Thomasin took the paper. It was folded into an envelope and sealed with red wax. The thought of having to seek an audience with Anne was not a pleasant one, but she could not refuse such a direct request, especially after their talk.
“I shall put it into her hands myself.”
“I knew you would. Thank you. God speed you.”
“And now,” said Sir Richard, unwilling to dwell on a sentimental departure, “you must be away. We shall see you before the week is out. God speed.”
The coachman cracked the whip and the carriage pulled away. Thomasin stared back to catch a last glimpse of Hever, thinking how strange it had been and wondering whether she would ever return there.
“I can hardly believe it!” breathed Ellen, when they were out of sight of the house. “Here we are, on our way!”
Catching each other’s eye, Ellen and Thomasin burst into laughter.
“And who would have thought we’d be alone, save for the handsome Mr Danvers.”
“Oh, stop it, Ellen, he will hear you.” Thomasin could see the back end of Rafe’s horse as he rode on her side. “But seriously, I am so glad we are bound for court again, after such an absence.”
“Will you deliver your charge?” Ellen nodded down at the letter.
“Of course I will. I promised as much. I shall hand it to Anne, just as I said.”
“In person?”
“Yes, in person.”
“I do hope Queen Catherine does not mind.”
“She can only mind if she knows about it, and neither you nor I are going to tell her.”
Ellen stared down at the letter, as if she could crack the seal with her eyes. “You do not wonder what is inside it?”
“Of course I wonder, but I imagine it is the warm wishes of a mother to her daughter.”
“You are not tempted to read it?”
“Yes, I am, but I won’t. That would be most wrong.” Thomasin tucked the letter into her sleeve, where she could almost feel it burning a hole.
They rode along through the country villages, past fields and churches, houses and markets, woods and streams. The weather remained fair, and the lanes were smooth. Presently, they joined the main road leading towards London, where there were more travellers, in a variety of carriages and driving carts, or on horseback or on foot. All the time, Thomasin was conscious of Rafe outside. Sometimes he overlapped the road, swapping from right to left, appearing through the window on Ellen’s side, and at others he surged forwards or hung back, although he always seemed to end up beside Thomasin again. Once or twice, he approached the window to ask how they fared, but the conversation was brief and functional.
After a while, Rafe fell back level with the window again. “Not long now. The outskirts of the city are within sight.”
A little stab of disappointment rose within Thomasin, that the end of the journey was almost upon them, but she squashed it down, chiding herself for her folly.
The buildings started to appear more frequently. The road thickened with traffic and noise. The carriage had to swerve to avoid a flooded field that had breached its hedge. Somewhere, a church bell was striking noon.
“We shall have you there in time to dine with your Lady,” Rafe smiled.
Thomasin noted that Rafe referred to her mistress as Lady Catherine, not Queen. It rankled — even Lady Boleyn had allowed Catherine her title.
She felt the difference when they joined a cobbled road. The carriage jumped and rattled, sending shocks through the seats and into their bones. Ellen grasped the side.
“London. We’re back!”
Mindful of her father’s words and the lingering pestilence, Thomasin sat back in her chair. At least they were coming from the west, the right side for Westminster, and would not need to pass through the busy heart of the city. Large houses and farms flew by, interspersed with churches and hospitals. Then the houses suddenly came thick and fast, and the sound outside redoubled. It was not long before the carriage made a sharp turn and rumbled through stone gates. Outside the window, the redbrick walls of stables and outbuildings lined the route towards the palace. A silver snake of river lay beyond, strangely dull between the trees. The wheels rattled to a halt and a distant gateway stood open. Thomasin could smell horses and fire.
“Here we are,” said Rafe, his face appearing in the window. “Westminster Palace.”
NINE
