Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“She is doing well, my lord, calm and resigned. She passes her days in prayer and reading, games and music.”
“That is good to hear. And all are in good temper within?”
“As well as might be expected.”
“No signs of the child yet?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“Very well. I must go to the king, for it is with him that the trouble lies now, but I shall give him those good tidings.” He shot her a look. “We will speak again soon.”
Leaving them at the table, he departed the hall without looking back.
“I cannot wait until this is over!” said George, with a heavy sigh. “I shall go to Beaulieu and spend the whole autumn hunting, and only return to court for Christmas.”
“I should like to go to Beaulieu again,” said Jane.
“Oh no, you will not be going! You must remain at court, to help my sister.”
Thomasin felt the sting of these harsh words, and the lack of warmth for Jane, who bowed her head and did not speak again until it was time to retire.
When the first morning of September arrived, Thomasin snatched an hour to escape Anne’s chambers and walk in the gardens, feeling the change in season wash over her.
The air was cooler, scented with the earth.
The sky was a duller shade, lacking that bright brilliance of former days, the trees losing their emerald sheen, the flowers browning and dropping their petals.
Thomasin walked through the formal gardens and beyond, to where the land started to slope upwards to the park.
Here, she turned and looked back at the palace, spread out with all its buildings and adjoints, its sloping rooves and twisted chimneys, and the rows of windows behind which life was being conducted.
In one part, Anne was waiting in her secured rooms, the curtains closed to protect her from dangerous airs; in another, the king was pacing, dictating letters to Cromwell.
The other rooms were full of waiting courtiers: Norfolk, Sir Thomas, the bishops, and various lords.
Downstairs, servants were hurrying about their duties in the laundry, kitchen, wardrobe, chandlery and stables.
It was strange to see it all from a distance, as if she was merely a bystander watching everything unfold. How unreal it suddenly seemed.
“I saw you leaving the palace.”
Chapuys was heading across the grass with his strange, shuffling walk.
“Good day, sir.”
“You have escaped the lying-in chamber?”
“Briefly. We are allowed out every few days to prevent us from losing our minds.”
“But not the lady,” he said, referring to Anne, who he refused to acknowledge as queen. “Has she lost her mind yet?”
Thomasin did not much care for the comment. “She has not. She is calm and prepared.”
“Hmm. I think of all the times that poor good Queen Catherine went through this, only to suffer such terrible losses. I would not wish that upon anyone, not for the world.”
And yet, thought Thomasin, her loyalties strangely divided, it sounds as if you do.
“What was it?” he continued. “Six pregnancies and only one child living, and that a daughter. Fate can take a cruel turn.”
“There is nothing we can do about fate. I prefer to put myself in God’s hands and pray for the best outcome.”
“Of course. A son. That’s what the whole court desires, is it not?”
“It is what we pray for. A healthy, safe delivery and a strong male child at the end.”
“And I had thought you were the queen’s woman.”
“I am as loyal as I can be to Catherine,” said Thomasin, her temper flaring.
“I was by her side throughout her suffering, supporting her in every way I could, and I shall continue to love her until the day I die. But I would not wish suffering on another. The world has changed and we must adapt with it. I am thinking of the child to be born, who did not ask for any of this.”
“I am pleased to hear of your affection for the queen, who has most need of it, and is most deserving. I have received letters from her this morning.”
“You have?”
“Indeed, although I was not so foolish as to bring them to court about my person. I left them in my lodgings. She is suffering most unnecessarily, and has heard there are plans to deprive her of her dower payments in the next session of parliament. She has already had to dismiss half her household and beg for an income sufficient to keep her in meat and drink, while her clothes grow shabby and she mends her stockings herself. What man, what king, would allow that state to persist?”
“It grieves me to hear it,” said Thomasin with sincerity.
“You know this is not the work of the king alone? He is susceptible to whatever the lady asks him.”
Suddenly, Thomasin had an inkling of what was coming. She had already considered it herself, although the moment had not arisen, yet she would not be pushed into it by someone else.
“You have her ear. She trusts you, I hear. She relies upon you.”
“I cannot compromise my position. I have been employed to help soothe her, maintain calm during these difficult days.”
“But think of the queen and Princess Mary.”
“I do think of them, but losing my position will not help them.”
“There are ways you can be subtle about this. Speak to her of the role of a mother, of the respect due to that position, one woman to another.”
Thomasin sighed. “I would do all I can to help Catherine, but Anne will see through this at once and then she will no longer trust me.”
“I think you are cleverer than that,” he said, “and that you are the queen’s true friend. You will find a way.”
She watched him walk away, frustrated and torn. Could she really influence Anne to show greater kindness towards her former rival? In this volatile situation, when she was most vulnerable, perhaps she would listen, but equally, such words might anger and distress her.
Thomasin slipped back into the palace unnoticed and headed up to Anne’s chambers. The guards nodded her through and the antechambers were quiet.
Mary Boleyn looked up as she reached the door before Anne’s inner room.
“You’re back then? Took your time.”
“I walked in the gardens.”
“Nice for some.”
Mary had not been out of the chamber in three days.
“Your turn will come soon.”
“Oh, please!” Mary rolled her eyes, reminding Thomasin that they would never be friends.
Thomasin went to enter Anne’s room, reaching for the door handle.
“She’s sleeping. Don’t go in.”
“Are you sure? I’m meant to be by her side.”
“I think she will manage for a little while without you. After all, she has her mother and me.”
“Very well.” Thomasin turned away.
“When are you going back into the country?”
She did not answer Mary, but joined the other women in the large chamber, and picked up some sewing.