“My Lord, by your wish I have conceived six children by my husband and always held myself true unto him, loved, honoured, respected and obeyed him as a true wife should. Always a true wife. And I have done my best as queen, to reign over the people it was your will to deliver unto me. I have been patient through your trials, through suffering and loss, trusting in your will, wondering but not questioning, trusting in you always. And from you I received the greatest blessing of my daughter, whom I am raising in your true faith. I have ever been your faithful servant and I ask you, Lord, not for myself, but for the state of the realm and the future of my child: do not forget me in my old age, now my womb is dry and my hair is grey. Hold me to your love and mercy, despite…”
Her muttered monologue was interrupted by knuckles rapping on the outer door.
Thomasin jumped up to answer. Charles Brandon stood there in his riding cape.
“My Lady Marwood, good morning. I am about to depart from Greenwich and am here to take my leave of the queen.”
“She is at prayer,” Thomasin replied, holding the door open. “But you are welcome to come inside and wait.”
“Will she be long?” Catherine’s lengthy piety was legendary.
Thomasin shrugged.
“I will wait a little,” he agreed, stepping into the room.
Almost at once, Catherine emerged, having heard voices. “Ah, Charles, I had thought you might be the king.”
Brandon went forward to kiss her hand. “You must forgive me on that account, and also that I am to depart from Greenwich this morning. I am here to bid you farewell.”
“Oh, you are leaving us? One of my oldest friends, and my brother?”
“I fear I must do so. My Mary is unwell and I must go to her at Lambeth.”
“Unwell? Her old malady?”
“The physicians are unsure. She is suffering from new pain in her back and left side.”
“Dr Butts is at Westminster; Dr Elyot is in London too, at his own house. Make sure they attend her on my instruction.”
“Thank you, My Lady.”
“I will have some of my special tincture made up, the one I always use on my joints and aches. See that she uses it, and apply to the Westminster kitchens for whatever diet the doctors recommend.”
“You are too kind.”
“I have no sister in this county but her. We were girls together; she was my constant companion after I was widowed. I will not forget her now. Wait, one moment.”
She disappeared back into her little chapel and returned clutching a small tablet, made of two jointed pieces of wood, opening like a book to reveal a painted inside, picked out in gold.
“Give her this from me. It is the Virgin and St Anne; it has brought me comfort in times of trial.”
“Are you sure? I would not like to deprive you of something so precious.”
She pressed it into his hands. “Certain. She has need of it. Take it, please, I insist.”
“Very well, then I shall. You are more than generous, as ever; Mary is most fortunate in your love.”
“And I in hers. Write to me, to tell me how she fares.”
“I will.” He paused, as if there was something else. The room looked to him, expectant. “I should say, as you will know soon enough. Two things.”
Catherine steeled herself. “Go ahead. Tell me.”
“I am always your friend, first and foremost.”
“I know, tell me.”
Brandon stroked his square beard. “The king has received a letter from Bishop Foxe. He wrote from Dover, two days back, after crossing the sea. He has been in Rome with the Pope.”
