Chapter 2 #2
Sir Hugh’s eyes blazed. “Very well, since you request it. I have returned from the Netherlands to discover that your daughter is with child, sir! With child!”
“Oh, that is good news, is it not?” asked Lady Elizabeth feebly, a blush rising to her pale cheeks. Thomasin wondered at once whether she already knew something of this, from one of the many letters she exchanged with her elder daughter.
“Not when the child is not mine, madam.” Sir Hugh turned to her.
“A child which has quickened in the womb already, and can only have been conceived when I was in Antwerp, with the North Sea between us! A firstborn child which will bear my good name, raised as a cuckoo in the nest to inherit Raycroft and everything in it! This is anything but good news.”
A stunned silence descended upon the room.
Thomasin dared not meet the eyes of her parents or uncle, knowing full well that Cecilia had been discovered in bed with her lover five months earlier, at Christmas time.
They had packed her off home to Sussex and not spoken a word about it since.
It was misfortune indeed that she had conceived after one interrupted encounter.
Unless, of course, there had been other occasions?
It was at that moment that Ellen quietly rose to her feet and slipped out of the room.
Thomasin could not blame her. There had been a time, before Hugh’s marriage to Cecilia, that Ellen had believed him to be in love with her, and on the verge of proposing.
Deeply in love with him, she had pictured herself as the mistress of Raycroft, bound to Hugh forever by ties of affection.
It had broken her heart when he’d submitted to court pressure to accept Cecilia as his wife.
“Are you sure?” asked Lady Elizabeth after a while. “There can be no question of mistiming? These things can occur with a first child.”
“No question at all, madam. My wife is carrying another man’s bastard. What do you propose that I do about it?”
Lady Elizabeth sank into her chair and put her head in her hands.
Hugh readdressed himself to the aghast-looking Sir Richard. “I come here to ask you, sir, whether you have any inkling of whom the father might be, so that I may demand satisfaction?”
“Oh no,” said Thomasin, unable to stop herself. “You must not do that. It is not worth risking your own life over.”
But Rafe put a warning hand upon her arm.
“It is what I must do. My honour demands it. Will you give me a name? Whose bastard is she carrying?”
Lady Elizabeth began to weep, turning her face away. This proved too much for her brother, urging him into action.
“Sir, you have caused enough distress for one day,” Sir Matthew said angrily. “You have forced entry into my home, disturbed my dinner and upset my guests. I ask you now to leave us in peace.”
“Peace? What peace will I have with that whore under my roof?”
Sir Richard and Sir Matthew both rose to their feet.
“To the outside world,” said Sir Richard slowly, “there is nothing amiss in a married woman carrying a child. This matter may never be known beyond these walls.”
“Am I to have a bastard inherit my estates, while your daughter laughs at me and carries on with God knows who? You do me a dishonour, sir, and you know it. I will have his name.”
“Where is Cecilia?” asked Lady Elizabeth through her sobs.
“In Sussex. I could not bear the sight of her.”
“Please be kind to her.”
“The kindest thing I can think of is to send her to a nunnery.”
Lady Elizabeth collapsed in sobs again.
“That’s it!” Sir Matthew pointed to the door. “Out!”
After the front door closed, Sir Matthew secured the bolt and returned to the dining chamber. The plates sat waiting, the food half eaten, the wine glasses still full.
“Well,” he said, looking at the faces of his family, “that was an unexpected interruption. Once again, that young woman has brought shame upon us.”
“I can only apologise profusely for her actions,” said Sir Richard.
“Well, we all saw it happen,” replied Sir Matthew. “We all knew there was a chance this could be the result.”
“Did you know, Mother?” Thomasin asked.
Lady Elizabeth shook her head, but there was something about her eyes that caused her daughter to doubt her assertion.
“I should go and fetch Ellen back,” Thomasin said, remembering her cousin’s departure.
“No need,” came a voice from the hallway, as Ellen entered. “I heard him leave.” She resumed her place at the table.
“How do you fare?” asked Thomasin, leaning towards her.
Ellen’s face was composed, with no signs of tears. “Later,” she mouthed, and Thomasin was forced to be content.
“Well, let us not waste this good fare,” said Sir Richard, “if any of you has a stomach for it.”
For a moment, there was silence as they tried to eat again, but Thomasin had little appetite now. She picked at a piece of pie crust, wondering what would happen next.
“Mr Danvers,” said Sir Richard, suddenly remembering that Rafe was in the room, “you must accept my sincerest apologies. As our daughter’s guest, we had intended to entertain you with a feast, but instead you have been subjected to the most unpleasant nature of our private family business.”
“Not at all, my good lord,” said Rafe, wiping his mouth on a napkin.
“Do not forget that I serve the Boleyns and have seen all manner of behaviour under their roof. On the contrary, I continue to be impressed by the dignity of your family and offer my services if there is any way I may be of assistance.”
Thomasin glowed at his words.
“Good man,” said Sir Matthew. “You could not have spoken better. You will always be welcome at this table.”
“A baby,” Lady Elizabeth interrupted softly. “Cecilia is having a baby. I will be a grandmother.”
“Alas, it seems that way,” replied her husband.
“Not alas, Richard, it is a baby! A baby! But what can we do?”
“Nothing. It is between them to sort out, and the baby is coming whether Sir Hugh likes it or not. He will have to square it with his conscience, and learn to stay home with his wife more.”
“That is hardly the point,” said Sir Matthew.
