Chapter 5
FIVE
Catherine paused in the walled garden and turned her face to the sun. Its warm rays lit her red velvet sleeves as she stretched her arms out wide, and the golden trim of her headdress sparkled.
“Here, let us linger a while to show ourselves to the court,” she said defiantly up to the lines of windows that encircled them. Behind them, men and women of the court might gather, unseen, to watch those enclosed below.
Thomasin and Ellen stopped a little way behind her.
The queen had roused them early, demanding to be dressed in her splendour to return to the church of St Bride, before heading to the lodgings of Cardinal Campeggio.
Bishop Fisher’s words the previous evening had struck home, and she would do anything not to appear weak or afraid in the eyes of the court.
It was essential that she put on a display of strength, no matter how she felt inside, so the little stone church that stood just outside the palace was firmly back on the itinerary.
Last night it had been Thomasin’s turn to sleep on one of the truckle beds in Catherine’s room, along with her usual companion, Maria Willoughby. She had heard the queen’s muffled sobs and her whispered prayers continue into the early hours before Catherine finally drifted into a deep sleep.
“Perhaps I should announce myself,” Catherine said to the garden, almost playfully, although there was bitter sarcasm in her voice. “Here is the Queen of England, dressed in scarlet, still married, still alive!”
Thomasin and Ellen exchanged glances. This wasn’t what Bishop Fisher had in mind.
More worshippers from the morning service were entering the garden now, returning to their chambers or their employment. Catherine made a point of greeting them all with a cheery good morning or nod of the head, depending upon their rank.
“Never let it be said that the Queen of England is one to hide away!” she muttered under her breath.
From a door on the east wall, the red-robed figure of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey appeared, solid and serious about his purpose.
He paused upon seeing Catherine, then bowed and headed towards her as protocol dictated.
A man whose career at court had advanced alongside Catherine’s queenship, he would be the second of the two cardinals to preside over the Legatine Court, taking his place beside Campeggio.
“My lady,” he said, bowing low.
“I believe we match this morning,” said Catherine brightly. “Both of us in flaming red, Cardinal.”
“You are looking very well, my lady. It is good to see you in health.”
“I have sought spiritual guidance and am confident of my case,” she replied. “God knows the truth, Cardinal: I was truly married in his eyes, and he will be my only judge in this matter.”
Wolsey looked uncomfortable.
“We have been to St Bride’s,” the queen continued, “to thank him for his mercy. I trust the proceedings will soon be resolved to his satisfaction.”
“To God’s satisfaction, my lady?” Wolsey asked. “Or to that of the king?”
“Can there be a difference?” Catherine jumped in quickly. “Surely the king cannot wish for a different outcome from that which God desires? Or does he place himself above our Lord now?”
Wolsey shifted from foot to foot.
“My lady,” whispered Maria, who was closest, “that is not so wisely said, especially so loudly.”
“You see, Wolsey, I have good counsel about me, who do not fear to speak the truth. I do hope the king has the same. Is Cromwell with him now?”
“My Lord Cromwell is working hard on the case.”
Catherine laughed. “I expect he is. What a hardworking man he is. I do wonder where the king found him.”
There was an awkward silence. Thomasin remembered that Wolsey, like Cromwell, also came from humble origins, so he would not have received the comment well.
Wolsey bowed his head. “I must beg your permission to depart, my lady. I must away to continue my work. There is much to be done.”
“What, no words of advice or comfort for me? No reassurances, Thomas?”
The unexpected use of his first name brought Wolsey up sharp. “I am sure that all will pass as God wishes, my lady.”
“Hmm.” Catherine turned away from his lukewarm sentiments as he hastened away. “I have spent enough time in dalliance,” she decided. “Now let us proceed to Campeggio’s lodgings. He should have arrived from Richmond by now.”
Dutifully, Thomasin and Ellen followed, although Catherine’s forced jollity gave them cause for concern.
The old cardinal had been housed on the palace’s ground floor, as close to the Blackfriars site as possible, to allow for ease of access.
Arrangements had been made for a litter to carry him across the Fleet bridge into the court room if the need arose.
However, at the door, Catherine paused. “I will take only Maria in with me. We need not all crowd in. The rest of you may go in to dinner.”
