Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Bishop Mendoza leaned in towards the queen, the rings upon his fingers sparkling in the candlelight.
“I shall pray for you every day, asking God to show his mercy upon your situation and advancing years.”
Catherine’s face did not betray a flicker at the mention of her age: she was then halfway through her forty-third year. She placed her own hand lightly on top of the bishop’s furred cap.
“I give you my blessing for your voyage. May your final years be easy among your family and friends.”
“We shall correspond,” he said. “I shall not forget my English friends and their suffering. Many have been good to me here, amid my own travails.”
“I have more salve for your legs.” Catherine gestured to Maria, who brought forward a pot of the ointment that Thomasin had once applied to the old bishop’s painful limbs.
“You are too gracious, my lady.”
“You have been a good friend to me, Inigo, at a time when I have learned who my real friends are.”
“I only wish I could have done more, and I regret that I must leave before the court has made its final decision.”
“Is there any news of your replacement?”
“A Savoyard by the name of Eustace Chapuys has been appointed. I know little of him, but his recommendations are good. I understand he will be a great friend to your cause.”
“I shall anticipate his arrival. What time do you depart?”
“I am taking ship at Dartford and will alight on the coast north of Canterbury, for the ride down to Dover. The progress on water is far better for my legs than on the land.”
“God go with you, my friend.” Catherine handed over a letter, folded and sealed in her distinctive gold wax. “Keep this for the eyes of the Emperor, my nephew, only. Let no other man read its contents.”
Mendoza tucked the letter into his sleeve. “I shall guard it with my life and pass it to him in person on my journey through Italy. I hope to see him crowned there before I return to Spain.”
The bishop bowed again and then slowly straightened up his aged frame. He ran his eyes over the line of the queen’s ladies, where Thomasin and Ellen waited.
“You are well attended. Ladies, I commend you for your diligence and loyalty.”
Taking out a purse, he placed a gold coin in the hands of each woman in the line, adding his own personal blessing. Reaching Thomasin last, he folded his hands over hers.
“I have not forgotten your kindnesses to me, Mistress Marwood. May God bless you and grant you many long, peaceful years ahead.”
“Thank you, your Grace. I wish you a safe and speedy journey.”
“Look out for this Chapuys when he comes. He may need you to show him the ropes.”
Thomasin nodded.
“Well.” Mendoza stood back and surveyed them all. “This is my farewell to England — a nasty, wet country it is, lacking in good wine and overrun by meat-eaters. I wish you all joy of it!”
Thomasin smiled as the old man waved his farewell and disappeared through the doors. Just as he left, though, a servant appeared, carrying a letter. He knelt before the queen.
“For Mistress Marwood, my lady, just brought to the castle by a boy.”
Catherine looked up. “Thomasin? Are you expecting a letter?”
“I am not, my lady.”
“Better discover its news swiftly, then.”
She took the letter from the servant, recognising the seal of her uncle, Sir Matthew, and tore it open.
A few lines were contained within, summoning her back to Monk’s Place as soon as possible.
She flushed and frowned at the necessity to ask the queen for release again, but was concerned about what had occasioned the request.
“Not good news, I think,” said Catherine, studying her face. “Not your father, I hope?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Thomasin walked towards the queen’s chair and placed the letter in her hands.
Catherine scanned it quickly. “You may take two hours this afternoon and return in time for dinner, as I have guests. Tomorrow, I want you back in court for Fisher’s speech.”
“You are most kind, my lady. I apologise again for the disruption.”
“I will send some more cloves for your mother, and some warming spices, as she must be suffering.”
“She will receive them with gratitude, I am sure.”
Anxiety knotted Thomasin’s stomach as she left Baynard’s Castle.
A carriage was waiting to take her the short distance along Thames Street.
The letter had been written by Sir Matthew, who had simply stated that her mother was distressed and wished to see her on an urgent matter.
Thomasin had no doubt that the matter was, indeed, of a most urgent nature, as her uncle was not prone to hyperbole.
A faint drizzle had begun to fall over the city as the carriage moved down the busy street.
Their progress was slow, as horses, carts and children weaved in and out before them.
Thomasin had little choice but to sit back and wait, although it would have been swifter to get out and walk the final distance.
Finally, the driver turned in through the gates and the horses’ hooves clattered over the cobbles.
