Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Was this even her own choice? mused Thomasin as she approached Durham House the following morning.
She had dressed in her second-best gown, the forest-green, but regretted that she had left her pink silk in Suffolk.
No, she thought, she didn’t have much choice over whether to assist Lady Elizabeth.
When someone like Thomas Boleyn asked you for a favour, you were compelled to do it.
She could not have risked incurring the family’s wrath, for she had seen their vindictive side before.
The courtyard was busy with carriages, horses stomping on the cobbles, and footmen rushing about, polishing and adjusting tack. A servant let her in through the main gate into the hall, where she was told to wait.
It was a large space, perhaps once the refectory where the monks had dined or gathered to pray.
The grey stone pillars on each side pressed inwards, giving it a claustrophobic feel, and the windows were small and high.
Overhead, or echoing down corridors, Thomasin could hear footsteps and raised voices.
It did not seem a good time to have called.
“Lady Waterson.”
Sir Thomas Boleyn headed down the grand staircase opposite.
“I am pleased to see you this morning. Please forgive me; the house is at sixes and sevens. You have come to a decision?”
“I believe so, but I would like to speak with Lady Boleyn first.”
“Oh? Is that necessary? I hope not to disappoint her?”
“No, hopefully not, just to finalise the arrangements, so that I may be sure of my comings and goings.”
He looked doubtful. “In truth, my wife is with Anne. She arrived only a half hour ago.”
Thomasin waited, unwilling to back down on her condition.
She had to be certain that Lady Elizabeth understood the situation was temporary, and that Thomasin be allowed to return to Monk’s Place whenever needed.
She would not put it past Sir Thomas to engage her and expect more than he had initially asked for once she was committed.
“Hopefully she can spare you a moment.”
“If I am to be her companion, especially in the days ahead, I shall be at her side whomever visits.”
He looked at her with grey, distrustful eyes. “Yes, but this was unexpected. Anne is —” he paused, clearly uncomfortable — “unsettled.”
Thomasin held her ground. “I was due to return to Suffolk tomorrow. I wish to firm up my plans.”
At that moment, a crash came from above as if a chair had been knocked over.
Sir Thomas turned and hurried back up the stairs, Thomasin seizing the chance to follow.
The upstairs corridor was lit again with torches, but the doors to the chamber ahead stood open, and raised voices reached them more clearly. Thomasin recognised the first voice as Mary Boleyn’s.
“You don’t need to throw things around. How does it help your cause to destroy Mother’s room?”
“I was angry!” replied Anne, an edge of panic to her voice. “What if I miscarry? And he puts me aside — into a nunnery or worse?”
“Please,” muttered their mother, “calm yourselves, both of you.”
“He was kissing her hand,” Anne continued. “He had it raised to his lips, then dropped it as soon as he saw me. I’m no fool. I know what he is like.”
“Are you sure it was not just an innocent greeting?” asked Mary.
“I know him well enough. You didn’t see his face. There was something devious and secret about it.”
“Hush,” said Lady Elizabeth, “you should not speak so.”
On the landing outside, Sir Thomas forced a cough to make the women inside aware of his presence. Having insisted on being present, Thomasin now felt prickles of discomfort creeping across her body.
“I should go,” she whispered to Sir Thomas, but he held up his hand to stop her. It was too late to leave now; she was in this for better or worse.
“Who is there?” Anne stepped through the doorway, her eyes blazing, her hair wild after she had discarded her headdress. With one hand, she cradled her swollen belly.
“Calm yourself,” said her father. “If you let this matter get out of hand, you will harm yourself and the child.”
But Anne’s black eyes roamed over his shoulder. The expression on her face as she recognised Thomasin was pure fire. “What in God’s name is she doing here?”
“Lady Waterson has very kindly come to accept my invitation to act as companion to your mother during the coronation. Although I am now sure she is questioning that decision, having witnessed what sort of a household we are.”
Thomasin said nothing. She noted how the statement of her acceptance was casually inserted into his sentence.
Anne drew in a deep breath and turned back into her mother’s room.
“Wait here,” said Sir Thomas, following his daughter inside and closing the door.
After that, snatches of their words reached Thomasin through the solid oak panel.