“Are you sure, my lady?” asked Thomasin, trying to conceal her relief. “You do not need us with you?”
The queen patted Maria on the arm. “All will be well. Go.”
The hour that the king liked to dine had not yet arrived.
It was approaching ten, when the first meal of the day was served, but there was still a short while to fill, so Thomasin and Ellen resolved to take seats in the anteroom and wait for the doors to open.
The place soon filled up, with various servants of the crown anticipating filling their rumbling bellies.
“Let us pray for a miracle with this court,” said Ellen after a while. “I cannot see how the king will allow it to rule against him, no matter what God’s intentions might be.”
“We cannot influence the outcome,” said Thomasin, realistically. “All we can do is be ready to support the queen, whatever is decided.”
“Do you think they will send her to a nunnery?”
“I don’t see how, against her will.”
“It was done in France, I believe, and also in Spain, twice before! Lady Essex was telling me; there was Queen Joan, the first wife of Louis XII, and poor Blanche of Castile, although she was locked up by her family, just like the queen’s sister Joanna is locked up.”
Thomasin shot a look at her cousin. “You seem to know much on the matter.”
“Like I said, Lady Essex told me, but we need to know these things, to be prepared. No doubt the court will use these examples.”
“It’s likely. Do you really think they might send her back to Spain?”
Ellen shrugged. “Who knows what Henry will do to get his way? He is growing impatient. I heard a rumour that he is determined to wed Anne this summer, after the court closes.”
“Perhaps he will. It can hardly be a marriage Anne can feel confident in, then.”
“I’m not sure she cares,” said Ellen. “Once she bears a son, that will be the security she needs.”
Thomasin stared at the stone flags on the floor, smooth with the passage of many feet. A feeling of helplessness on the queen’s behalf came stealing over her.
“Would you leave with her?” she asked. “I mean, if she has to leave court. We are her ladies, so should our fate be bound to hers?”
Ellen sighed. “I do hope it does not come to that.”
“But if she was to be sent into Spain, would you go with her?”
“I don’t think I should like that strange country. I have heard they are savage there and the food is unpalatable. Yet, I could not abandon the queen. Perhaps I might accompany her there, and see her settled with Spanish ladies, then return to England.”
“You might be swept off your feet by a Spanish gentleman.”
Ellen gave a wry smile. “I doubt that very much.”
“Or perhaps you will find a husband here at court.”
“Like you have, you mean?”
“Yes, don’t you want to marry?”
“Not particularly. Not at the moment.”
“That obviously means you are going to fall in love with the next man you set eyes on.”
At that moment, a figure came striding round the corner. Both women recognised the broad shoulders and long legs of Sir Hugh Truegood, dressed in his habitual chestnut shades which complimented his colouring.
“Oh, Lord!” breathed Ellen.
“Look away,” said Thomasin. “He is heading over here.”
“Ellen!” Hugh called towards them. “Ellen, I must speak with you.”
“Sir Hugh,” said Thomasin, neatly stepping between them, “did you not use up your quota of words the other night, when you interrupted my family’s dinner?”
“My sincerest apologies for that,” he replied, trying to pass her by. “Ellen?”
“Ellen is a servant of the queen, and she is about her business at the moment. What can you possibly have to say to her?”
Hugh looked around them, seeing that no one else was there, then frowned at Thomasin. “What business is it, when the two of you are sitting and talking? And my words are for Ellen’s ears alone.”
“And yet she may not wish to hear them, and then, sir, you will simply have to eat them.”
“Is it the fashion now, Mistress Marwood, for young ladies to be so impertinent to their betters? What if the queen heard of your poor manners?”
“I should welcome the opportunity to explain to her how they arose.”
He stared back at her, his tawny eyes flashing. She saw him make the decision to ignore her and repeat his advances. “Ellen? Ellen, for love of God…”
Ellen rose to her feet. “It’s all right, cousin, let’s hear him out.”
“These are words for you alone.”
But Ellen lifted her chin and looked at him evenly. “You have no right to request that. Whatever you wish to say may be spoken before my family, just like the other night.”
Hugh frowned. “Very well. Ellen, I have made a terrible mistake. A dreadful, terrible mistake that haunts me day and night. When I think of what I had in your good self, what goodness, what simplicity, what trust and faith … and I allowed myself to be influenced into throwing it away. And now I suffer for it, every day. My wife is a very devil, Ellen, and I cannot abide another day with her. She tortures me with every means at her disposal.”