Inside the house, Sir Matthew’s dogs started barking their welcome as he came out to greet her.
His face looked aged and full of frowns.
“Thank you for coming. I know it cannot have been easy.”
“Luckily the queen is understanding. Is it Father?”
“Nothing like that. Your mother expects you in the front chamber.”
Thomasin picked up her skirts and hurried inside, through the corridor that smelled of beeswax and herbs, then left into the room where a fire was burning.
Lady Elizabeth was seated on a carved wooden chair; the long trestle table where they usually dined had been pushed to the side. Her pale face looked taut and angry.
“Mother.” Thomasin dropped a curtsey.
“Up, up, enough of that. I’m not the queen!”
“What is the matter? I came as soon as I could.”
Sir Matthew was hovering in the doorway behind them.
“What is this assignation you set up between Cecilia and that wretched Hatton man?”
“Assignation? There was no assignation.”
“But you took him to meet her, did you not? Remember, I have had your sister’s own side of this, so do not think to deceive me.”
“Mother, it is not my intention to deceive you. You make it sound as if I planned it all, when it is quite the opposite. I take it Cecilia is home, then? She evaded me in the palace gardens.”
“She came home late last night, giving us great cause for alarm.”
“At least she came home. She has not always done that.”
“Enough! Tell me what occurred. Do you not think I have enough to worry me, with your father locked in the Tower for goodness knows how long?”
“Yes, Mother, I am aware, and I have done nothing to add to your distress. Yesterday, I saw Cecilia at court. She had come there of her own volition, seeking Hatton, because she said he had a right to know about his child. I did my best to persuade her to return home, telling her it was not the proper thing to do and that she would be thrown out by the guards, but she was adamant. She was going to stay whether I helped her or not, so I thought it best to make things as quick as possible, so as to not cause a scene. The Papal Court were sitting that day, so it was quiet, fortunately, but I did not wish to risk the king seeing her.”
“Hmm. You should have sent her straight back to me.”
“I tried, believe me, but you know what she is like. She absolutely refused, so I sought to minimise the damage. I took Hatton to meet her in the garden and sat a little way off, to keep an eye on them, but I had the misfortune to fall asleep in the sun. When I woke, both of them had gone. Neither thought to wake me. I have not heard from either since.”
“You fell asleep?”
“It was not of my choosing! I was tired and it was warm. Cecilia should have woken me after their meeting.”
“And what transpired during this meeting?”
“I cannot answer that as I was asleep. It was my intention that she be allowed to inform him of his fatherhood, and I arranged for them to meet in the garden, in plain sight, so there could be no privacy.”
“And they both disappeared. When was this?”
“Late afternoon, I think. I woke shortly before the king’s dinner hour.”
“And she came back here at night.” Lady Elizabeth frowned.
“What has she said on the matter?”
“Only that Hatton is prepared to make an honest woman of her for the sake of the child, but no divorced woman is an honest woman. It will take Parliament to separate her from Hugh. God’s wounds, that such troubles should come to our door!”
Thomasin had not heard her mother curse that way before, not even upon the occasion of Cecilia’s first elopement.
“She says he is to call here, today, to make his case. I know not what to do in your father’s absence. I thank God that we have the protection of my dear brother.”
“All will be well,” said Sir Matthew, stepping further into the room. “I will meet with him and resolve this matter.”
“She is three months away from giving birth,” Thomasin calculated. “How can it be effected so quickly?”
“It is possible,” Sir Matthew continued. “I shall draw up a special bill to submit to Parliament, and Hatton will need to speak with the king, but it is possible.”
“So she will become his wife?”
“It appears so,” said Lady Elizabeth, “although Hugh will cast her off without a penny.”
“Mother, she does not really deserve a single penny of his, does she?”
“No, I suppose she does not.”
“Is she upstairs?”
Lady Elizabeth nodded.
“Then I will go up and speak a few words with her.”
“I pray you, do not upset her. We have had enough tears in this house already.”
Thomasin found her sister in the chamber she had once slept in, embroidering a baby’s bonnet.
Cecilia looked up at her approach. “I thought it would be you.”
“Really? You didn’t think I might still be waiting in the garden?”
“I’m sorry for that. We had to speak in private. We had important matters to discuss, Thomasin. We had to resolve our lives for the sake of the child — surely you understand?”