“Very good, Madam.”
“And are there any garments or jewels of the queens stored in the wardrobe here?”
“I will summon the clerk of the wardrobe to investigate at once, and have them sent up to her chamber.”
“With as much haste as can be mustered. The queen wishes to appear properly dressed at dinner.”
Mistress Arnold inclined her head in understanding. “I will make it my priority. May I add it is a pleasure to see the queen back at Greenwich again.”
Again, Thomasin was left in awe at the smooth running she observed in the other side of palace life, that which was barely seen, but necessary to maintain the fresh, pristine look of the court. Under the surface, the wheels kept turning, manned with such efficiency.
“Let us go around to the gardens and gather some flowers and herbs,” suggested Gertrude. “We have time, and the queen will be gladdened by them.”
A small arched doorway led them into another courtyard, where barrels and firewood were being unloaded from a cart. A great muddy brown carthorse of huge dimensions looked down its forelock at them. It was very similar to the horses Thomasin remembered from Suffolk, and she wondered where this one had come from.
Beyond lay the kitchen garden. Rows of vegetables and leaves were pushing their way up to the sun, unfolding wide leaves. To one side they found lavender, rosemary and mint, gathering a few handfuls of each, scenting their palms with sweetness. Another arch led through to a formal rose garden, where marigolds and tall pink and purple hollyhocks grew around the sides. Against the wall, a honeysuckle had started to flower. Gertrude went straight to it. Deftly, she plucked a few strands where the tiny white and golden trumpets had opened.
“And look, beyond,” she said, gesturing to Thomasin to follow. A gate in the wall looked out across the park beyond, a wide sweep of green dotted with trees. Beyond, the land rose up to a hill. “A goodly sight, do you not think?”
Thomasin was impressed. “Truly beautiful.”
“I hope we shall have the pleasure of spending some of these early summer days there. The view from the top is spectacular. The king has a hunting lodge there, do you see it?”
Following her direction, Thomasin saw the distant frontage of a small castle-like place against the sky. “Perhaps we shall get to enjoy a banquet after all, since we were unable to finish the one at Windsor.”
Gertrude seemed less enthused. “But it cannot be so happy as that one might have been, because the Lady is here.”
“Anne Boleyn?”
“And she will take her part in any entertainments the king plans.”
“Even before the queen?”
“Right under her nose, as if there are two queens here. I do not know how our Lady will bear it.”
As they looked out across the park, a small party of riders crested the hill and began their descent. There were four of them, noble in bearing, but not royal, on well-dressed horses, taking the air. They were distant at first, but drew nearer as they headed for the stables.
“There. Thomas Boleyn and his son,” Gertrude identified. “Do you mark them?”
But Thomasin’s attention was fixed upon another rider in the group, squinting to make out the dark figure with broad shoulders and black hair under his feathered cap. Her heart began to beat faster as she felt a chill of recognition. Once again, she remembered those intense eyes that held her spellbound, the intoxicating scent of him, the pressure of his lips: the way he made her feel. There was no doubt. The way he sat high in the saddle, the shape of him, his movements. Rafe Danvers was here with the Boleyns. The man who had captivated her and broken her heart last autumn.
She took a deep breath. She need not worry: Greenwich was a large place and there would scarcely be a moment when she was not required by Catherine. She must act as if the man did not exist, and surely he would understand this and keep his distance. He had ignited in her such a dangerous passion that she had felt her self-control slipping through her fingers, and had almost surrendered herself, body and soul. But she had drawn back in time, sought spiritual guidance, remembered her place. Yet she had not forgotten how close she had come to sharing her sister Cecilia’s disgrace.
“Come,” said Gertrude, “I’ll show you the tiltyard. It is bigger than the one at Westminster.”
And though her hands were shaking, Thomasin made an effort to turn her back on the distant figure of Rafe and walk the other way.
FIFTEEN
The noise from the hall reached them as they came down the staircase. Catherine had summoned Mountjoy to walk at her side, with her ladies ranged around them. They moved together, aware of the battlefield lying ahead.
Catherine had been delighted by the items sent up by the wardrobe department. There was a gown of deep red velvet, another of tawny sarcenet with green sleeves and a black and silver headdress mounted with pearls. She even found a pair of her embroidered yellow dancing slippers, worn at the toes with use. But best of all was a dress of gold tissue, shot through with silver, an item Catherine had worn to welcome the Imperial ambassadors some five years back. It was an evening that called for such a gown. Among the jewels that were sent to her in a little casket, was a string of diamonds set in gold; the perfect complement to such a regal dress, and golden buckles, which her ladies attached to her shoes. It was hard not to be dazzled by the queen, as she shone from head to toe in gold.
Catherine looked with satisfaction into the mirror before departing her chambers. “Let us show there is but one queen at Greenwich and one queen in England.”
It was heartening to see her spirit, thought Thomasin, slightly ashamed of her own ash-grey gown, pinching her cheeks to redden them as they approached the great hall. Her stomach was knotted with fear of what, or who, they might encounter.
A trumpet announced their arrival.
