Chapter 3
THREE
Queen Catherine sent her carriage to collect Thomasin and Ellen from Sir Matthew’s house in Thames Street. It was an elegant, dark grey coach trimmed with gold, bearing the queen’s coat of arms. Two bay mares waited patiently before it, draped in red velvet to match the cushioned interior.
“I shall see you in a day or so, once the Papal Court opens,” said Sir Richard, placing a gentle kiss upon his daughter’s forehead. “Try not to think about that other business. Keep your focus on the queen.”
There had been no further appearance from Sir Hugh, and Thomasin hoped he had thought better of his wild threats and returned to Sussex.
After all, he could not fight a duel with a man whose name he did not know.
And none of the Marwoods were about to tell him that Sir William Hatton was the father of Cecilia’s baby.
“Is Mother coming down?” asked Thomasin, unwilling to depart without having seen Lady Elizabeth.
“Yes, yes, she said she would. Let me go inside and see what is keeping her.”
Thomasin turned to Ellen, who waited at her side, dressed in a new summer cloak of forest green with a silver trim.
She had always loved clothes, picking out coloured ribbons and engraved buttons, but now her wealth allowed her to wear good-quality fabrics, sewn by the court dressmakers.
Her dark eyes were bright this morning, lighting up her face.
Ellen always appeared lovely, thought Thomasin, because the goodness of her heart shone through.
“You are looking well this morning, cousin.”
Ellen smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “I made the decision to forget what happened here the other night. It is none of my business. I shall think no more of it.”
Thomasin squeezed her arm. “That is a bold and brave decision. It suits you well, and soon we shall be too busy to think of anything else.”
“I do hope we find the queen in good spirits.”
“We can only serve her the best we can, and try to ease her pains.”
Sir Matthew’s two dogs came rushing out of the house, giving small, excited yelps at the sight of the women waiting before the carriage.
“Ceasar! Brutus!” Sir Matthew came striding out after them, calling the pair back to his side. He looked up at Thomasin and Ellen. “So, you’re off?”
“Thank you again,” said Thomasin, “for being such a generous uncle, even when circumstances make it difficult.”
Sir Matthew gave them a small smile. “We are family. We share our troubles. My home is always open to you both. Just make sure you behave yourselves at court!”
“We always do,” said Ellen, smiling.
“I know,” he replied. “We can count on you two, at least.”
Sir Richard appeared in the doorway with Lady Elizabeth on his arm. This morning, she was dressed in her favourite combination of blue and silver, with pearls at her throat and across the band of her headdress. The morning light made her look very pale.
“I am glad I did not miss you. Come, let me kiss you.”
Surprised, Thomasin went towards her mother’s outstretched arms. Lady Elizabeth clasped her tight and kissed her cheek, while Thomasin inhaled her mother’s scent: lavender and cedarwood.
“I am very proud of you,” Lady Elizabeth whispered unexpectedly in her daughter’s ear before she let her go.
Thomasin felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She could not recall her mother saying such a thing to her before, in what had always been a slightly combative relationship. Now it seemed that Cecilia’s disgrace had opened her eyes to Thomasin’s true value.
“Right, into the carriage,” urged Sir Richard. “You cannot keep the queen waiting.”
Ellen climbed in first and Thomasin followed, rearranging the folds of her own silk skirt so they would not be creased.
Sir Richard closed the carriage door and stepped up to the window.
“I wish I had some words of wisdom for you, girls,” he said, with a sombre expression.
“I know you will do all you can to lift the queen’s spirits, but I fear the coming weeks will be tough.
But listen, pay no heed to rumours you may hear about the court, to stories about the past or accusations the king’s counsel might make.
They will try all means possible to discredit Her Majesty, but you must see them for what they are: the weapons of war. ”
Thomasin nodded.
Sir Richard lowered his voice. “And give no ear to those who might approach you, asking for private details of the queen’s habits and functions, such as when she had her last courses. They will try to flatter or coax you, or even bribe you for details. Speak to no one.”
Ellen’s eyes opened wide in wonder.
“No,” said Thomasin, “we will keep our counsel and share none of the queen’s secrets.”
“Not even to those who profess their friendship.”
“Not even to them.”
“Then God speed, and I will see you again soon. We shall dine together at Bridewell before long.”
He nodded to the coachman and the wheels started to turn on the cobbles. Thomasin turned to wave back at the three figures in the doorway of Monk’s Place, wondering when they would all be together again.
It was a short ride, along the length of Thames Street, to the house of the Blackfriars, across the river Fleet, through the city wall and into Bridewell Palace.
Thomasin and Ellen might have walked, but it was the way of the court to shield its ladies in carriages, rather than have them rub shoulders with those in the street.
Thomasin appreciated the protection it offered as they trundled past busy shop fronts, pedlars crying wares, wary-looking sailors, foreigners, stray sheep, dogs and children running amok.
Soon they pulled into the outer courtyard and came to a halt.
