EIGHT
Bishop Longland inclined his head towards the queen.
Catherine was seated on the great chair in her antechamber, draped in finery of deep green and gold, in order to receive the delegate from the court.
Beside Longland stood John Clerk, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, wearing his black and white gown.
Thomasin rested her hand against the wall beside her. She had slept little the previous night, tossing and turning with Rafe’s angry words chasing around her head. Across the room, Ellen shot her a concerned glance.
Longland and Clerk had arrived early, soon after Catherine had broken her fast. Neither looked too pleased to be the messengers of the Papal Court, but they had a duty to fulfil, no matter how uncomfortable it made them.
“And thus, my lady,” Longland proceeded, “the archbishops have sworn their oaths and under their scrutiny the court proceeds to examine the relevant documents and precedents in this matter. This will take a number of days before the evidence is assembled. Your good self and our most serene, diligent and devoted king must attend in due course.”
Catherine’s eyebrows rose at the adjectives used to describe her husband.
“If it please you, my lady,” he continued, “to be present in the court on the morning of June the eighteenth, in order to state your case.”
“It does not please me.” The queen’s voice was icy. “It does not please me at all, as you well know, Bishops. However, if I am summoned by the Pope’s court, I am duty-bound to obey out of my deepest respect for his office.”
The bishops nodded as if a concession had been reached.
“The king will be present in the court to hear you speak, and you should stick to the matter of your previous marriage…”
“Which was unconsummated.”
“And…” The bishop faltered briefly. “And the matter concerning the validity of your present union. Present your understanding of the case as it stands and your reasons for…”
“Thank you, I need no instructions about how to speak on my own behalf.”
“My apologies, my lady, of course not. Perhaps instead, I may ask if there are any questions you wish to ask of us ahead of your appearance?”
Catherine rose to her feet majestically. “I wish to ask what has become of the lawyers that were to have come out of Flanders to defend me.”
“I believe they have remained in Flanders, my lady.”
“How so?”
Longland looked anxiously at Clerk. The second man spluttered, “They were advised to do so, my lady, given that their presence in England may cause a threat to their persons.”
“And who gave this advice? Who warned my lawyers to stay away?”
Neither man answered.
“Speak up, gentlemen. I can’t hear you.”
“I believe it was the Emperor, my lady,” Longland offered, “but I might be wrong.”
“My nephew? Charles? I cannot believe it. Why would he advise against them helping me?”
“Perhaps because he wants the king’s assistance against the French,” said Clerk bluntly.
There was a silence. Catherine absorbed this betrayal with a stoic expression, but Thomasin could see the information was turning to stone inside her.
“That is all. Leave me now.”
She waved her hand, and the bishops bowed and made their way to the door.
Watching them depart, Catherine began to mutter under her breath, her voice rising after they had gone. “This cannot be. I will not believe it. Maria, fetch me paper and ink. I will write to my nephew at once.”
She vanished into her room, and Maria went scuttling after her.
Thomasin flopped down onto a stool. The room spun, hazy and indistinct, before settling back into its familiar lines.
“Mistress, are you quite well?” Mary, Lady Essex, was standing above her.
“I didn’t sleep so well. I’m a bit dizzy, that is all.”
“Take this chance to rest then. Ellen and I will see to the room.”
“That is most kind of you.”
“Pay it no mind. You have often done the same for me, in my old age.”
She bustled away to fetch the sewing basket.
Thomasin leaned her head against the wall beside her and closed her eyes. Gradually, the sounds of the room settled, and there was nothing but birdsong outside and the crackle of the fire.
She woke presently at the sound of footsteps gently approaching.
Ellen was looking down at her. “Sorry I woke you, but your father is in the antechamber.”
Thomasin was suddenly alert. “Father?”
“Yes, he just arrived, asking for you. Shall I tell him to return later?”
“No, no.” Thomasin adjusted her headdress. “I will be there in a moment, thank you. Did I sleep for long?”
“An hour, perhaps.”
“So long! You should have woken me.”
“It did no harm,” said Ellen, smiling kindly.
Sir Richard was waiting in the window, looking over the garden. He turned as Thomasin entered the room, but she was relieved to see him not looking too concerned.
“Father, what is it?”
“Nothing to fear. I came to tell you about our plans.”
“Plans?”
“Firstly, concerning Sir Hugh Truegood, my errant son-in-law. So far as I can see, he has left London. I called at his house on the Strand to find it quiet and dark, his stables empty. I am hoping he has come to his senses and returned to Sussex, but we will wait and see.”
Thomasin didn’t know if this was good news, or whether it was better that Hugh and Cecilia were apart.
“But your mother’s melancholy increases.
We have received a kind invitation from dear Thomas to visit him at his home in Chelsea and stay a few days, which I think would do her good.
He has the most wonderful physic garden there, which your mother would like to see, and it might distract her from Cecilia’s plight. ”
“How kind of More.”
