Catherine shot a look upwards at the apartments running alongside the river. The largest, finest windows were on the further side, and Thomasin guessed that was where Catherine expected Henry to be. She wondered if he had seen their approach.
Catherine did not wait for Mountjoy and Wolsey to disembark. She had spent much time in the palace, and she headed through the gate with the air of one who had returned home. Beyond lay a courtyard, where beds were planted between railed paths. Gardeners pruning the weeds dropped to their knees as she passed. Water from a small fountain in the centre played softly against stone. Catherine headed for her apartments in the wing facing them.
“My Lady.” Brandon appeared in the doorway, bowing low. “This is a surprise, My Lady.” Despite his usual composure, he appeared flustered.
“I trust my rooms are ready this time.”
“Of course. But, Catherine, wait…”
His use of her forename stilled them all. All the ladies halted. Catherine held herself erect, her head turned slightly towards her brother-in-law.
“She is here. The lady.”
Thomasin was close enough to hear Catherine’s slight intake of breath.
“Lodged with her father, for the time being.”
Catherine gave a curt nod of appreciation. Then, in full sail, she swept through the doors and up the stairs.
Hurrying up behind her, Thomasin felt the news as a twist in her stomach, both for the queen’s sake and for her own. Now there would be an awkward triangle again, curtailed by protocol and politeness, but with pain and rivalry simmering below the surface. She winced to think of the tense moments that were bound to arise, in eating, dancing, passing through the shared spaces, in the chapel and gardens. The space would again be shadowed.
On a personal note, Thomasin did not relish seeing Anne Boleyn again, either. Once she had enjoyed being at her side, thrilled to dance in her masque or attend parties in her private rooms, but Anne’s callous role in her sister’s downfall had revealed another side to the king’s paramour. Now she did not care to see the lady again, nor witness the progress of her relationship with the king and the distress it would cause her mistress.
“These rooms were designed by the late queen of blessed memory, Queen Elizabeth, and the gardens too,” pronounced Catherine, walking into her chambers.
The air was heavy and the grates were cold. Servants rushed in behind her, straight to the hearth and inner rooms, ready to sweep and dust.
Mountjoy had caught up with them. “My Lady, would you care to retire and let the servants do their work?”
“I will sit in my little closet and take some wine. They may be about their business at once.”
Thomasin followed Catherine into the little chamber. Lined with wood, with windows open to the gardens, it had been turned into a personal chapel with the altar draped in cloth of gold and bright candlesticks. A painted tablet of the Virgin stood centrally. Catherine knelt before it to give thanks for her safe arrival.
The women knelt behind her, accustomed to her devotion.
“I was married in this very room,” Catherine said eventually. “Those days afterwards, that summer, were so sweet. Such innocent happiness.”
Thomasin looked about her in surprise. It was hard to imagine that his little chamber had witnessed such an important event.
Ellen was equally surprised. “Why here, My Lady?” she asked. “And not in the chapel, or the cathedral?”
“The late king married at Westminster, and my first marriage was at St Paul’s, where hundreds flocked to see us. This time it was a private matter, a love match.” Her face clouded over as she remembered the occasion.
“It was a beautiful occasion,” Maria reassured her.
“And then we had our joint coronation, two weeks later,” Catherine continued. “That was held in public. The crowds could barely be contained.”
Mountjoy appeared in the doorway. “My Lady. I bring news from Bishop Mendoza. He is making his way to Greenwich now and hopes to arrive within the week.”
“Within the week? It must be his gout flaring up again; he is accustomed to using a litter when it is at its worst.”
“It will be a comfort to have him, though,” added Maria. “Poor Inigo.”
“A comfort indeed,” Catherine agreed. “My countrymen are few and far between.”
Gertrude led Thomasin through the door and down the stairs. “The queen’s kitchens are below her lodgings, barely any distance. And no one should be using this entry, save for those supplying her table.”
Thomasin held onto the smooth stone wall at the side. The circular steps were dizzying, coiled into a tight shell. She could not imagine having to carry plates of food up and down them.
