Chapter 4
FOUR
At the dinner hour, servants arrived in Catherine’s apartments, bringing plates of food from her private kitchens below.
“Now leave us.” The queen dismissed them with a wave, even those who were supposed to serve her, waiting until the door closed.
Thomasin watched as Maria and Mary came forward, each with a spoon or knife, to carefully taste each dish.
A slice of meat or pie, a sip of sauce, a mouthful of pastry.
The women chewed slowly, with caution in their eyes.
Catherine watched them intently for any signs of illness that might rapidly take hold.
This was serious, Thomasin realised. The queen really was afraid of losing her life to poison.
And then another thought dawned upon her.
Would she, Thomasin, also be expected to take a turn in this macabre new ritual?
Perhaps the next morning, she may be called upon to taste the bread or cheese, or the potted marmalade from Seville with which Catherine liked to break her fast. There may be no foundation whatsoever for her fears, but if she was cautious enough to test each dish in this manner, she believed a plot possible.
Maria and Mary might, at any moment, be thrown into convulsions, or seized by racking pains.
Devoted she might be, but was Thomasin prepared to risk her own life in the queen’s service?
Thomasin looked up at Ellen, who was standing demurely on the other side of the table. But her cousin gave no indication that the same idea had occurred to her, appearing lost in her own thoughts.
Finally, the queen nodded. Then she slowly rose from her chair and came to take her seat at the table, where Mary and Maria spooned the safe food onto her plate.
Thomasin joined the others warily, watching as they began to eat from the plain, simple fare that the queen favoured, wondering how mealtimes had changed so dramatically in her few days of absence.
Presently, Bishop John Fisher was admitted to the chamber.
Thomasin rose, along with the other waiting women, out of respect for the senior clergyman.
Thomasin had also met Fisher on several occasions at court before, and found him to be wise, intelligent and sharp of wit, which was belied by his austere appearance.
Tonight, his face looked more careworn than ever as he approached the table.
Almost sixty, he wore a simple black robe and hat, without the kind of jewelled adornment that other clergymen like Cardinal Wolsey wore.
“My dear Bishop, do join us.” Catherine gestured for him to take a seat close by her.
“You are most kind, my good lady.”
Fisher eased himself slowly into a chair.
“Will you eat?”
“Perhaps a little. My appetite is not what it once was.”
Catherine nodded. “This matter is enough to turn any man’s stomach.”
“How do you fare, madam?”
“Passing well. I seek God’s guidance daily and remind myself that this is a trial sent from him, in order that I may prove my devotion.”
A cloud darkened Fisher’s brow. “I think there can be no doubt about the depths of your devotion, my lady.”
“Well, as it may be. How fares the king?”
“He was out riding this morning, but since his return, he has been closeted away in his chambers.”
“Taking advice, no doubt?”
“I believe so, madam.”
“Would that he would turn to the Lord for advice, for there is no better guide for us humble mortals.”
“Indeed so.” Fisher drank from his wine cup. “I must add, though, most respectfully, that there are reports reaching the king’s ears which cannot help your cause.”
The queen sat up. “What reports are these?”
“His advisors are calling it extreme behaviour: your refusal to leave your chamber, dining in secret, having all your food tasted. I understand your reasons, and the importance of protecting your person, but I think it better to present yourself as if all were well. Be seen about the palace. Dine in public.”
“What are they saying about me?”
“They claim it implies a little… What is the word … eccentricity? Which is not desirable in a queen.”
Catherine’s face hardened. “I find it most desirable in the preservation of my own life.”
“Do you really have grounds to believe that there will be an attempt made upon you?”
“Can you assure me, Bishop, that there will not?”
He sighed. “I suppose not, but do not give them cause to cite paranoia or reclusiveness. Otherwise they can argue that you are best fitted for the cloister, not the court. If you are already living like a nun, you might as well do that elsewhere.”
Catherine fell silent, thinking. “And who, might I ask, is the architect of these arguments?” she demanded at last. “No, let me guess. It has the reek of Master Cromwell, does it not?”
“I never said so, my lady,” Fisher replied tactfully, bowing his head.
“That man would have me shipped out to a nunnery first thing in the morning, if he were able. I am sure he would get between the shafts and pull my carriage himself!”
Fisher cleared his throat. “It is but two days to wait, my lady, before the court opens. Are you well advised? Do you wish us to meet tomorrow to discuss the matter further?”
“You have given me your excellent counsel, good Bishop, and I trust in the Lord. I shall leave my chamber tomorrow and pay a visit to Archbishop Campeggio, for his final thoughts. That will also have the effect of making me visible about the court, as you advise.”
“I think it for the best, my lady. And another thing I might mention: there is a rumour circulating that the Pope has died.”
Catherine dropped her knife with a clatter. “The Pope? Dead?”
“Indeed. The king heard it this morning and was greatly cheered by it, believing that another man might judge his case more favourably, but, my lady, I personally set no store by it. His Holiness has been suffering from ill health, but none of my sources confirm his death. My correspondent in Rome spoke with him recently and mentioned nothing.”
“You think there is no danger?”
“I think we should give no credence to any rumours we might hear. And under no circumstances should we accept the king using this to question the validity of the Papal Court.”
“I thank you for warning me about this. I shall certainly not respond should the matter reach my ears.”
“It may serve to distract the king and give him false confidence in his case.”
