The hall waited to hear what Henry would decide. Thomasin’s gaze flickered across the floor. Brandon quietly sipped his wine, Hatton and Cotton exchanged a look, while Mountjoy was alert and awaiting the king’s word. At last, her eyes came round to Truegood, but his had just drawn away, as if he had been observing her a second before.
“Tell them to leave the food at the gate and withdraw. Make sure they are out of sight before it is collected. Leave a purse for when they return. And watch them. At a distance.”
“Very good, My Lord, I thank you.”
The feasting continued, but Henry’s mood had changed. He ate with solemnity and purpose, and all his earlier mirth was gone.
Later, the tables were cleared and the minstrels played a quiet song. Thomasin and Ellen were seated close to Wolsey, when Henry drew near. He bent low to the cardinal and spoke in a strangled voice.
“Did I do right? With the food? Did I do right?”
“My Lord,” replied Wolsey in surprise, “you are the king. You always do right.”
“Yes, yes, I am, I do.” Henry drew himself up. “I am the king. My word is right. But then why does God torment me with such doubts?”
“In order to bring you to glory,” said the cardinal, rising to his feet, “to aid your path to his side.”
Henry was still jittery. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? This is all part of his purpose for you.”
“Is it?” he replied sharply. “I don’t know now. I don’t know.” And he weaved his way back through the hall and out through the distant door.
ELEVEN
“At least the gardens here are pretty,” said Ellen, walking beside Thomasin. “Much nicer than at Windsor, although Windsor had the better grounds. Hampton has more flowers.”
“But spring had not yet come to Windsor before we left it,” added Thomasin. “We only saw the first flowers.”
“I wonder if spring ever fully comes to Windsor. Honestly, am glad to be away from it.”
Catherine was ahead of them, with Maria and Gertrude, heading in the direction of the river. On either side the long lawns were broken by pathways and the occasional fountain, or carved statues of heraldic beasts, picked out in gold and white, yellow and red. It was a dazzlingly sunny day. The trees were beginning to blossom and shed their petals prettily, scattering sprays of white and pink across the lawns. They had slipped through the month of April, barely noticing the passage of time. Now May was beckoning, with all its green promise.
The days had passed easily; quiet mornings spent in the queen’s chamber, praying, reading or sewing, while the king rode out in the park, hunted or loosed arrows at the colourful straw butts that were lined up at the end of the walk, with Truegood, Hatton and the others. The surface was pitted with holes left by the heads of arrows, from the last time the restless king had taken his sport. They dined simply, with food from the palace larders, supplemented by that which the women left at the gate, before retreating to a safe distance.
Afternoons were passed walking in the grounds, or riding gently along the river. This stretch of the bank was private, so they barely saw a soul on foot. Occasionally, though, a barge might pass, or women might be drying their clothes by spreading them in the fields opposite. Too far to speak, too far for infection. Sometimes they waved in greeting.
After dinner and prayers, the evening hours were passed beside the fire, in letter-writing, singing and playing cards. Thomasin had never understood the skill required for such games, but she was slowly learning the relative value of an ace, a king, a queen, a knave. Once or twice, she had won a hand, laughing in surprise, putting it down to good luck. Sometimes, Henry joined them at the table, although he liked to play for money, so at that point Thomasin would retire, pleading a headache or incomplete sewing, because she had no money to play with. One night Brandon lost five pounds to the king when the cards went against him.Five pounds, Thomasin thought in awe, considering all the worldly riches that such a sum might buy.
By the evening, a quiet sort of harmony had descended on the palace, cushioned as it was from the outside world. The queen’s chambers, where they had moved on their second day, were rich and comfortable. Thick tapestries on the walls and the crackling fires made them completely silent, impenetrable from outside. Only birdsong reached them in the mornings and the barking of a fox at dusk. Sometimes it was almost easy to forget what lay beyond the gates, although the reports of cases in the city were rising, with many proving deadly. But a fragile harmony had also settled between Catherine and Henry, confined to the hours of dinner and cards, as he sat, flushed and at ease. Only occasionally did Thomasin observe the ghost of strained emotions chasing across his face.
Now, when Catherine turned and looked back towards the palace, she was smiling. The sun shone on her green headdress picked out with pearls.
“The queen looks content,” said Ellen, far enough away so as not to be heard.
Thomasin was more sceptical. Circumstances had thrown Henry and Catherine back into each other’s company, but the current pestilence would not last forever. Already reports from outside suggested the worst was over. It would soon be time to move, and their quiet idyll would be broken up.
“Such a glorious…” Turning to face the palace, Catherine stopped mid-sentence. She raised her arm and pointed along the pathway they had come from.
Thomasin and Ellen followed her gaze.
The side gate to the gardens stood open. A man dressed in huntsman’s clothing was striding through them. In pace with his step ran the king’s dogs, perhaps twenty of them, white and brown with their keen, boxy muzzles pointing forward with dedication. At the rear came William Hatton, distinguishable by his bright hair, herding along the final beasts.
The occasional yap or bark of excitement reached the women, but otherwise the pack moved as a group, well-trained, aware of their master’s expectations. As the women watched, they travelled along the path down the side of the palace, then disappeared around the far end, through the gap in the hedge.
“Well, the king will be content now,” said Ellen.
“As content as he can be here,” Thomasin replied, turning her face back to the sun and straightening her bonnet.
