Chapter 30
THIRTY
Thomasin waited at the back of the hall.
Henry had summoned the midwives to bring his ten-day-old daughter out to show her off in front of all the court.
It was a good sign, she thought, meaning he was softening towards the baby, with its down of red hair, pouting mouth and tiny hands.
Anne hadn’t minded letting her go for half an hour.
She took it as an encouraging sign that the king was proud of her.
Thomasin could see in her tired eyes that it gave her a glimmer of hope that things would improve.
Mistress Blackwood held up the child in its bundle of blankets. In an unprecedented gesture, Henry came down the steps of the dais and scooped her up in his arms.
“Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said, looking down into the little face.
Thank goodness the child was quiet, Thomasin thought. She had already proved she had a good pair of lungs, and this scene would not have gone so well if she had started screaming.
“See how strong she is,” Henry said to those gathered around, “how blessed and healthy a child God has given me.”
“My lord, God has truly shown his approval of all you have done,” said Du Bellay, almost sweeping the floor with his elaborate bow. “The king of France sends his good wishes and two dozen of his best hounds for your stables.”
Henry nodded. “And the sons will follow. Plenty of sons to ride beside me in the hunt.”
Cromwell was standing to the side, speaking with Archbishop Cranmer.
“Behold, my lords,” called the king, “the princess of England.”
Both turned, bowing their approval.
“I am blessed,” said Henry, as if he was trying to convince himself. “I am blessed!”
The crowd began to clap in response, causing the baby to let out a small wail.
“Now, now, you will not cry at the king!” Henry laughed, looking round for the midwife. “Madam?”
Mistress Blackwood darted across to take Elizabeth back into her arms. Her familiar smell calmed the child at once.
“See,” said Henry, “what a good, obedient daughter she is like to prove.”
Thomasin felt the sting in this. The unspoken implication was that his other daughter, Princess Mary, was less than good or obedient. Poor Mary, who had not been allowed to visit her mother. Thomasin would have to try and speak once more on her behalf, and not be so easily dissuaded.
Elizabeth was carried from the hall, back up to Anne’s apartments.
Now Thomasin was able to approach the king and kneel before him. The bulk of him rustled before her, draped with velvet, gold and brocade.
“Mistress Waterson, what means this?”
“My lord, my duties to your wife the queen are now performed, and I come to ask your permission to leave court and return to my estate in Suffolk.”
His feet stopped in front of her. He said nothing at first, yet she could feel his eyes staring down at her.
“You have acquitted yourself well. Your services were much appreciated. Rise, please.”
She did as he bid.
“So you are to leave us and return to the country. I hope not for another four years this time?”
Thomasin smiled but would make no promise.
“I know that my wife and her family think highly of you, Mistress, and that you were by her side throughout her ordeal, cheering her spirits and calming her nerves. For that I give you thanks.” He gestured to a page at his side, who hurried forth to press a heavy velvet purse into Thomasin’s hands.
“My lord, I had not expected…”
“A sign of my gratitude. A healthy child is a blessing from God, and soon there will be sons to follow. So perhaps we may have cause to summon you to court again in a year’s time.”
Only a year. Thomasin hoped Anne’s exhausted body would have enough time to rest before her next pregnancy.
“Thank you, my lord. I am most grateful.”
He was not ready to dismiss her yet, his face thoughtful. “How fare your parents?”
“Both are well, enjoying their country retirement, although they have sadly lost my good uncle recently, Sir Matthew Russell.”
“Yes, I had heard as much. A sad loss indeed. I suppose your father never comes to London these days?”
Not since Henry had allowed Cromwell to send him to the Tower for daring to speak in defence of Catherine of Aragon, Thomasin thought, her cheeks flaring with suppressed memories.
“He does not, my lord.”
“It is a pity. I have some, dare I say, misgivings, about the last time he was here. A difficult time, when loyalties were tested. I have sometimes wished things had not turned out the way they did. I will send him a good barrel of Rhenish wine and a flitch of bacon for his table.”
Thomasin tried to conceal her smile. An apology? From King Henry? “That is most kind of you, my lord.”
“And should he ever wish to visit court again, he would find himself most welcome. Your mother too, God bless her.”
“I will tell them so, my lord, although my mother’s increasing infirmity does not allow for much travel.”