“I shall speak to Campeggio. Surely he will know the truth of it.”
“Has Mendoza left yet?”
The old Spanish ambassador, Bishop Mendoza, had been Catherine’s advisor and friend since his appointment to England three years earlier.
He had suffered the indignity of imprisonment by the French on his journey to her side, then had been placed by Henry under house arrest while Spanish relations deteriorated.
Finally released to carry out his business, he suffered from the most terrible gout, racking his legs with pain, so he had requested leave to return home to his family.
“He will depart shortly and comes hither to take his leave as soon as all his affairs are resolved.”
“I shall pray for an equally sympathetic replacement.”
The meal continued, and talk passed on to the Princess Mary, Catherine’s only daughter, and how she progressed in her education under the formidable Lady Salisbury.
Thomasin judged that the moment was right. She turned to Ellen. “I am going to slip out for a moment — not too long. If I am missed, say that I was dizzy and needed some air.”
“Rafe?” Ellen had guessed her motive at once.
“I must see him after that awful business last night, just to check that he has not changed his mind.”
“Of course he has not changed his mind!”
“But what man would wish to be united with such a family, where scenes like that take place?”
“A man who loves you deeply and who understands human nature. Besides, it is only one of your family members who causes all the problems.”
“Indeed, but Cecilia is quite enough for us all. I shall not be long, I promise. Cover for me.”
“Of course, go!”
Thomasin needed no further encouragement.
She slipped through the doors, along the corridor, where the lamps flickered, and down the staircase.
There was no guarantee that Rafe was even at court.
The Boleyns might be here, dining with the king, but equally they might be at Durham Place, keeping out of the way, given the impending court.
It would not do for Thomasin to hang about the king’s chambers, but she might place herself in the path of those coming and going, who might be able to answer her questions.
She crossed the dark court, her skirts catching on the little hedgerows of sweet-scented box that marked out the flowerbeds. The central fountain still flowed, with the sound of water tinkling upon its surface. From an open window above, the strains of a lute crept through the night air.
In the doorway opposite, two men passed across Thomasin’s line of vision, but neither was known to her. She dared creep a little closer, lurking near the bushes to see if she might overhear any conversation. Presently, a servant boy crossed the open space, arms full of wood for the king’s chamber.
“Hey, boy!” Thomasin called.
He paused and looked at her with startled eyes.
“Don’t be alarmed. I’m one of the queen’s ladies. Tell me, do the Boleyns dine with the king tonight?”
She could see him hesitate, as if this was secret information.
“It’s all right — it’s not the queen asking; it’s me wanting to know if a friend is here.”
He shook his head. “None of the Boleyns, only Wolsey and Cromwell.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure as eggs is eggs, madam.”
Thomasin waved him on his way. It meant that Rafe was probably at Durham Court too, so there was no chance of her seeing him tonight. She would have to be patient and hope he would return to Bridewell in the morning.
“Mistress Marwood?”
The voice sounded slightly familiar, as if it was calling to her from the past. She turned and peered through the darkness.
A man of her own height was standing there, with light brown hair and a merry face, his blue-green eyes fixed upon her.
She took in his snug, well-structured form, flattered by its rust-coloured doublet.
Yes, she knew that firm chin and square jaw, that smile that was spreading over his sensuous lips.
“Giles? Giles Waterson?”
He stepped forwards, beaming. “I thought it was you! I wasn’t sure, as you’re older, obviously, as we all are. It must be not quite two years since I saw you last.”
When the Marwoods had first come to court, Lady Elizabeth had cherished hopes that Thomasin might marry her distant Waterson cousin.
In fact, a great friendship had been established between them, based on their love of merry words and the finer aspects of the dining table, and Giles had felt able to confide in her about the loss of his first wife.
Soon after Thomasin had entered the queen’s household, Giles had left court on family business.
“I had heard you were in the north?”
“Yes, there was much to do to put my uncle’s affairs straight. Some counterclaim upon his land, a dreary enough business, but it is now resolved. But you are well? You look well, Thomasin.”
His compliment touched her. “I am well, still serving the queen through this difficult business.”
“Indeed, I have been learning more of it since my arrival. A sorry state of affairs indeed, that must touch all hearts. That is what prompts my return. The king summoned me to act as his secretary.”
“His secretary?”
“Yes, he has a sudden surfeit of secretaries. Our task is merely to read every book in existence on the matter and write summaries of evidence that might assist his case. It is dull work indeed and I did not ask for it.”
“And may I congratulate you? There was talk of an engagement while you were away. Are you now a happily married man?”
“Me? No, that was my uncle who married. I have not been so fortunate. And yourself?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Rafe, the postponed engagement and her hopes for the future, but Rafe was not there. And Giles still felt like a stranger. Instead, she blushed and shook her head.
“Well, there is time enough for all of that. I shall be in the court every day after it opens, and I trust I will see you at some point. Perhaps we might share a dish of pork and mustard, if you will let it out of your sight.”
“You remembered my favourite dish.”
“My favourite also. Let every table be graced with pork and mustard.” He glanced up at the staircase. “But now I must depart; the king awaits me. How pleased I am to see you again, Thomasin.”
She watched him disappear through the dark garden and up the stairs. A shiver ran through her that was not caused by the cold of the evening, but she shrugged it off and turned back towards the queen’s chamber.