SIX
Later, they dined in the great hall. Lady Boleyn led them proudly through to a room open to the rafters, with long windows on either side of a carved stone fireplace. The Boleyn arms sat prominently in the centre, overlooking the table.
“I am afraid there are no minstrels to play for us today,” she apologised, indicating the empty gallery above them. “My husband took them all with him to London.”
“It’s a splendid gallery,” observed Sir Richard, peering up at the intricate panels and carved archways.
“We had that built,” she said, smiling, “the year after we inherited the place. We made so many changes, the entrance hall too, the gallery above it, and later I will show you the long gallery, with its views. It makes the title of castle feel a little misleading. Please, be seated.”
Thomasin and Ellen took their seats together. It was a strange feeling, sitting at the Boleyns’ table, wondering which place was usually Anne’s, and which Mary’s. Thomasin thought of William Carey, too, who must have been a guest here. He would have heard the minstrels play in the gallery, once, as he waited to eat.
Thomasin was rapidly revising her first impressions of the place. Hever was compact, but the opulence and style displayed inside proved that size was not always the measure of magnificence. There was a pleasing beauty to the rooms, an attention to detail and proportion, that made each of them into a welcoming, intimate space, as well as being imposing. More than the vast elegant scale of Raycroft, this felt like a family home.
“I suppose Sir Thomas was influenced by his travels, when it came to furnishing the house?” asked Lady Elizabeth.
“He was fortunate enough to see the most splendid new architecture in the Low Countries and France, in some of the new chateaux at the courts of King Louis and Francis. He was ambassador there, of course,” Lady Boleyn explained to the girls.
“I would love to travel to France,” replied Cecilia, her mind racing with possibilities, “and see the court there.”
Thomasin had not really considered travel before, as the English court had all been so new, with so much to learn. However, she had often heard Queen Catherine talk of her native Spain, and even her ambassador friend Nico Amato had spoken warmly of Venice, making her wonder what those places looked like.
“It is eight years since I was last there,” mused their hostess. “You were not present, I think?”
“No,” replied Sir Richard. “We were still living entirely in the country, then, with no court position.”
“I do not need to tell you that you missed a rare spectacle. The Field of Cloth of Gold, they called it. The tents filled the entire field as far as the eye could see. There was a palace built just for that summer, painted to look like brick and marble, filled with gold plate and decorated inside with the sun, moon and stars, glowing with wax branches. And a chapel, a dining hall, lists for jousting. The two kings dressed entirely in gold, shining in the sun, laughing as if they had been friends since birth. I never saw anything like it, before or since.”
“What it is to be a king,” muttered Lady Elizabeth.
Servants offered wine, and the dishes were elegant and subtle, flavoured with spices and a good deal of expensive saffron.
“This is so strange,” whispered Ellen at her side. “I cannot quite feel at ease.”
“It is not what I had expected,” Thomasin replied, “but the welcome has been warm.”
“And the two young ladies are returning to court?” asked Lady Boleyn, speaking to them directly.
“Yes,” Thomasin replied. “We’re rejoining the household of Queen Catherine at Westminster.”
Across the table, her mother caught her eye, frowning.
“Do not be uneasy,” said Lady Boleyn. “The situation is a difficult one. Of course Catherine is Queen, and must be called so, especially by those who serve her, until the court finds otherwise.”
Thomasin reddened and turned her attention to her food.
“The time passes,” continued their hostess. “If we have not heard from the farrier shortly, I shall order the beds to be prepared for you. At this rate, you would be travelling after dark, which is no safe way to proceed amid these narrow country lanes.”
“Oh, that is too kind of you, although we should not wish to impose,” said Sir Richard.
“I cannot turn you out into the night. It is two hours at least from here to London, and the evenings are drawing in.”
Thomasin drew in her breath at the thought of spending the night in Anne’s home. Dining here was one thing, but sleeping in one of the beds was so intimate. Yet the idea filled her with a strange excitement. To sleep in Anne’s old room, in her old bed, would be something she had never anticipated.
At that moment the Boleyns’ steward entered the hall and approached his mistress, bending to deliver a message in a low tone.
Lady Boleyn nodded. “Show him in. He may eat with us. Letters from court,” she explained to the table.
The door opened to admit a man in a riding habit, fresh from the road. His cloak was thrown back, and in one gloved hand he held a packet of papers, striding to deliver them in his wide-topped boots. His dark eyes flashed across the room. He took in the visitors with a little start. Thomasin flushed uncomfortably as she struggled to conceal her shock at the sudden appearance of Rafe Danvers.
