“And your mother says to come inside and wash, and prepare yourself for the guests.”
Thomasin laughed. “I will come with my hair smelling of smoke and my kirtle stained with grass. Mother can make the best of me that she can, but I will never be another Cecilia.”
“Well,” smiled Richard, “we can be thankful for that. One per family is quite enough.”
Two hours later, and the hall was filled with guests taking their place for the next dance. There were so many Suffolk faces Thomasin had not seen in such a long time; local landowners with their wives and children, with whom she had witnessed weddings and funerals, the baptism of babies and the harvest celebrations during her youth. The local Waits from Bury had agreed to play for the evening, with their lutes, pipes and homemade instruments, making a very different sound from the European minstrels employed by the king.
“Is it good to be home?”
Cecilia and Thomasin were surveying the floor.
“I cannot tell you how much, yes. And all is as I remember it.”
Cecilia nodded, her eyes fixed on the dancers. “Did you dance much?”
“Occasionally, when there was dancing, but the sweat meant we did not always have company.”
“Who did you partner?”
“Mostly Venetians. The ambassadors came to Windsor. Sometimes William Carey or another of the king’s gentlemen.”
“And her? She was there?”
Thomasin knew that Cecilia referred to Anne Boleyn, who had drawn them into her circle before weaving intrigue about them both. “She was there, yes. But I saw little of her and when I did, she was not kind. Remember I was in Queen Catherine’s household, not hers.”
“Are you going to dance?” Her sister turned to her brightly, with blue questioning eyes.
“I may, if I am asked, although I am not sure how long I would last.”
There were few promising young men in the room. Most were of an age with their father, or else were married, and Digby’s tutor definitely did not dance.
“Will you dance with me?”
Thomasin was surprised, but quickly smiled at the request. “I will, if you will promise to be gentle with me.”
They took the floor in line with the other couples. Despite her questions, Thomasin noted that her sister’s sharp edges had softened during her absence. She seemed more open, more willing to connect.
“Did you enjoy yourself at court?” she asked as they stood face to face, waiting for the first chords.
“I don’t know if enjoy is the exact word. It was hard work. We had very little time to ourselves, always up early and assisting until late at night. It was tiring.”
“No time for love affairs, then?”
Thomasin smiled, unwilling to confide yet about her friendship with Will. “Barely time for anything else. Occasionally we were permitted an hour to walk in the gardens. But only if we were very good.”
“And what were the palaces like?”
Thomasin realised Cecilia felt she had missed out, being home in the countryside whilst her sister embarked upon adventures at court.
“Much the same,” she downplayed, “old and cold, as you will recall. We thought that winter at Windsor would never end.”
They curtseyed and linked hands, turning about in a circle, then back the other way. Then the group began to promenade, first up then down the room, to the clapping hands of the onlookers. Thomasin thought how no one at court would have dared clap along in that manner, unless the king forgot himself enough to initiate it.
“Did anyone speak of me?”
Thomasin paused before she replied. What was the answer her sister wished to hear? That the rumours of last autumn were still alive, or that she had been completely forgotten?
“Only to enquire after your health. There was no talk of what happened, you can rest assured.”
