Chapter Twenty-Six
TWENTY-SIX
From the window overlooking the river, Thomasin watched Rafe and Isabel disembark from the barge and climb the flight of steps onto the quay.
The sight of him made her stomach turn over, especially amid all the existing tension at Greenwich.
Isabel looked well in a pale green dress, smiling as Rafe offered her his hand.
She paused and looked up at the palace, causing Thomasin to draw back into the shadows of the chamber.
At the far end of the hall where she sat, Henry was brandishing a letter in front of Cromwell, his face red and bloated with rage.
“I am threatened in a number of ways. Everything I have done is pronounced null and void; those who aid and abet me will be excommunicated, Cranmer deprived of his see and all those who name Anne as queen to be equally cast out. That is the Pope’s promise. ”
“These are mere idle threats,” said Cromwell in a soothing voice. “Clement will never see them through; it is a ploy to appease the Emperor. You are head of the Church of England now; you answer directly to God, not to the Bishop of Rome!”
“And for how long? Clement is old; his health is failing,” said Henry, an idea settling in his mind. “He has already been thought to be dying on at least one previous occasion.”
“A new Pope could be more supportive, depending upon whom they appoint.”
“Yes,” said Henry, “yes, he will not last long. Since the sack of Rome he has been a thorn in my side, unable to act with his hands tied, going through the motions. That pretence of a Legatine Court was nothing but a sop to my conscience, but I was not fooled by it. The Emperor cannot stand that I have taken this matter into my own hands, that I act for myself, outside his command.”
“Now he has peace with France, he has time to turn his mind to your matters, my lord.”
“That peace will not last. Soon the Flemings or the Italians or the Ottomans will distract him again.”
“Perhaps you might offer assistance,” mused Cromwell, “when the inevitable happens? He would be grateful for an alliance against the French; even just a few hundred men might make a difference.”
Henry looked thoughtful. “And when I have a son, he will see that God has blessed this union. Why else would the queen have conceived a child so quickly, unless it was God’s will?”
“This is true, my lord. The queen’s safe delivery will confirm it to the world. A strong, unified kingdom, with a swathe of princes will offer proof of the justness of your choices.”
“Then the Emperor and France will be clamouring for an alliance, and I shall get to choose.”
“The world will be at your feet, my lord.”
Thomasin turned away from Cromwell’s oily words.
Anne lay in her chamber, calmer this morning, awaiting the arrival of her son.
Such a heavy fate to place upon the shoulders of an infant not yet born, Thomasin thought.
This prince would be the answer to England’s prayers, the divine approval that would end Henry’s long battle with his conscience and God.
All those around the king promised the same.
Rafe and Isabel were announced by the guard at the door.
Thomasin sunk down into her window seat as they approached Henry, bowing low, unaware of the conversation they had just walked into.
Rafe was looking tired, Thomasin thought; from a distance his face seemed pale, his shoulders sloping, more careworn.
No doubt they had been in the countryside, visiting their little son after the coronation, before returning to be present for Anne’s imminent delivery.
A brief question flashed unbidden into Thomasin’s mind: was the child dark like his father or fair like his mother?
“Welcome to court,” said the king, casting off his former mood. “Your arrival comes at a time of waiting; I hope you are both of good patience.”
“Excellent patience, my lord,” replied Rafe, rising to his feet, “for such an event as this. To help while away the time, we have sent a freshly killed buck down to the larder, along with two barrels of Cyprus wine.”
“It is well received,” said Henry, “and I hope you will enjoy partaking of it at our table.”
“My lady also has tokens and gifts for the queen,” said Rafe, nodding towards Isabel. “May she be conducted to her chamber?”
Henry turned. There were other women present in the chamber, some of the older Boleyn aunts and ladies of the court, but his eyes alighted upon Thomasin, who had escaped for a brief while after having spent the morning reading to Anne from Erasmus’s work on the New Testament. She knew what was coming.
“Mistress Waterson?”
Thomasin jumped up from her seat and made a curtsey.
“Conduct Mr and Mrs Danvers to the queen.”
Having been unaware of her presence before, Rafe turned his chestnut eyes upon her in surprise, but she deliberately ignored him, looking instead to Isabel.
“Of course.” She bowed her head, waiting for them to reach her. “This way, please.”