Climbing down, the pair passed through the first yard, where red brick walls rose on each side, catching the May sunshine, and through the archway into the main court.
Ahead lay the grand staircase which would conduct them up to the royal apartments, but before they could reach it, a pair of feet came hurrying down.
Thomasin and Ellen caught a ripple of blue skirts, full white sleeves and an embroidered bodice, before Mary, Countess of Essex appeared, panting in her haste.
“Finally, ladies, you are back.”
Thomasin looked at Ellen in surprise. “What is the hurry? This is the time arranged for our return.”
“Oh, I know it, but try telling the queen.”
Mary hurried them to one side. “She has got herself worked up. She will hear no words of comfort and spends all her time upon her knees in prayer. It is this place, this wretched place, with all its whispering corridors.”
“As your father advised us,” whispered Ellen.
“She has heard all manner of reports,” Mary continued, her grey eyes filled with concern, “that she is to be sent away, or removed at night, to some distant place or a nunnery. There is even talk about her being carried down to the coast at night and put on a ship bound for Spain! You can imagine how she has taken it. She can scarcely sleep at night. But this morning, there was a new report. Apparently, there is an Italian plot to slip poison into her food, so we are dining exclusively in her chamber on food made only in her kitchens, and we have to taste every dish before she will take any form of nourishment.” Mary paused for breath.
“Goodness,” said Thomasin, “things have become much worse since we left.”
“Indeed. I am heartily glad to see you both back again, as Maria and I are almost at our wits’ end.”
“Come, let us go to her.”
“Oh, she is at prayer again. She has some of her Spanish ladies with her, and they speak only in foreign tongues between themselves.”
“Still, we should join her, to show that we have returned.”
“Very well,” said Mary, with resignation. “Follow me. She will not go into St Bride’s, but prays in her closet, for fear of strangers.”
Thomasin and Ellen headed up the wide stone staircase, along to the entrance to the queen’s chambers.
The guards stepped aside to allow them into her outer room, a pleasant, panelled space with wide windows, where young women sat sewing or reading.
From there, they proceeded through small, dark antechambers into the main room, where the table was being cleared after a recent meal and embers glowed in the grate.
Little Catherine Willougby, the daughter of the queen’s oldest friend, came bounding up to greet them.
“You are back! I am so glad!” She twirled around them, fanning out her kirtle. “Do you like my new clothes? Mother had them made up from one of her old dresses, but I am still not allowed to dine in public.”
“They look very well indeed,” Thomasin said, smiling. “Tell me, have you seen Princess Mary these past few days?”
“Oh, just a little. She is always with her tutor. She never has time to play anymore, and she said my poppet was for babies.” Catherine held up the offending doll with a frown.
“I am sure she will come back and play soon.”
Her mother, dark-eyed Maria Willoughby, appeared from the further door and called the girl to her. “Are you coming in to see our lady?” she asked Thomasin and Ellen.
“If we may,” said Thomasin.
“She is finishing her prayers and will be out shortly. Come in and wait.”
They followed her into the queen’s bedchamber, which was hung with green and silver cloth.
An embroidered coverlet lay heavy across the deep featherbed.
The scent of Castile soap with its olive oil lingered in the air.
Heavy drapes partially obscured the windows, and a line of candles on the mantel struggled to light what was rather a gloomy space.
Presently, the curtain in the corner was pulled aside. Queen Catherine appeared, dressed sombrely in black and white, a heavy gold cross hanging from a chain about her neck and a veil masking her face.
Thomasin and Ellen knelt at her approach.
“You may rise,” said Catherine in a thin, careworn voice.
She slowly walked past them towards her chair, which was placed by the fireside. Maria hurried to arrange the cushions before the queen sank into them, as if exhausted.
“My veil,” she whispered. “My shoes. Another log on the fire.”
Ellen knelt to remove the tight leather shoes that pinched the queen’s feet and replace them with soft slippers.
Thomasin gently lifted back the dark veil and arranged it across the queen’s shoulders.
Drawing back, she was dismayed to see how tired Catherine was looking, her eyes red from weeping, her cheeks sunken.
A surge of anger against the king rose within her, for making his wife endure such suffering, but she knew better than to voice it.
It was treason to criticise Henry’s actions.
Catherine cast her pale eyes upon the newcomers and spoke with an effort. “All is well?”
“Yes, my lady,” Thomasin replied.
“Your parents, Mistress Marwood?”
“Both in good health, thank you.”
Catherine nodded, as if she was processing a new thought. “I will rest here for a while. Maria, read to me from the Scriptures. Bring wine, bread. Someone send a message to Bishop Fisher, to dine with me later.” She closed her eyes.
Feet scurried in all directions, obeying her commands.
Thomasin and Ellen took their places on the window seat, where the sewing basket sat, while Maria’s gentle tones filled the room.
As she threaded her needle, Thomasin felt that the Papal Court could not open soon enough, in order to lift this mood of gloom and pain.
Clouds passed over the sun outside, and the room was plunged into shadow.