lowered his voice to a whisper. “But many here think the king is ruled over, rather than ruling.”
They were interrupted by the sound of people rising to their feet on all sides: the double doors at the end were thrown open and a trumpet announced the arrival of the king.
Thomasin joined the others in bowing low as Henry marched down the hall.
But this was no usual entrance. Behind him, haughty with her head tossed back, Anne followed with her uncle Norfolk, deep in conversation, scarcely bothering to acknowledge those around her.
Resuming her seat, Thomasin watched as she passed by, resplendent in wine-coloured velvet, a rich circlet of gold set upon her head. Her eyes, though, betrayed her, flashing with annoyance at some slight that had happened on the way.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Lettice breathed. “The queen?”
Henry took his seat on the dais, but Anne and Norfolk were still quarrelling, with all eyes upon them. The king could not bear it, and rose to his feet again.
“Come, let us eat!”
His command could not be ignored. Separating like two wolves slinking away from a fight, Anne and Norfolk obeyed, the queen going to be seated on Henry’s left and Norfolk to his right, but the tension between them remained.
“Is she angry?” asked Lettice.
“It appears so.”
“What a shame. It quite spoils her beauty.”
Thomasin continued to watch as the royal party was served with wine and the first dishes. Henry gestured to the musicians in the gallery to play and any further words from his wife were covered by their welcome notes.
“Do they often quarrel?”
“Remember I have not been at court for four years.”
“It does not bode well,” said John. “There was some squabble yesterday among her ladies. Something one of them said roused her jealousy and Norfolk stepped in to rebuke her. It looks like the matter lingers on.”
“She is heavy with child,” added Jane with more sympathy. “Women take strange fancies at such times and their emotions are high. I do not doubt that court life is proving a strain to her.”
Another figure had risen from the top tables and headed towards the dais.
Thomas Boleyn moved swiftly, as if to avert disaster, and spoke a few quick words to his daughter.
In response, they saw Anne lift her chin and tuck her shoulders back, as if she had suddenly become conscious of the onlookers.
“A reprimand from her father,” said Giles. “After all, she was not born to the position, not like the former queen.”
Anne did not look happy, Thomasin decided.
This was quite a different figure from that which she had cut yesterday; she had become fretful and unsettled.
Thomasin wondered how Henry could allow it, given that she was carrying his child, but perhaps he himself had been the cause of it.
Even at this distance, it was clear that Anne picked at her food, barely tasting a morsel of the roasted pheasants and herbed lamb.
“Where is the princess?” asked Lettice, between satisfied mouthfuls of her own food. “Is she at court?”
“Not at the moment. She is in the countryside.”
“Doesn’t she like court?”
“It’s not that. The new marriage makes it —” Thomasin sought the right word — “uncomfortable for her. She is better in her own establishment.”
“Is she? Better than all this? Doesn’t she like the new queen?”
Thomasin recalled the way she had tried to shield poor Mary for as long as possible from discovering her father’s intentions towards Catherine and Anne. And then the pain when the girl had realised her mother was to be replaced.
“It is a difficult situation for her, with the way her mother was put aside.”
Lettice thought about this. “I see. How old is she now?”
“Seventeen.”
“Then she might soon be married herself?”
“It is possible.”
“And the king has a son, does he not?”
“That’s right. Henry Fitzroy, Earl Of Richmond and Somerset.”
“How old is he? Is he here?”
Thomasin paused, unsure about the life of the son born to Henry out of wedlock.
John Dudley stepped in. “He has his own household in St. James’s Palace, but he must be fourteen now.”
“The same age as me? Does he want a wife? Might I marry him?”
The table laughed.
“He is betrothed already; you are too late. He will marry his cousin by this new marriage, Norfolk’s daughter, Mary. It is a match made by the new queen.”
“Perhaps she might need a lady’s maid. I don’t really mind, if it brings me to court.”
But Lettice was distracted by a huge plate of glazed strawberry tarts being placed before her.
While they ate, Thomasin let her eyes be drawn over to where Sir Thomas Boleyn was sitting, among a few members of his household, Mary and Hatton included, although she noted his wife was not present.
A pang of guilt took her: was it because Lady Elizabeth had no companion to bring her from Durham Court?
Sir Thomas had his back to Thomasin, and she could see the grey hair curling over his collar, the jewels on his hat, the broad shoulders. Giles moved to obscure her view.
“Who are you looking at over there?”
“The Boleyn table. I wonder where Lady Elizabeth is today?”
Giles turned briefly. “How was she with you?”
“Frail but not insensible. She still has her faculties. I just fear she is being neglected. What?”
Giles was giving her that look he reserved for disapproval.
“What is it?”
“You cannot let yourself get drawn in. We are back to Suffolk in a couple of days, remember, and you have not seen these people for four years. Do not let yourself get pulled back into their world, or who knows where it shall end? Now, try some of this saffron chicken. I think you will like it.”
Thomasin accepted the plate and it did prove as delicious as Giles had hinted.
She tried to focus on her food, listening to Lettice’s excited chatter about the different flavours and the thinness of the pie crust and sweetness of the tarts, but could not help the occasional glance over Giles’s shoulder.
