Thomasin’s eyes were drawn to Anne in her long green gown, seated in the carved chair, usurping Catherine’s designated position, as if she was queen herself. Her dark eyes flashed and blazed when she spotted Catherine, and she drew back from Henry at once. And in that moment, Thomasin spotted the glint of something red about her neck, hanging from a gold chain, and recognised the Venetian ballas ruby that the queen had returned to Vernier.
“My Lady,” she whispered to Catherine, who was close enough to hear. “See what the Boleyn woman wears about her neck.”
There was a pause as Catherine observed the scene, then she took a deep breath. With the whole hall watching, she began to make a beeline for the table ahead like an arrow released from a bow.
Thomasin noticed Henry shift in his seat, unnerved by the energy and power in Catherine’s walk. It was as if all her aches and pains had suddenly melted away.
Catherine stopped short of the dais. She addressed herself directly to Anne, in a firm, clear voice for the entire hall to hear. “Mistress Anne. You appear to have taken my seat. I am sure it must be by mistake, as everyone knows it is the seat reserved for the queen. The queen is now here, come to dine. You will vacate it at once.”
“Anne was here by my invitation,” began Henry, but Catherine ignored him and turned to Thomas Boleyn.
“Sir Thomas, you are aware of the severity of this breach. Remove your daughter from the chair of the queen of England and aunt of the emperor.”
Boleyn twitched. As a former foreign ambassador, he had no wish to incur the wrath of Emperor Charles Hapsburg. Nor, it seemed, did the king. Not yet, at least. Not until the Legatine court gave him a firm decision to act upon.
Henry did not look at Anne, but he turned his head and gave Boleyn a short nod, as if to suggest he should withdraw.
But Catherine had not finished. “I would also add, Sir Thomas, that the ruby your daughter wears is a fitting gift from the Venetians for your service.”
Her words surprised Boleyn. He turned pale. Anne did not flinch, perhaps unaware of Catherine’s meaning.
Henry frowned. “What is this? What do you mean?”
Boleyn tried to rise to leave, but Henry stayed him with his hand. “What is this talk of the Venetians?” He looked fiercely across the hall. Thomasin followed his gaze and saw Vernier and his group at the far end, looking like rats caught in a trap. Nico did not appear to be among them.
“Did you not know?” asked Catherine in mock surprise. “Sir Thomas has made an unexpected alliance with the Venetians, and his daughter is wearing the rewards. That ruby was given to me at Windsor this spring, along with many other gifts, and more to my ladies, in the hope that they would correspond with the ambassadors and reveal secrets about my movements. Secrets that were to be shared with Sir Thomas, so that he might use them to further his cause. Fortunately, it was so clumsily done that we were aware of it at once. I returned the ruby to Signore Vernier and I see it has found a new owner.”
A murmur ran around the hall. Eyes turned towards the colourful group in the corner.
“Is that not true, Signore?” Catherine called to him.
Vernier held up his hands in surrender.
But if Catherine had been hoping to win her husband’s support against Boleyn, she was mistaken. Henry was on his feet, glowering.
“This is unnecessary, Madam. We were about to enjoy a peaceful dinner with good company. You would do better not to attempt to discredit my friends.”
“But, My Lord, do you not see the actions could have been treasonous? National secrets might have been passed on.”
“Who are you to lecture me on treason, Madam? Since you have disrupted my dinner, I shall remove to my chamber and dine in peace. It seems you will find any way to try and part me from those I love.”
He rose and indicated for his company to follow him.
Stunned by his response, Catherine retreated into a statuesque silence as they passed her by. At this moment, she understood she had truly lost her husband. She waited for the hall to erupt in noise, but there was nothing. Not a movement. The king’s public rejection of his wife had shocked those watching.
It was painful to stand there so rejected. Thomasin felt the burn of shame, not too dissimilar from the suffering she had endured at Cecilia’s failed wedding. All those feelings rushed back to her. To be the subject of gossip and ridicule was almost more than she could bear.
George Boleyn was the last of the king’s party to leave. As he stalked past them, he paused beside Thomasin, and she prepared herself for harsh words regarding her kiss with Will Carey.
“I wished to thank you,” he said softly, “for the wine and comfits you sent to my wife. It was kindly done.”
Thomasin met his eyes in surprise, but then he was gone.
The room was waiting. It was down to Catherine to deliver the final act.
Conscious of her position, Catherine walked forward, mounted the dais and took her seat in the chair that Anne had vacated. She cast her eyes around the room, catching the glances of friends, determined not to be defeated. “Let us eat. Bring in the next course!”
And, unexpectedly, a single pair of hands began to clap in approval, then another, until the hall was applauding the queen.
