Her throat was dry, so dry, and her mouth felt as if it had been rinsed out with sand. She coughed, spluttered.
At once there was movement.
“Are you thirsty?”
Thomasin croaked out a yes. Gentle hands raised her head and she felt the rim of a vessel placed against her lips. Liquid ran over them like a blessing. It was sweet, perhaps a weak cordial made from boiled water and summer fruits. Most of it spilled down her chin but she swallowed what she could, gratefully.
“It’s Ellen, don’t worry. You must rest.”
Thomasin realised she was no longer cold. Instead she was hot and sweating, stifling. She struggled to push off her covers and felt Ellen’s hands assist her.
“This is the final phase. You are strong. You can do this.”
It was light, but early. Behind the thick curtains gleamed a soft early morning, brightening the dark room. For a while, Thomasin lay there, settled into the truckle’s mattress which had reformed its shape around her. Her limbs were stiff, as if she had not moved in a long time. How was she feeling? Neither hot nor cold. Not dizzy, nor unwell. Thirsty, yes, but the room was not spinning.
She was in the queen’s antechamber; the very room she had slept in for the past few weeks, but it looked different. The other beds had been stacked away. All the usual objects — the clothing, books, plates, shoes, headdresses and the little artefacts like the hairbrushes, the box of ribbons, pots of salve and comfits — were missing. The room was practically bare.
Except, on the furthest side of the room, as far from Thomasin as possible, a second bed was occupied. The sleeper had rolled onto their side, so their back was facing the room, and their breath came out in the rhythms of deep slumber.
And the sensation of not being alone washed over Thomasin. It had been the sweat, no question about that. But now she felt calm, at peace. Surely, surely, thanks to the grace of God, she was coming through it. She closed her eyes again.
“Here, I have a little broth for you.”
Ellen was sitting on a stool beside her with a bowl and spoon.
“It is chicken and cream, very good for your strength. The kitchens have made it specially.”
Thomasin lifted her head a little, then managed to prop herself up on one elbow. A momentary dizziness swiftly passed.
It was sweet and nourishing, thickened with almond milk, and contained a spice like cinnamon or saffron. With the second spoonful and the third, Thomasin discovered that she was extremely hungry. “Thank you,” was the first word she breathed to her cousin.
“Don’t speak unless you feel well enough.” Ellen held out the spoon again.
“What day is it?”
“It is the eve of the feast of St Boniface.”
Thomasin could not think.
“The fourth of June,” added Ellen. “But it matters not.” She held out the spoon again and waited while Thomasin gratefully finished the soup.
Ellen put down the bowl.
“The queen?” The door to Catherine’s inner chamber and chapel was tightly shut.
“She packed up and left that same morning following the first case. She and Henry have returned to Hampton Court with Wolsey. All the others, Maria and her daughter, Mary and Gertrude, went too. These rooms were already empty by the time you were found. They were gone by eight. I pray that God will spare them.”
“And we are left behind? And you?”
“I offered to stay. I was in the park, the same as you, when the first case was known. I passed the man on the path. Luckily I have not yet succumbed.”
“And all this time, you have nursed me back to health.”
“We are cousins, more like sisters. You would have done the same for me.”
Thomasin took her hand. “I can’t thank you enough. You stayed by me when everyone left; you cared for me, watched over me, at great danger to yourself. You risked your life for me.” Her fragile voice cracked as the tears broke through her defences.
“You have got over the worst of it.”
