“Hugh will take care of it. Pass it off as his own.”
“Of course he will,” Cecilia dismissed. “But I am a little scared of that. Of being a mother. Bearing a child.”
“It is what women do. It’s just the way of things.”
“But I could have the seed of a child inside me now, starting to grow.”
“Yes, you might. When will you know?”
“I suppose I shall have to wait until my flowers come. Two weeks, maybe three.”
“Then there is no point in worrying just yet.”
They walked on a little further. Thomasin let herself be drawn into her thoughts, until her sister spoke again.
“But women do die in childbed.” The concern in her voice was genuine.
“Some do, but more survive, and lots go on to bear many children, like Mother. There is no reason why you should not be the same.”
“But some do?”
Thomasin stopped. “You really do fear this?”
Cecilia’s pale eyes brimmed with tears. For a moment, her cool outer shell had slipped away. “I do.”
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Anne Boleyn was coming towards them through the darkness. With a speedy gesture, she tugged at Cecilia’s headdress, pulling her backwards. With no witnesses at that time of night, her words were ugly.
“You? You dare show your face here? You little whore, you cheap harlot, did you think you’d creep into the king’s bed while I was away? Did you think I’d stand by and let you?”
Cecilia struggled to right herself and turned round to face her attacker, her cheeks flaming. Mary Boleyn stood behind her sister, her face suffused with vengeance.
Thomasin’s heart beat fit to burst at the sight of them. She cursed, recommending that they leave the queen’s chambers.
“Look at them. The Marwood sisters. Two little country girls, raised on a farm,” mocked Anne, “come to play at court. You think he will remember you tomorrow? When you’ve left, and I’m still here? You were in the right place at the right time and he used you, like any man would, because you threw yourself at him. Mary told me all. Be mindful of who you are, Madam, and who I am to become. When I am queen, you will never darken these corridors again.”
Cecilia had composed herself now, recovering from the shock. “He welcomed me with open arms. No doubt it was a relief from your coldness and sharp tongue.”
“You mean my dignity,” Anne stated. “You fool. Any woman can lie with a man, but you have no idea what it means to keep one.”
“The king is not your possession or your lap dog,” replied Cecilia. “He has a mind of his own and it was his decision to invite me into his bed. I suggest you chastise him, not me — if you think yourself equal to the king, of course, to speak to him thus. No wonder he was so eager to forget you. Come, sister, the queen shall hear of this.” She put her arm through Thomasin’s and they swiftly walked away.
“There is no queen here,” Anne called after them. “Not yet. Tell your mistress that!”
Thomasin could scarcely breathe, but she was full of admiration for her sister’s reply.
“Did I do well?” Cecilia breathed at last, her hands shaking.
Thomasin nodded. “I believe you did. Excellently well, although Anne will never forget this.”
Her sister shrugged. “I hope not. Perhaps it will show her that she is not as untouchable as she thinks.”
“And now you will marry Hugh?”
“As you see, I cannot remain at court. I know you do not approve.”
“It’s not that, it’s…”
“Ellen. I know. Thomasin, she is married. Married. You must let go of your romantic notion that love will conquer all. It won’t. We all have to make our own way in the world, and I can’t put my one good chance aside because of her feelings. Surely you can see that?”
