SEVENTEEN
Will Carey hurried through the crowd as people took their places for dinner. The hall was filling fast, and tapers burned on the walls although it was still broad daylight outside. The season of midsummer would soon be upon them at Greenwich.
“I had hoped to find a place by you,” he said, squeezing in at Thomasin’s side while Ellen sat on the other. He flashed the smile that transformed his plain face. “You have been closeted with the queen all day?”
“Indeed, as she wished. There was an altercation between her and Anne. I am not quite sure who came off better.”
“Really?”
They both looked up to the top table, where Catherine sat alone awaiting Henry’s arrival. Her face was a perfect mask and her headdress studded with pearls, despite having grumbled and pouted all afternoon following Anne’s departure.
Wolsey hovered nearby, also waiting for Henry, no doubt with some opinion or advice to impart.
“I believe them to be playing bowls,” whispered Carey, “him and Anne, although I did see her chiding him earlier.”
“Chiding the king?” Thomasin was surprised.
“In the antechamber of the chapel. I passed when they thought themselves unheard.”
“And did you hear her words?”
“I could not avoid them. She was upset and did not show restraint. She chides him for keeping her and Catherine under one roof at Greenwich, where she is forced to show deference to the queen.”
“And the queen is forced to take impertinence from her.”
Carey held up his hands. “I am in complete agreement with you there. Anne and her party should be elsewhere. No one likes this unease. We go from one painful situation to another.”
The doors opened at the end and Henry strode in, followed by Charles Brandon. His face looked heavy as thunder as he approached the dais, bowed his head to Catherine and took his seat beside her. At his signal, the trumpet sounded and the servants began to bring in the plates of food. There was no sign of Anne.
“Oh dear,” said Carey. “He does not look happy.”
As Thomasin watched, Catherine inclined her head towards her husband and spoke a few gentle words.
Henry did not turn, but listened acutely, as if absorbing them. They seemed to calm him, although he did not face Catherine, but reached for his plate.
“Oh, lovely!” Carey looked down at the table with pleasure. “I have such an appetite tonight, as if nothing will sate it.”
The servants had placed beef with prunes and pork with orange between them, along with a dish of pastries and another of larks.
“Seville orange slices,” Carey noted. “The kitchens have not forgotten who is queen.”
Thomasin looked about. None of the Boleyn faction was present. Presently, though, George arrived, leading Jane by the hand, followed by Rafe.
Again, her heart gave that little catch. The imprint of him had not entirely left her. She could recall that ardent pressure of his lips and the way he filled her dreams at night. But it was not to be. No matter how strong her feelings had been, he was a dangerous man, unscrupulous, disloyal. She turned away.
“Oh,” said Carey, “here we go.”
Thomasin realised with a beating heart that George Boleyn was leading Jane towards their table. With Will Carey as their only family member in the room, they sat down opposite him, with Rafe following. He had little choice but to take the empty space on the other side, almost opposite Thomasin. She squirmed inside at the proximity.
“Master Carey,” nodded George Boleyn, “ladies. Good day.”
“Good day,” Thomasin muttered back.
“Well, damn, I am hungry. All this business gives a man an appetite.” George Boleyn reached for the plates of food before Thomasin or Will had had the chance to take their portion and started to gather a spoonful, as if no one else was there. “Here, Jane, bring your plate closer. I know how fond you are of this beef. It will lift your spirits and put colour in your cheeks.”
He loaded a generous portion onto her plate. Carey’s face paled as the food began to vanish.
“They will not always be like this,” George Boleyn said to Jane. “It will ease. At some point soon it will be resolved.”
