Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
When Thomasin woke, there were soft voices in the room. It was dark and cool, with one figure outlined in the doorway while another leaned over her. She recognised the familiar outline of Dr Butts, who had once treated her mother for her chest complaint.
“Ah, you are awake,” he said softly, looking at her closely. “And how are you feeling today, Thomasin?”
She blinked up at him, trying to work out exactly how she was feeling. “I was tired, very tired. And dizzy, and then I couldn’t bear the smell of the food.”
He nodded. “I have seen a few cases like this at court in the past day. It is an infection that is spreading when people come together, which preys on young women. A kind of green sickness. When did it start?”
“Just before dinner.”
“You mean yesterday?”
Had she slept that long, all through the night?”
“I suppose so, but the other day I feel asleep in the garden at court.”
“And I understand you have been facing family difficulties, as well as being very busy yourself?”
“I suppose. Yes, my family has troubles.”
“There is nothing to worry about. I am making you up a revitalising elixir. That and more rest will restore you in a few days.”
“I am sorry for the trouble I have caused.”
“It is no trouble. I am glad that I was summoned so soon. Are you otherwise well? No other complaints, no aches and pains or dullness of spirits?”
“Not at all.”
“You are young and strong; I am confident you will recover. However, it is not desirable that you remain near to the queen’s ladies while you are unwell.”
“Oh no, of course not. I would not wish to make them ill.”
Butts looked to the figure in the doorway, which resolved itself into Ellen.
“Your mother is sending her carriage to take you back to Monk’s Place for a few days. By then, the queen will have returned to Bridewell and you may join us there.”
“But am I not needed? What about the court?”
“Thomasin, you can do no one any good like this. You must rest and recover, then you can be useful again.”
“Here are the herbs,” said Mary, Lady Essex, appearing behind her, “and the spices from the queen.”
Thomasin felt tears springing to her eyes. “I did not wish to be a burden to anyone.”
“You are not,” said Dr Butts. “Everyone gets ill from time to time, even royalty! You will be well again very soon.”
“But my sister is there, at Monk’s Place,” she went on. “I cannot risk infecting her.”
“Never fear,” Dr Butts replied. “As I said, it is a green sickness, arising from the condition of maidenhood. Your sister will not be in danger from it, I assure you.”
Thomasin felt her cheeks redden furiously. She was ill because she was still a maid?
“But how?”
“Well, to put it delicately, there is a build-up of the humours in the womb which only the act of a male can reverse. It is a common illness among the unmarried. The simplest remedy is obvious, but until you are wedded, rest and medicine will assist you.”
Thomasin turned her head away in shame.
“Come now,” said Ellen, “the carriage will be here soon. We should get you ready.”
After Dr Butts had retired with the queen, Thomasin stuck her feet indignantly into her shoes, with Ellen guiding them into place.
“I can’t believe this. I cannot be ill because I have not had contact with a man! Does that not sound ridiculous to you?”
“I don’t know. Dr Butts is a reputable physician with years of experience. I would not presume to question him.”
“But the idea is preposterous — that I should need intimacy with a man in order to be well!”
“Perhaps it is time to think of a husband, Thomasin. After all, you are of an age now.”
“I am not yet twenty.”
“Many women, including myself, were already wed by that age.”
“I will rest, drink this elixir and take spices and herbs, and I shall be quite well again. How about nuns in the convent? How do they manage?”
“I don’t know anything about nuns, Thomasin,” Ellen said, smiling, “but there is no point making yourself angry about it. Your course is fixed now. You must rest and recover, as there is no doubt you are ill.”
Thomasin was about to object, but as she rose to her feet another wave of nausea overtook her. She leaned against the wall to steady herself.
“Very well, but I refuse to believe that the cure lies in a man!”
“Well, there are some who might hope that you would jump at the chance of such a cure.”
“What do you mean?”
“Giles. He was most concerned for you last night. He did not wish to leave without being reassured that you were well; we had to tell him you were sleeping and insist that he depart. Honestly, I am surprised he has not returned this morning.”
At that moment, Maria entered, with her arms full of flowers. “Just delivered,” she said, “for the patient, along with cordials and marmalade. From Mr Waterson.”
Ellen laughed. “Now, what did I tell you? There is someone eager to cure you himself.”
“Oh, stop it!”
“I shall load these into the carriage to go with you,” suggested Maria. “The flowers will cheer your chamber.”
Thomasin took the arm Ellen offered and walked carefully towards the door. Perhaps a rest was exactly what she needed after all.
The carriage took her straight to Monk’s Place, where Lady Elizabeth and Sir Matthew came out to meet her.
Thomasin climbed out in a fever, with the heady scents of Giles’s flowers still in her nostrils.
Leaning on her uncle, she walked slowly through the hallway and up the stairs.
Her chamber had been prepared with fresh white linen sheets and bunches of lavender hanging from the ceiling to ward off bad vapours.
A fire burned in the grate with a scented pastille, intended to cleanse the air, but it made the atmosphere heavy.
Thomasin’s hand flew to her nose. “The window, please?”
“But cold air is not good for you!” said her mother.
“Please, the smell.”
Sir Matthew strode over and threw the window open. Thomasin crawled into bed and drew the covers up to her chin.
“Now I will prepare one of Dr Butts’ special drinks for you, and then I shall sit and read to you, if you like,” said Lady Elizabeth.
“Cecilia?”
“She is in the other room, never fear. She is quite content. We have not yet heard from Sir William, but we expect him daily.”
Thomasin sighed and closed her eyes.
When she woke again, the light had changed. There were voices coming from the garden, underneath her open window, but the air had turned a little chilly.
Carefully swinging her legs out from beneath the covers, she crept shakily over to the window seat and reached to secure the latch.
“But what will Mother say?” Cecilia was saying. “And Father, when he is released. Neither of them will like it one bit, and they will ask questions.”
Thomasin’s ears pricked up at once. The second voice was definitely Hatton’s.
“What other choice do we have, if the divorce will not be granted? You will be considered a whore at court, confined to live in the country, your name blackened forever.”
“Many there already consider me that. I do not care for people’s opinions of me; I just want to live quietly with you and our child. How can that be so difficult?”
“But that is my plan, don’t you see? In Italy, we can pass as man and wife without judgement.”
“But it is so far, and so hot, and I can’t speak a word of Italian.”
“We will hire English servants. The house is on a hill and designed to be cool in the summer months.”
“But I do not want to make the journey in this condition. What if it causes trouble for the child? A sea crossing, and all that way by road?”
“Many women have travelled before in your condition.”
“But I have not, Will. I have not. I do not want the discomfort and strain and fear of it, not for my first child. I want to be at home, with Mother, in familiar surroundings.”
“Then we wait and go after the child is born? Is that what you want?”
“No, none of this is what I want.”
“Or perhaps it is me that you don’t want.”
“How can you say that? Look at my condition! I think we should confide in Mother.”
“You can’t. You know she will do all she can to prevent it, and then we will never be together.”
“That is not her purpose. Mother just wants me to be safe. Why can’t you petition the king again?”
“He was adamant. No divorce for him, so none for us.”
“That seems very unfair.”
“Try telling him that!”
They moved away from the window and down the path towards the river. Thomasin saw their shapes outlined against the bushes. She was troubled by what she had heard. She should speak with Cecilia, before the pair made any rash decisions.
The night air was cool on her face. The temperature in the chamber had dropped and the overpowering smell of burning pastilles had dissipated. Thomasin pulled the window shut and crept back into bed. By the time Lady Elizabeth came in to check on her, Thomasin was asleep again.