Catherine spoke slowly. “Such a thing would be treason on his part, but it would appear also to be on mine.”
“Yes, My Lady, and that would put you in the gravest danger.”
A chill settled on the room. The memories of dancing, feasting and the falcons in flight resolved into a clear and present danger.
“Unless…” added Mountjoy.
Catherine looked at him sharply. “What? Speak your mind.”
“Unless the Venetians have been bought by others. By those who wish to know your business, My Lady.”
“Whom do you have in mind?”
Mountjoy looked thoughtful. “Whence had they come? Westminster.”
The implications of this were evident to all those present. Thomasin understood this was where the Boleyns currently awaited Henry’s return from his hunting expedition.
“It might be Wolsey,” Mountjoy drew out, slowly. “Or else it is the Boleyns themselves.”
Catherine’s face wore a storm. “Send word to Vernier. The Venetians do not have my permission to leave court. They must remain in their lodgings until they hear from me again. Until I return from the hunt. Go, at once.”
Mountjoy bowed and retreated. They heard his feet echo in the corridor outside.
“Unless,” Catherine whispered, “unless it is worse.”
“What?” asked Maria at her side. “How could it be worse?”
“Unless it is the king himself, laying a trap for me to walk into…” Her voice trailed away.
“Oh, My Lady, I am sure he would not resort to such underhand methods, not the king himself,” Maria replied. “He has the utmost respect and love for you and would not willingly deceive you.”
“Unless he felt he must.”
Thomasin caught Maria’s eye and read the doubts there, seeming to contradict her words.
“But you have done nothing for which he can reproach you, My Lady,” Thomasin added. “You, and we, have given the Venetians nothing but hospitality.”
“And this.” Catherine drew out of her sleeve a gold chain set with a carved ballas ruby. “This was Signore Vernier’s special gift to me at the dance. I will return it to him in the morning. I cannot keep it for fear of it seeming a debt or a bribe.”
“Then we shall return it to him on the morrow,” said Maria.
Catherine’s face was pensive but determined. “Suddenly that sweet Venetian wine tastes like ashes in my mouth.”
SEVEN
A wide vista of green trees spread before them. Windsor forest had been completely still that morning, full of cool, dark spaces and the brightness of nature beginning its regrowth. Ahead, bathed in pale sunlight, the tall hunting lodge stood in a clearing overlooking the track as the women approached. Led by Mountjoy and Catherine, they rode up to the red brick building, with its open gallery overlooking the view. A handful of colourful figures came spilling out to bid them welcome.
Thomasin felt a constriction in her stomach as the king strode across the grass. Dressed in green and yellow velvet, Henry VIII was a magnificent man in his late thirties; tall, broad-shouldered, with his beard neatly trimmed, red hair blazing in the light. Every inch the king, he carried himself with an air of expectation, in the complete belief of his due, as the representative of God upon earth. When he walked, it was as if the forest itself stopped to listen and when he spoke, the very trees and creatures in their branches fell silent out of respect.
Yet Thomasin’s feelings were mixed. Her eyes could barely rest upon him for questions. Besides the suspected plot with Wolsey, and the secret intentions of the Venetians, Thomasin had her own, personal reasons for doubting him. She could not forget the disturbing facts she had learned last year. That her mother, Elizabeth, had once shared Henry’s bed, in a brief romance, and that there was the slimmest of chances that this gaudy, dazzling man before her was actually her own father. It was the first time she had seen him since those revelations. Her throat constricted.
“You are welcome, My Lady,” Henry boomed, holding out his hand courteously to Catherine, as she dismounted.
The entire court was aware of his intention to procure a divorce and to marry the dark-haired beauty Anne Boleyn, yet in his treatment of his wife, he was still publicly attentive and went out of his way to show her every courtesy, as protocol demanded. He dared not snub or slight her in public for fear of offending the emperor. Thomasin found it hard to believe he would plot against her, using the Venetians.
Henry looked down the assembled line of women. He nodded first at Maria, whom he knew well, then Gertrude. “My Lady Willoughby, Lady Exeter.” When he came to Thomasin and Ellen, he paused.
Catherine stepped into the breach. “My Lord, you know Mistresses Marwood and Russell, who have been with me since my arrival here at Windsor.”
