Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
It was a glorious day at the height of summer.
Thomasin breathed in the morning air, with its scents of chimney smoke and fresh flowers masking the ever-present undertone of the river.
On the dock, a vessel decked in ribbons and pennants awaited the guests, bobbing gently against the Bridewell steps.
From there, it would sail upriver, around the bends and turns, to Westminster Abbey, where the wedding of Arthur, Lord Lisle, and Honor Basset, née Grenville, was due to take place.
Thomasin had settled on the dusky pink gown that Ellen favoured.
Her cousin had helped dress her that morning, in the queen’s new chambers, lacing and pinning her into the bodice and smoothing out the long folds of the skirts with their embroidered hem, and placing her pearled hood carefully on her long, dark hair.
Ellen had been right: the colour perfectly complimented Thomasin’s skin, which had picked up a light hue of gold from the time she had slept in the gardens.
Her paleness from the illness had quite faded and her usual colour had returned, highlighted by pearls in her ears and at her throat.
The queen had lent her a pair of her old gold slippers, worn out by days of dancing that were behind her now, but they shimmered softly when Thomasin walked.
She could not conceal her glee to be wearing royal slippers, even if they were cast-offs.
A few other courtiers were waiting on the bank, including some of Anne’s ladies.
Thomasin recognised Nan Gainsford and Bess Holland, decked out in bright dresses, accompanied by George Zouche, Francis Bryan and George Boleyn, but she kept her distance, chatting with friends of the bride.
John and Jane Dudley were already at Westminster, while others were travelling on horseback or by coach.
As they began to climb into the boat, a second vessel drew up behind them to the sound of trumpets blown on the bow.
This was a wide barge, comfortably decked out with carpets and cushions under a canopy, flying the royal flag, with silver bells tinkling.
Thomasin realised that this was the means by which Henry and Anne were travelling to Westminster, and they were no doubt waiting nearby, as guests of honour at the wedding.
Looking around, she saw no one from Catherine’s circle, only those who were guests of the bride and groom or favoured the Boleyns.
As Thomasin took her seat, slightly queasy at the way the waves hit the side, she hoped her presence would not be seen as endorsing one side over another, at the expense of the queen.
It was so difficult to navigate the subtle loyalties at court, but she should have realised that Henry’s uncle would align with the king over his Spanish wife.
The tide was behind them, so fortunately the journey was quick.
The oarsmen pulled them along, past the great mansions of courtiers and lords, giving a glimpse of their splendid grounds that ran down to the water’s edge, past the Savoy Palace on the bend, and past Durham House, where Catherine had once lived, but which now housed the Boleyns.
Next to it, Wolsey’s home at York Place sat in darkness while the cardinal deliberated over the finer matters of law, as the whole court awaited the Papal Court’s verdict.
They passed the building works at Whitehall, which was to be transformed into a palace to rival those Anne had seen in Europe, and then the spires of Westminster loomed above them.
Thomasin was grateful to be dismounting on the wide stone steps, where John Dudley was waiting to greet the guests.
He extended his hand to help her up onto the quay.
“Thomasin, you look radiant. I am so glad you overcame your illness and are able to attend.”
“So am I. I was honoured to receive the invitation, especially as I am not known personally to the bride and groom.”
“As my guest, they welcome you. But come inside, have some wine. The ceremony will be taking place shortly.”
Thomasin eyed the Boleyn party entering ahead of her through the carved stone gate, already conversing in excited tones.
“The king’s barge follows shortly after us,” she told John. “It was awaiting him at Bridewell as we left.”
John led her along a corridor hung with tapestries into a chamber with painted walls.
Here, guests were already partaking of spiced cakes, gingerbread and marzipan covered in gold leaf.
Jane Dudley, dressed in maroon velvet and a headdress shimmering with bright stones, came to greet her.
Her voluminous skirts concealed her early pregnancy, but her eyes and cheeks were glowing.
“I am so delighted to see you again, Thomasin, especially since you have been indisposed. Are you quite well now?”
“Quite well, thank you, and glad to see you, Jane.”
“Why don’t you two ladies eat some cake?” John suggested. “I must return to greet the king.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me,” said Jane. “The cinnamon and apple ones come highly recommended, but the saffron buns look delicious too. Shall we, Thomasin?”
Thomasin didn’t need asking twice. The wedding fare looked far more elaborate and expensive than her usual fare, even that served at the queen’s table.
There was no doubt that money was being directed to certain quarters rather than others.
She wondered whether she might smuggle a few items out for Ellen.
Before long, the sound of trumpets came from outside, declaring the arrival of the royal barge.
Thomasin grabbed a last cake and reluctantly joined the line of guests ready to greet the king and Anne.
This was not a part of the ceremony that she had anticipated, although she had known that Henry would attend; his presence eclipsed that of the couple getting married.
She dropped a curtsey as the party approached, hearing the tones of Henry’s booming voice before he came through the doors.
He was dressed in white and gold, with heavy chains about his throat, his shoulders draped with furs despite the season.
At his side, Anne’s outfit send a ripple of surprise among those gathered.
Thomasin risked a look to see her dressed in a gown to match the king’s, white and gold, with embroidery and pearls, topped by a chain.
They were already behaving like a married couple, coordinating their clothing in the way that Henry and Catherine used to do.
Thomasin had a sudden glimpse of the future at court: everyone bowing down before the king with his new queen, while his old, abandoned spouse sat quietly in her darkened room.
Henry and Anne passed through the chamber, heading for the abbey.
This was the sign that the ceremony would be commencing soon, and the guests were to follow.
With John joining them, Thomasin and Jane headed out through the main hall, a vast space with the roof so high overhead that Thomasin had to squint to see it.
She had never seen such a large chamber before, not even at Windsor.
Trestle tables with white cloths and wooden benches were already laid out ahead of the feast that would be served after the ceremony.
The double doors led them out into a yard which had been sanded for jousting, with wooden stands erected at the sides and colourful tents at each end.
The abbey lay beyond, inviting them to follow down the vast nave and take their places on the seats just before the central crossing.
Henry and Anne, with several lords and ladies, were already seated ahead.
Thomasin spotted the heads of Thomas and George Boleyn, and then, to her discomfort, Rafe Danvers sitting beside them.
She kept her eyes averted, hoping that the bride and groom would soon appear to distract her from his presence.
Arthur, Lord Lisle, came first, a tall, lean ascetic man with greying hair, dressed in silver and black.
He paused to greet the king, bowing low, so that Thomasin caught a glimpse of his handsome features.
People claimed that he looked just like his father, Edward IV, with his strong jaw and striking eyes, although he was past the flush of youth and well into middle age now, older than his father had ever been.
After a while, the bride followed, with a train of her ladies behind her.
Honor Basset wore a dress of emerald green trimmed with gold and a headdress with a long, cloth of gold train hanging low to her trim waist. She was a tiny woman, well-formed and elegant, with great charm in her little, piquant face.
As she stood beside Arthur, her husband-to-be towering over her, the pair exchanged a smile that revealed the deep affection between them.
Soon, this would be Ellen, Thomasin thought, walking to meet her bridegroom, excited by the future that stretched out before them.
In that moment, she could not resist looking at the back of Rafe’s head, several rows in front.
It might so easily have been the two of them taking their vows, making promises to honour and love each other, but that could never be, now.
Rafe did not turn round. At the moment when the bishop pronounced them man and wife, Thomasin saw him lift a hand to stifle a yawn.