“She has good physicians? Shall I dispatch Dr Butts?”
“That is most thoughtful, but there is a man living near the cathedral of St Edmund who visits her often and has proved most skilled.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it. And your … sister?”
Thomasin was shocked to hear him ask after Cecilia, with whom he had once shared the briefest of liaisons as part of a former plot to wean him away from Anne.
“She is well, my lord.” She wondered how much she should admit to the king: that her marriage to Sir Hugh Truegood had failed, that she was living in Suffolk, that she had borne William Hatton’s illegitimate child?
How much did Henry know? She looked round the faces quickly, but Hatton’s didn’t seem to be among them. “She is caring for my parents.”
“A dutiful daughter at last.”
Thomasin nodded. She could not disagree that since the birth of little Rose, her sister was much changed.
“Well, Thomasin Waterson, you have my thanks and my permission to leave court. God speed you on your way and give you good health.”
“I thank you, my lord.”
She hurried away, weighing the purse in her hands.
As soon as she was out of sight of the hall, and round the corner into the corridor, she pulled open the strings.
It was full of gold coins, radiant as sunshine.
There was a small fortune contained within, more than she had ever expected, more than she might have dreamed of.
Next, Thomasin made her way up the stairs to Anne’s apartments.
It was not without a twinge of sorrow that she made this walk for the final time, although her heart yearned to be away, on the road, heading towards her beloved Green Hollow.
Within these walls she had witnessed fear and pain, but also deep love and the miracle of birth.
It made her think again of her own situation, wondering whether she might ever be blessed in the same way that Anne had been.
Again, Sir Thomas’s proposal returned to haunt her.
She could not stop her mind from racing down the dark avenues of possibility: what if there was some impediment preventing her and Giles from having their own child?
Four years was a long time to have not conceived.
What if this was her one chance to become a mother?
What would Giles say if he knew she was even entertaining the thought?
Anne’s antechamber was quiet. A number of her original ladies had returned to their homes, or relocated to the women’s chamber, leaving a small group to tend to her daily needs now that she was soon to be churched and would return to society.
Bess Holland had returned to the company of the Duke of Norfolk, as had his own daughter Mary, to prepare for her marriage to the king’s illegitimate son; Grace Parker and Madge Shelton had returned to their families for a spell.
As Thomasin entered, the pale Jane Seymour sat reading in a corner, waiting to be called upon, but never a favourite in the queen’s inner rooms. There was also the loyal Nan Gainsford, seated with Jane Boleyn and Rafe’s wife Isabel. Mary Boleyn was nowhere to be seen.
As Thomasin arrived, Mistress Blackwood was leaving Anne’s chamber, having delivered Princess Elizabeth.
“Is all well within?” asked Thomasin.
“All’s well, so I am sent to rest.”
Inside, Thomasin was surprised to see that Anne had risen from her bed and was dressed in clean clothes, placed upright in the great chair amid a stack of cushions.
Lady Elizabeth occupied the carved wooden seat draped with velvet and the cradle stood between them, rocked gently by Anne’s foot, with the baby inside.
“My lady.” Thomasin curtseyed again. The practice had been dropped during the weeks of confinement, but now that things were returning to normal, the old formalities were again being observed.
“Lady Waterson,” said Anne, “you are welcome back to my apartments. What news?”
“I saw the king received the princess most kindly, with glad smiles and much promising talk. He showed her proudly to the court.”
“There,” said Lady Elizabeth, “it is as I told you. He is already fond of her. Who would not be?”
“And he spoke of sons to follow.”
Thomasin could see the relief on the queen’s face. “By God’s grace, yes, there will be sons to follow.”
“My lady, forgive me, I have come to take my leave of you. I am grateful for the favour shown to me by your family, but it is time for me to return to my estate in Suffolk. My duties here are fulfilled.”
Anne looked down into the cradle. “I suppose they are. Yours, but not quite mine.” She looked up.
“Thomasin, we have not always been the best of friends, but I think these past weeks have remedied that situation. I will never forget your kindness, nor that which you have shown my mother. I hope that in future times of need you will consider offering me your services again. You will not stay for my churching next week?”
“You do not need me for that, my lady.”
“I suppose not. And then I am back out into the world, and back into my husband’s bed.”