“They did not see him in person except the once,” Henry added swiftly, “at a formal gathering. They were present more to oversee shipping and tax arrangements; Truegood inherited a silk weaving business, which he has been winding up, to transfer to England.”
“What is his parentage?”
“Noble,” said Henry, “but a junior line.”
The sun broke out from the clouds that moment and caught the red-headed man in full beam. His colour drew their eyes and stilled their talk. Thomasin felt herself unable to escape the sense of admiration for this merchant of the minor gentry.
“He will not stay at court for long,” added Henry, “but he can tire out six horses in a day.”
“And has he brought word for me from my nephew?”
“He was there on business,” replied Henry, a little shortly, “not to bring personal messages.”
Catherine’s lips shut in a firm line.
A roar came up from the forest below. Henry looked down to see who it was.
“Come, Henry. Why do you dally?”
Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, was shading his eyes from the sun, looking up at the king in the gallery. Only he, as Henry’s brother-in-law, could get away with calling him by name. “The day proceeds apace and the deer will not catch themselves.”
Henry laughed. “There would be little sport in that, indeed, and they will not dine upon themselves, either!”
The company politely laughed at his joke, but he was already fidgeting, itching to be underway.
“We shall take our leave for the moment, Madam.” His tone to Catherine was most respectful. “I hope our valour in the hunt brings you pleasure.”
For a moment, Thomasin glimpsed how things used to be, back in the days before Anne Boleyn had returned from France. Long, happy days that her parents had spoken about, when the king and queen had been young and in love. The removal of Anne from the picture almost made it seem as if she did not exist.
“God give you good speed and make your arrows fly true,” replied Catherine, giving her best smile.
Thomasin watched the king depart, with Hatton at his heels. They thundered down the wooden staircase in their riding boots, then appeared on the ground outside, by the horses. Henry and Suffolk began inspecting their tack.
“I heard,” whispered Catherine, as the women looked down on the men below, “that he has quarrelled with the woman.”
Thomasin’s ears focused on her words.
“Suffolk’s man told me. They had a terrible row and he left her behind in London.”
As if Henry could sense them talking about him, he turned and waved up to the gallery. Catherine waved graciously.
“I wonder what it can mean,” she said softly. “He looks merry, does he not? Perhaps this awful business is over.”
Neither of her waiting women dared answer. Instead they watched the king adjusting the reins and speaking softly to the horse.
“Bring Hippocras,” Catherine instructed, concealing her pleasure. “I will take a glass.”
Thomasin returned to the table and poured out the drink. When she brought it back to the gallery and handed it to Catherine, her attention was drawn outside. A manservant she recognised from Windsor had ridden up and dismounted, as if in a hurry. He knelt at Henry’s feet and as they watched, distanced, the man delivered his news.
The women could not make out the words, but they could see the impact the message had upon the king. Henry’s entire demeanour changed, as if clouds had eclipsed the sun. He took a step backwards, then his eyes went up to the gallery, his face ghastly with shock. The impact was so dramatic that Catherine rose from her chair.
“Mary and all the Saints, what can this be? Not our child?”
At the king’s indication, the servant sped towards the door. They heard his feet on the stairs as they waited, hearts pounding.
The man hurtled down onto his knees before the standing queen.
“Speak, man, what is it?”