“For all his outburst just now, Sir Hugh is not at fault. We all saw what happened at Greenwich. I speak plainly, but the girl is unruly. She has brought nothing but disgrace upon your heads, for all the good kindnesses you have done her as parents. I think it the fairest outcome if she is sent to a nunnery, as Hugh suggests. Goodness knows what she will do next.”
There was a frosty silence.
“Well,” said Sir Richard, “as you said earlier, there is nothing to be done tonight, so let’s not allow this good dinner to spoil.”
Thomasin caught Rafe’s eye. This was not the time for their announcement, nor to request her parents’ blessing.
The moment had slipped away. She ate as much as she could in that sombre room, where the heads of her family were filled with questions and fears.
She should have known, should have guessed, that it all felt too good to be true.
After the meal, they walked out into the garden. Night had fully fallen and the air was fresh and clean, bringing the tang of the river across the lawn.
As they walked, Rafe reached over and took Thomasin’s hand. “You’re quiet.”
Thomasin sighed. “I’m shocked, I think. I didn’t expect it.”
“Tonight didn’t go to plan, but there will be other opportunities.”
“I know.” She paused on the path, turning to him with disappointed eyes. “It’s just that this was going to be our night. Everything was perfect. The timing, the evening, everything. It could have so easily happened, and we would be engaged now, with Father’s blessing.”
“Never fear. Things happen for a reason. We will wait for this to calm down, then the right moment will present itself, I promise.”
He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, skimming her lips before pulling back. How different the kiss was from the one he had given her earlier.
“But do things happen for a reason?” Thomasin asked. “Earlier you said the stars were in our favour. Is there a grand plan? Was the night supposed to be ours? Or was the reason simply my sister’s bad behaviour, yet again?”
Rafe sighed. “Do not think too long about it. Think ahead instead, of the happiness that we will enjoy, and how proud your parents will be of you, Thomasin. Do not let this spoil things.”
“I won’t.”
“And there is the queen to think of too. When are you back at court?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“I will be there, with Sir Thomas.”
“And Anne?” Thomasin asked after a moment. “Where will she be?”
It was King Henry’s driving passion for the dark-haired Anne Boleyn that had determined Queen Catherine’s fate.
Ever since the young woman had caught Henry’s eye, an uncomfortable triangle had existed at court, while Henry sought ways to put Catherine aside in order to remarry and father a son.
Thomasin had seen both sides of Anne: her jollity and spirit, as well as her jealous temper.
Only last Christmas, she had unleashed the full force of it against Cecilia, with disastrous results.
“Anne is to remain at Durham House, well out of the way once the court convenes.”
“I hope she does remain there. It will be hard enough for Catherine, without having to bare her soul before her rival.”
They walked down to the quay, where the boatman was waiting.
“Two days, then,” said Rafe, his dark eyes opaque in the shadows.
“Yes, until then.”
“And remember what I said. Do not dwell upon this. Look to the future.”
He pulled her close again, and kissed her more warmly. “The future is ours, Thomasin, never forget.”
Thomasin watched his boat pull upstream across the dark mass of the Thames and turned back to the house.
A light gleamed in the upstairs chamber that she shared with Ellen.
Poor Ellen — she’d had to witness Hugh’s outburst, knowing that she would have been a true, loving wife to him.
Thomasin wondered if the thought ever crossed Hugh’s mind, too.
Thomasin found her cousin in her nightgown, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her long brown hair was loose about her shoulders, and she was staring into the looking glass.
“I am not as beautiful as her, I know. I cannot hope to match her looks, but I am not unpleasant to gaze upon, I don’t think.”
“Ellen?” Thomasin closed the door behind her. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I know why he chose Cecilia. I can’t blame him.
She is more beautiful than almost any other woman at court, with her icy blonde looks.
” She put down the glass. “But I loved him, Thomasin. I truly loved him, and I would never have given him a moment’s doubt or unkindness.
I would have thought it an honour to bear his children. ”
“Oh, Ellen.” Thomasin put her arms about her cousin. “Do not torture yourself so. He is not worth your tears.”
“Oh, I know it. He shall not have them. I am quite resigned to it, because he made his choice. And now he must face the consequences.”
“That is right, exactly right. He might have had a true wife in you, but he allowed others to influence him, and this is his reward.”
“I just felt a little wistful, considering what might have been, but I will be well again. And merry again, at some point, I am sure.”
“And you will fall in love again.”
Ellen laughed. “I’m not sure about that. No, I have my inheritance. I don’t need a husband.”
Thomasin smiled. “I know your heart, Ellen Russell. We shall see.”
“And Cecilia? What will become of her?”
Thomasin kicked off her shoes. “Now, that I cannot say, but she has brought it upon herself.”
“And her child? We cannot overlook the child, who is innocent in all this. Your niece or nephew, Thomasin.”
“Let us think about it in the morning. I have had quite enough for one night.”
She started to undress, unlacing her bodice. Ellen got up to help remove her heavy outer garments and lay them carefully in a trunk, as they were accustomed to doing for the queen.
“I’m sorry your special night was spoiled.”
“Rafe says there will be another chance.”
“Of course there will. You will be Mrs Thomasin Danvers. It has a nice ring to it.”
Thomasin smiled. “Thomasin Danvers. How strange it sounds.”
“Well, you had better get used to it. When will you ask the queen for permission to marry?”
“After the court is over. I cannot speak to her of marriage whilst hers is under trial.”
“Of course, quite right. That is thoughtful of you, Thomasin. Now, let us close our eyes upon this strange night. Tomorrow is another day.”
As Thomasin blew out the candle, a fox screeched in the garden, sounding like a woman’s strangled cry. Then all fell silent.