Thomasin turned away to conceal her smile. At least Cecilia could be thanked for that!
“Ellen,” Hugh continued, “I wish to live simply, a retired life in the country with a woman who loves me, perhaps a family…”
“A woman who loves you?” interrupted Thomasin. “You would phrase it like that, instead of a woman whom you love?”
“Yes, yes, of course, a woman whom I love. That is you, Ellen. I have never stopped loving you. Please, give me some hope for the future. I will put Cecilia aside, through annulment or divorce, leaving us free to marry. You can be my wife, Ellen. We can be happy together. You could come with me, today, back to Raycroft and I will cast that woman out! What say you?”
Thomasin turned to hear her cousin’s view, hoping that her resolve would not weaken.
Finally, Ellen spoke. “Sir Hugh, as a married man it is improper for you to speak to me in this manner. I will not be your wife, or your concubine, or whatever you wish. Nor would I be the cause of any woman being cast out of her legally married home, especially not my cousin. It is not my desire to be any man’s second choice. Come, Thomasin.”
Thomasin took the arm that Ellen held out to her and together they went into dinner. Yet Thomasin could feel her cousin’s arm shaking through the material of her sleeve.
“That was excellent,” she said. “I could not have spoken better myself.”
“The cheek of him!” Ellen muttered through gritted teeth. “The absolute cheek! For me to be the instrument by which your sister is thrown out of her home! To replace her in his bed while it is still warm! I have more dignity and fellow feeling that he has in his little finger.”
“To think we had him so wrong,” Thomasin added.
“It is a lesson better learned now than later.”
“Indeed, that is true. May all the men at court reveal their true selves to us in such a manner.”
The dinner plates were being brought up from the kitchen as the two women found themselves seats near the fireplace. Thomasin’s stomach growled as the scent of meat reached them. Ellen was watching the doorway, in case Sir Hugh had followed them in.
“Honestly, I hope he disappears back down to Sussex,” Thomasin said. “He and Cecilia deserve each other.”
“Let us not speak of him.”
“Of course not. Let us put him out of our minds forever.”
“I heard,” said Ellen, “that in the early days of their marriage, the king and queen used to celebrate May Day by riding out into the woods in costume and staging pageants beneath the trees. There would be a feast, musicians playing and archery contests, as if they were legendary huntsmen, like Robin Hood.”
Thomasin smiled. “The king as Robin Hood?”
“I think it sounds romantic. Do you think all happy loves must end up the same way?”
“I don’t know,” said Thomasin, caught off guard by the change in mood. “I suppose we will find out.”
“Oh, look, there’s your father!”
Sir Richard was making his way down the hall in his best court doublet. He hastened to join them, looking especially careworn as he took a seat opposite his daughter.
“Father, are you well?”
“I have not had the best of mornings. First I met with Lord Cromwell, and had to sit through his tiresome entreaties and threats, and then upon coming here I ran into Sir Hugh, who looked as if he had more to say to me, although I did not give him the chance.”
“Oh dear. We saw him too. He had the gall to ask Ellen to run away with him to Raycroft, promising to cast Cecilia out of the house.”
Sir Richard shook his head. “It is a bad business, a terrible business, but it is of their making.”
“I assure you, sir,” said Ellen, “that I gave his impertinent suggestions short shrift.”
“I did not need to ask for your response, dear Ellen, for I know enough of the goodness of your heart already.”
Thomasin pushed a dish of spring lamb with green sauce towards her father. “For that kind remark, you may take the first portion.”
“Oh, and you know who else I have seen?” said Sir Richard as he helped himself. “Your distant relative. Sir Giles Waterson is back at court after all this time.”
“Ah, Sir Giles,” said Thomasin, nodding.
“Wasn’t he the one that your mother had hopes that you might marry?” Sir Richard looked at his daughter pointedly.
It was on the tip of Thomasin’s tongue to mention Rafe, to say that it was he who she desired as a husband. But she did not.
“Yes, indeed it was he,” she confirmed, and took a large bite out of her bread, so that she could speak no more.
“Your mother will be pleased,” said Sir Richard, beaming.