Henry’s lips on another woman’s hands; his disparaging words to Anne; her fiery retort before she stormed out of the palace and returned to her parents; her fears for her marriage; her betrayal; her future.
She heard it all with little pleasure but with a great deal of wonder, thinking of Catherine’s suffering and the cruelty she had observed in the king over those years.
Catherine had been nothing but a model of goodness and decorum, and yet Henry had deceived her so often and renounced her so harshly.
Yet it had been less than a year since he’d married Anne, and she was carrying his heir.
Had it really taken the king so little time to tire of her?
Another crash came from within the room, followed by Sir Thomas’s firm but low tones.
“No,” cried Anne, “I cannot!”
“You are queen. This is what you wanted. This is but a momentary squabble; it will pass.”
“But he spoke to me so harshly. You did not hear him. He was brutal. And I, his wife! All the promises he made me! All those letters, with their soft words. Now he has me where he wants me, a child in my belly, he thinks he can treat me as he pleases.”
“Hush, hush!”
Mary Boleyn was of a mind with Thomasin. “Remember how he treated me. And Catherine. He speaks as he wishes and it is not for us to answer back. That is the man you wanted, sister.”
Silence followed. Thomasin could imagine Anne’s speechless fury at being told that she must bite her tongue.
“You either want to be queen or you don’t,” Mary continued. “Being queen means you must smile when he curses you, curtsey when he ignores you, love with all your heart when he loathes you, and keep your dignity.”
“Well, that did not work out so well for you, did it?”
Thomasin dawdled in the corridor, wondering whether she should turn and head back down to the hall. It was uncomfortable overhearing their private business, and for all Anne’s former animosity, she did not relish her suffering.
There was muttering from within, low voices that she could not decipher.
Footsteps were slowly approaching the door.
It opened to reveal Lady Elizabeth, dressed in an informal long dark robe, her grey hair pulled back under a lace cap.
She stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind her, and offered Thomasin her arm.
“My dear, you have walked into another of our little dramas, but I am most pleased to see you. Come with me to the gallery.”
They turned back towards the staircase, taking a right turn along another corridor that led into a long gallery with windows on each side, the rest of the walls covered in carved linenfold panels.
“I come up here sometimes to think,” she said. “And I have a lot to think about.”
“I am sorry to have come at such an inconvenient time.”
“Not at all; you came as you were asked. I assume you came to accept my lord’s offer?”
“That was my intention, although I wished to speak with you first.”
“I do hope our little performance has not put you off, although I think that my family’s foibles are hardly coming as a surprise.”
“I am sorry to hear of Anne’s distress, especially in her condition.”
Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “She is too hot-headed, too passionate, too easily roused to anger. She knows it, we all know it, but she cannot seem to curb it, even now she has the ring on her finger.”
“She will soon be crowned. Surely then she will feel more secure.”
“I would hope so. She must not take the king’s actions to heart. If she turns a blind eye to his fancies, then they need not touch her. Her position is not in doubt, but she must stand firm.”
They paused before the portrait of an old, bearded man from an earlier era, not regal in his attire, but wealthy and imposing.
“Sir William Boleyn, my lord’s father. He was a merchant, who rose to become Lord Mayor of London.”
Now she mentioned it, Thomasin could see a likeness about the eyes.
“His wife had ten children,” Lady Elizabeth added, “but they did not paint her portrait. She is Irish, and lives in Oxfordshire now. Sometimes it is our lot to suffer in silence, as Eve did.”
Thomasin did not like this advice, but she recognised the irony of it as she, herself, decided that was not the moment to speak up.
“Men do not like to be challenged openly, or to have their behaviour questioned. Especially when they are up to no good. No king would stand for it.”
“What will Anne do?”
“Calm down, sulk a little, wait for his letter, and return to court with her tail between her legs when it does not come.”
“But what about her coronation?”
“Well, she can hardly miss that. This is the price she must pay for it. So, tell me, you have come to accept my lord’s commission?”
“I accept the invitation to be your companion throughout the coronation, so long as it is your wish, and that a few conditions are met.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “You have come to make a bargain.”
“Not a bargain, no, only to ensure that I do not neglect my husband and young sister. I also have the charge of a young girl from Suffolk, who has joined us recently. At times when I am not needed, I must return to Monk’s Place. I cannot be resident here.”