As the meal was concluding, Henry rose to his feet. It was customary for him to address the hall at this time, and people turned to listen, as the strains of song abruptly came to a halt.
“Lords and ladies, good tidings this morning. Cranmer, our new Archbishop of Canterbury, has officially given our marriage his blessing, as legally and spiritually binding.”
Applause rang through the room.
“The promise of this son, growing so lustily in my wife’s belly, is a sure sign of God’s blessing upon this union.
In two or three months’ time, England will have a male heir, and with luck, many more to follow.
Let there be no more talk of dissent, or grumblings among the people.
My will, and God’s will, have been done. ”
He offered his hand to Anne, who accepted at once, her plate untouched, and the pair of them walked in slow, stately fashion down the central aisle.
Thomasin noticed that Anne’s graceful movements had changed; the elegant swing of her body from former times was replaced by a heaviness, a shift in gravity that robbed her of her distinct style.
They headed out once more into the sunshine of the privy garden as the hall emptied. An army of servants were already moving in, sweeping the floor, scooping up dishes, snatching away cloths and gathering glasses.
“Thomasin Marwood,” said a voice from behind. She knew at once who it was before turning.
Mary Boleyn was flanked by her father and William Hatton, whose pale eyes were looking at her searchingly. Thomasin did her best to avoid them.
“I thought it was you.”
“Lady Thomasin Waterson,” she replied. “Visiting with my husband, Lord Waterson.”
Mary did not give Giles a single glance. She focused on Thomasin, who noted that her once soft, pretty features had hardened with age.
“I saw you across the garden earlier, but I had not imagined you would return so soon. Was not your other visit enough to satisfy your curiosity?”
“Oh, I am endlessly curious, especially about the whereabouts of your mother. Does she have no companion today?” She could see the blow struck home.
“My wife is indisposed today and dines at home,” Sir Thomas put in. “She was grateful for your company the other day but found the whole experience very tiring.”
“I wonder you have not employed a nurse for her; I would think it comforting to her to have someone by her side at all times.”
“She has her people about her.”
By people, she knew he meant servants, not a nurse or companion to reassure her.
“So what brings you back to court?” Mary pressed again.
“An absolute love of intrigue,” Thomasin shot back. “But I have brought my sister to see the place.”
“Your sister?” asked Hatton at once.
“Yes, my younger sister, Lettice,” said Thomasin, indicating the girl. “It is her first time at court, and being young, she needs much supervision.”
Hatton was staring at Lettice, who kept her eyes upon Mary, oblivious to his interest.
“Lettice, may I introduce the queen’s sister, Lady Mary, and her father, Sir Thomas Boleyn.”
Lettice dropped her extravagant curtsey again. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“You have enjoyed court?” asked Sir Thomas, formally.
“I love it. I am so glad to have seen the queen, although I thought she looked sad.”
“You enjoyed the meal, did you not?” Thomasin jumped in at once, suppressing ripples of embarrassment.
“It was wonderful. I wish we could eat here every day.”
“Well, you would need to be employed at court for that — as a lady’s maid,” Sir Thomas humoured her.
“Just like Thomasin used to! I can hardly dream of that. I wonder if the queen needs anyone.”
“She is quite amply provided for,” snapped Mary sourly.
“Although there may be space,” said her father, turning to her tersely, “if you go into the country as you intend.”
Mary’s lips pursed. “I think it would be Anne’s choice, Father, if I was to be replaced. She has the daughters of the nobility of England clamouring for a position with her; there is quite a waiting list, and many young women have been disappointed.”
“How is your family?” Hatton blurted out.
“They are very well,” Thomasin replied, silently urging him to stop.
“And your other sister?”
“In good health.” She refused to meet his eyes.
“The king is off to play tennis,” said Sir Thomas. “Will you come and watch?”
It was on the tip of Thomasin’s tongue to refuse at once, but Lettice beat her to it.
“I would love to! Tennis? Is it the most wonderful game?”
Thomasin sighed, mirroring the resignation in Giles’s eyes.
“Come this way, then,” said Sir Thomas, offering Lettice his arm and leading her off through a gate in the hedge. Mary and Hatton followed.
“Wretched tennis!” muttered Thomasin to Giles. “We should get her home, away from this influence.”
“We can hardly drag her away from Boleyn.”
“As soon as we can make an excuse. I never wanted her involved with that family. Her infatuation with Anne is bad enough!”
But Lettice almost skipped along at Sir Thomas’s side, taking in all the wonders around her.
“Will the queen be there?” Thomasin heard her ask her companion.
“That I cannot answer,” he replied. “You will see for yourself.”
The tennis court lay to the south — an enclosed space with high walls covered in netting, a red chalk floor and galleries on each side.
Henry was already on the court, stripped of his coat and doublet, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
Playing in opposition was the Duke of Suffolk, despite his wife dying at home.
Thomasin sighed, wishing herself elsewhere. There was no sign of Anne.
Thomasin took a seat next to Giles, behind Sir Thomas and Lettice. For a while they watched as the king and Suffolk moved about on the court in short, swift movements, returning the balls with a thwack of their rackets.
Giles slipped his hand into hers. “Back to Suffolk?” he whispered.
“As soon as possible, please.”