Isabel fell into step with her as they left the chamber, with Rafe following behind.
“I had not thought to see you here,” said Isabel with a smile, “but it is a pleasure. Will you be attending the queen during her lying-in?”
“Yes, I have been brought here for that purpose alone.”
“Oh, you are not in her household now?”
“No, only until the child is safely delivered.”
“Then perhaps I have a chance,” she said innocently. “Rafe has been trying to get me a permanent position, but it seems there are so many women around her now that she does not need any additional ones.”
Thomasin felt Rafe’s presence, silent behind them.
“But I also have my son to think of,” added Isabel, “so it is not so great a trial. Perhaps when he is a little older, I might find a position.”
“How old is he?”
“Just two. Still in the nursery.”
They rounded a corner and turned into the corridor leading to Anne’s apartments.
“Is the queen close yet?” asked Isabel. “Has she experienced any twinges?”
“Nothing that I am aware of, and I was with her all morning.” Thomasin suddenly thought of how little she knew about the physical aspect of delivering a child.
“When does she plan to formally retire?”
“Very soon, I believe. The sooner the better.”
“Yes, this is the time of trial. I found it almost worse than the actual delivery.”
Thomasin gave her a taut smile and pushed open the door. “There lies your way; the door is at the far end. Someone will lead you through, I am sure.”
“Oh, but…”
Thomasin could not stay and listen to any more of Isabel’s friendly chatter. Pushing her way past Rafe, she headed outside, into the fresh air of the rose garden. A slight rain had fallen earlier, and the grass was gleaming and refreshed, with water droplets gathered in the hearts of the flowers.
For a while, she simply walked, using the physical exertion to build a rhythm and calm her mind.
Then a bench appeared, surrounded by roses, and she sank down onto it with a sigh.
What had she got herself into here, amid the court intrigues and dramas, having to negotiate such difficult men as the king, Thomas Boleyn and Rafe?
With a pang, she thought of Giles, uncomplicated, loyal, warm-hearted Giles who should have been at her side.
What had she been thinking, coming back to court, having to fawn and please when it went against her nature?
She had found her freedom, and yet forces had conspired to make her lose it again.
“I thought to find you here.”
Rafe was the last person she wished to see. Rising from the bench, she made to hurry away through the roses.
“No word of greeting for me, Thomasin?”
His tone made her stop. “Do I owe you any word, any greeting?”
“Well, perhaps four years of acquaintance might suggest it.”
“Acquaintance? Is that what you call it now? Is that what you told your wife? Do you try and marry all your acquaintances?”
“Well,” he said, smirking, “something has rattled your wits today.”
Thomasin felt anger rise within her, but she refused to give in to it. “Do you remember when we were last in this rose garden? The way you spoke to me then?”
“That is in the past now.”
“How convenient. Except your ill manner remains the same.”
“Who has the ill manner now, madam? I had come out here to bid you a civil good morning.”
“Madam? Am I madam now? And recently I learned that you were promised all the while we were ‘acquainted.’”
“Ah,” he said, “that’s what this is about.”
“You don’t deny it, then?”
He shrugged. “There was an understanding between our fathers, but I never took it seriously, not until after you had gone.”
“Good thing that I left.”
“You are very angry, Thomasin.”
He was right. She was surprised at the strength of her feelings. “Only with you, Rafe, only with you.”
“Can we not be friends?”
“Friends? Not only did you behave badly towards me before, but now I learn of the depth of your deceptions. Stay away from me. I mean that.”
Thomasin hurried past him and headed back towards the palace.
It was time to resume her place at Anne’s side, probably for the afternoon.
As she was passing through the gate that led into the inner courtyard, the stout figure of Thomas Cromwell was waiting in the sunshine.
Thomasin found it hard to look at him, reviled by his past cruelties, not least to her father.
“Mistress Waterson, have you come from the queen?”
“No, my lord, I am going to her now.”
“How fares she today? Are there any signs?”
“I am not a midwife, my lord. I am engaged to keep her company.”
“But she has made no mention of retiring?”
“Not to me.”
He eyed her with a particularly unpleasant glint. “Strange that you have found your way back to court, in a new role.”
She was not in the mood to let this pass. “Strange? How so?”
“After your devoted service to the Princess Catherine, you now find yourself here in Queen Anne’s household.”