“And we,” mused Thomasin, thinking of Nico and the kiss he had given her in the garden at Windsor, “should we acknowledge them?”
“I suppose we must wait and take our cue from the queen.”
“My Lady?”
They turned at the voice. Will Carey was hurrying along the path behind them. Thomasin realised she was pleased to see him, as he was to see her, rushing straight to her side, but dropping his bow to Catherine.
“I saw you from the window, so I thought to come and walk with you, should you wish it.”
Catherine looked with interest at Thomasin. “You are welcome, Mister Carey. In all our long acquaintance, I have found you to be sensible and discreet.”
It was a sincere greeting, allowing Carey to take his place between Thomasin and Ellen as they walked along, speaking with enthusiasm of the tilt tomorrow. Carey had recently been in the king’s chambers and heard of his plans.
“The seamstresses, painters and tent makers will be working through the night,” he began enthusiastically, continuing with a more detailed outline of the arrangements as they headed along the path.
From time to time, Thomasin noticed that Catherine turned and looked back at them, as if keeping her in her special notice. It made her more conscious of her actions, and perhaps her replies to Will Carey were a little more quiet than they would otherwise have been. Ellen chatted away merrily, though, about fabrics and spangles and chariots.
They took the path towards the gate in the wall. Above it, the moon loomed large in the deepening sky, more than half full but not complete.
Passing through, they caught the scent of the bush on the other side; a honeysuckle twining up around the arch, with its white and golden trumpets. Carey paused, captivated by the scent, and reached up to pluck a strand.
“Here, smell it.” He held it up to Thomasin’s nose. The sweetness was indeed intoxicating.
She took it from his fingertips and tucked it into her bodice, to carry the scent with her as they walked on.
“So tell us, Mister Carey, how the king fares tonight,” said Catherine, drawing alongside him.
“Very well, I believe. He is in good spirits and full of plans for tomorrow.”
“And how has his day been? How did he pass the afternoon?”
“In playing bowls, I believe.”
“Bowls? I’ll wager his partner was Suffolk, who always manages to beat him.”
“Not today.”
“Oh,” replied Catherine in mock surprise. “Did he actually beat Suffolk today?”
“No, but he was beaten by Mistress Anne, which I do not think was to his liking.”
Catherine fell silent, and Thomasin shot Carey a look. He took it as encouragement. “I believe it led to an argument between them, outside the chapel.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows. “Is that so, Mister Carey, is that so?” She did not wait to hear the details, but walked on.
“Should I have told her?” asked Carey, but Thomasin could only shrug, uncertain whether or not he was right to have done so.
The waves of honeysuckle wafted over her again. Laughter from an upper window somewhere reached them.
Catherine was by the doorway. “I am to retire. Maria, Gertrude, come with me. Thomasin and Ellen, through the far gate is the knot garden, if you recall. Gather some fresh scented bunches and come straight up. Mister Carey will vouch for your safety, I am sure.”
Thomasin dropped a curtsey, surprised at the sudden freedom, and watched as Catherine departed from view.
“Well, that was unexpected,” said Ellen. “We had better find some suitable flowers.”
“More honeysuckle?” suggested Carey, motioning back along the path.
“Oh yes,” Thomasin agreed. “You go first, Ellen. We will follow on.”
