The day passed and slipped quietly into night. By the morning, Catherine was restless, leaving her prayers to sit by the window and stare at the passing clouds. It was midday when the next knock came upon the door.
Ellen showed Wolsey in. Catherine rose uneasily, scarcely able to conceal the distrust in her eyes. The cardinal took a long time to kneel and even more time to rise, reminding them he was not a young man, nor a well one. His long, thick garments pooled red ominously on the floor before the queen.
“You bring news?”
“Good news, My Lady. There have been no new cases of the pox today. Still none of the sweat.”
The women breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“It is probably wisest to remain within as much as you can, and avoid public areas. Your kitchen will supply your meals, as the pox outbreak came from the main kitchen, not your personal one, but it has been advised that you may exercise safely in the grounds, so long as you keep good distance.”
Catherine nodded. “These are good tidings. We shall remain separate for another full day, to ensure the safety of all, and emerge only if no new cases are reported. But we shall take up your suggestion to walk in the grounds.”
“If there is anything else I may do to be of service, My Lady, do speak. Baron Mountjoy keeps to his chamber still, on account of having visited the laundry yesterday morning, but he is still quite well. You should receive no other visitors beside myself. Or the king. All supplies will be left outside your door; the servants will knock and retreat. You should wait for the count of a hundred before retrieving them.”
“Very well. It seems you have taken care to think of everything; I thank you.”
Wolsey nodded. “And might I add, My Lady, that the king fares much better than when he last visited here.”
“That is good to know. Again, I thank you.”
He bowed low. “Then I will take my leave.”
They waited as he hovered uncomfortably, then drew backwards, still bent double, in a gesture of exaggerated respect.
As he was departing in a swathe of red robes, an idea struck Thomasin and she followed him through the door.
“My Lord Cardinal?”
He turned sharply, examining her closely. “Who are you?”
“Thomasin Marwood, gentlewoman to the queen.”
“And what is your business?”
“Please, my Lord, forgive my intrusion. I had hoped to ask a kindness of you.”
Wolsey made a snorting noise. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed about to unleash scorn upon her head. Thomasin was surprised at the change in him, but she recalled talk of his origins as the son of a butcher from Ipswich, and tried a different approach.
“My Lord, I am only a humble girl from Suffolk, new to the ways of court and lacking influential friends. All I have achieved, I have done so using my own wits, in a dangerous world. I had hoped to speak with you about a friend of mine, a man of wit, in need of friends.”
He eyed her again.
“He only seeks work, the proper employment of his talents. Nico Amato is a native Venetian who wishes to do service at the English court, to some great man. Of course you were the first who came to my mind, although I am sure a man such as yourself is already amply provided with assistants. But should you ever require a secretary or clerk, a man to translate and write letters, or undergo missions to Rome, Nico would prove himself most loyal and able.”
“I have been well provided for foreign tongues by Master Cromwell, who is proficient in French, Dutch and Italian,” Wolsey considered. “Yet he is increasingly occupied with legal matters and has little time for the humbler jobs of translation. What is the man’s name again?”
“Nico Amato. He is with the Venetian party at present.”
“I will bear him in mind.” He cast his eyes up and down over Thomasin, making her feel uncomfortable under his gaze. “He is fortunate to have a friend in you.”
“Mister Carey?”
Thomasin shaded her eyes from the sun. It was definitely Will Carey, disappearing behind the rose bushes ahead.
They were walking through the gardens, separated into pairs, save for little Catherine Willoughby, who was chasing a new puppy off down the path. Thomasin and Ellen were last, having dawdled about the flowers, enjoying the sunshine, with Ellen enthusing about her next meeting with Hugh Truegood.
“Was that not Will Carey?” Thomasin asked, bemused, when he didn’t appear on the other side of the rose walk.