“He is all kindness. I hope to meet his wife, Alice, of whom I have heard many good things.”
“How I envy you the prospect.”
“Well, this is what I have partly called to ask you. The invitation includes you, if you think the queen might spare you. The Papal Court will not sit tomorrow, so you would not be needed there and you might return the following morning by barge, so you would scarce miss a thing. I’m sure the queen would understand. ”
Thomasin’s mind ran in conflicting circles. How good it would be to visit the More family home, where perhaps she might see Margaret again. But she knew how far Catherine relied upon her.
“When can you give me an answer? We intend to leave in the morning, if that buys you a little time.”
“I will speak first to Maria, who knows the queen best, to see how she really fares. I do not wish her to feel that I am leaving her when she has greatest need of me.”
“Of course not. You must go where your duty lies. There will be other occasions to visit Chelsea, I am sure.”
“I will send word to you tonight, I promise, with my decision.”
“Tonight then, and you must not fret either way.” Sir Richard paused and shot a look towards the door. “How fares the queen? She was visited this morning by the bishops, I believe?”
“Yes, during which she learned that it was her nephew, the Emperor, who has withdrawn her Flanders lawyers. I think she feels that keenly.”
“Yes, she must.” Her father lowered his voice. “She has been clinging to him as something of a saviour, but I fear he is placing political alliance above family. At least she will have Fisher and More, and no doubt others to speak for her. And myself.”
“Cromwell has not yet understood your intention?”
“We spent time yesterday closeted in his chambers, going through various letters and arguments. I am very tactful, mostly silent, but am absorbing it all. I will speak my mind when the time comes, not before.”
“How do you think he will react to your departure?”
“I will send him word when I am at Chelsea. Then there will be little he can do.”
“Be careful, though. He is a powerful man, determined to succeed. He will let nothing stand in his way.”
“I think he does not see me as the enemy. His sights are set firmly upon the Pope. He will meet Wolsey again tomorrow, to prepare more arguments. I am just a small fish in their pond.”
“I hope so.”
“I had better get back to your mother now. You know how she grumbles.”
“Oh, wait.” Thomasin remembered she had gathered a little packet of cloves and hurried back into the great chamber to collect them from the chest. She brought them out and laid the small bundle in her father’s hand. “The queen was happy to spare these for Mother’s sake.”
Sir Richard pocketed them. “She will be most grateful. Now, I will be off.”
He strode towards the door, when a thought flickered through Thomasin’s mind.
“Father, one thing before you depart, I pray you. Have you seen the Boleyns at court? I do not know where Rafe is staying.”
“I hear they are at Durham House, and will remain there for the duration of the court, although I believe Mary is to take Lady Boleyn back to Hever shortly. Anne, her father and brother will remain. I imagine that is where Rafe is. I am sure he will get word to you soon.”
Thomasin put on a wan smile. “Yes, I am sure.”
In that case, what had Rafe been doing here at court last night? She shuddered to think he had come especially to seek her out, only to be faced with her laughing together with Giles.
“Farewell for now.” Sir Richard leaned across to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “Have I told you recently just how very proud your mother and I are of you, Thomasin? So very proud.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she waved him goodbye. His kind words, and Rafe’s outburst, suddenly made her feel emotional.
“What is it?” asked Ellen, who had entered the chamber upon hearing the outer doors close.
“Only my foolishness,” Thomasin replied, wiping away her tears. “Does the queen need us yet?”
“Yes, she wants to attend chapel, so we must put on her cloak and change her headdress.”
“Very well.”
Thomasin followed Ellen, knowing from experience that the best way to forget her troubles was by serving another.
The church of St Bride was quiet, as if had been cleared especially for the queen. Bright sheafs of country flowers, brought from the fields outside the city walls, brightened the place and candles burned on the altar and in niches at the side.
The train of women followed the queen down the aisle towards the front of the church, where Cuthbert Tunstall, Bishop of London, awaited them.
Thomasin dropped to her knees, close beside the rippling dark edge of Catherine’s cloak, and copied the actions of her mistress, clasping her hands together in prayer.
“Bless you and welcome you, my child,” he began, “on this and every day granted to us by God’s mercy.”
Catherine raised her eyes to the splendid stained-glass window behind his head, where the light streamed through, brightening the halo of the infant Jesus.
At times like this, thought Thomasin, it was quite possible to believe in God’s mercy.
But what if the court did not find in the queen’s favour?
What would that do to Catherine’s faith?
Her belief in her nephew had been shaken.
She had lost her husband. Through the dim, filtered light of the church, it looked as if the queen’s thin shoulders were shaking.
She was trembling, despite the weight of her cloak, trembling before God, fearful of her fate.
At that moment, Thomasin knew that her place was at the queen’s side. She would go to Chelsea another time. Right now, Catherine needed all her friends around her.