“It was a marriage of affection that turned sour. Take heed, you two, while you are young. It is a trap you do not need to fall into.”
Thomasin stabbed her needle back into the stocking.
TEN
There was a sudden brightness. Gold, dazzling in the candlelight. A body, twirling, glittering through the darkness. The flash of diamonds at her throat and wrist made a mesmerising display.
In a side room off Westminster hall, Queen Catherine came to a halt, laughing in delight, sparkling from head to toe with sequins. The headdress sat majestically upon her hair, pinned in place by careful fingers. Thick gold chains hung about her neck. Upon her feet were slippers embroidered with Venetian thread, soft-soled for dancing.
It was a plain antechamber off the main hall, with white walls, rush matting on the floor, and two lines of benches where servants usually sat awaiting their orders. The air was slightly musty, but thick with the fug of smoke. Standing back to admire the women’s efforts, it seemed to Thomasin that the queen, who usually wore her age and sadness so heavily, had been transformed into a star. Perhaps there really was something in Lady Howard’s words after all.
“Well,” Catherine beamed, throwing out her arms. “How do I look?”
Thomasin joined the other ladies in showering her with praise.
“Now it is time to remind my husband that he married a daughter of Spain. And one with the might of the entire Empire waiting behind her!”
Thomasin was surprised. Was Catherine really suggesting that her nephew, Emperor Charles, would use his “might” in her cause? Was a Spanish army preparing to sail up the Thames?
Wisely, she kept her own counsel, and only clapped her hands as the queen basked in her own radiance.
The curtain twitched at the door. A male voice asked, “May I enter?”
Maria Willoughby pulled the tapestry aside and Nico appeared, his eyes earnest. Again, Thomasin thought of frankincense and myrrh, precious things, just as she had when they’d first met. In that flickering light, he struck Thomasin again as one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.
“My Lady Queen, ladies, you are ready?”
“We are,” replied Catherine.
“Everything is set. The court is in attendance. You may send out your ladies now, and leave the curtain a little aside so that you might hear your cue.”
“I have been performing in pageants since before you were born,” Catherine replied, half in jest. “I do not need to be schooled now.”
“My apologies,” said Nico, bowing his retreat and shooting a quick smile of appreciation in Thomasin’s direction.
“It’s time,” said Catherine, turning to the group around her, her excitement mounting. “You heard him. Now go.”
Maria Willoughby led the women out in single file, through the parted curtain and into the great hall. They moved slowly, sedately, as if their dignity could further enhance the whirling gold performance about to be unleashed upon the court. Deliberately placing herself at the end of the line after Ellen, Thomasin suddenly felt nervous at the thought of being before the king again, and all those familiar faces — friends, foes and indifferents. But it was inevitable. Best just to emerge, like this, without having a moment to worry.
The hall was immense and burning bright. Yet its enormous dimensions offered some privacy among the excitement and chatter of the hoards. With such high rafters, so many people talking and the musicians playing, a line of four or five women heading to their seats might, possibly, go unnoticed.
But once she was plunged back into that world, buzzing with voices, Thomasin remembered. Of course, she was a fool to think that anything would escape attention here, no matter how small. People were already looking their way, pointing at the queen’s ladies, whispering behind their hands. Like hunters waiting at the mouth of a den, they knew how to be patient, and where exactly to focus their attention. It was the speciality of this court of vultures.
A space at the end of the hall had been cleared for the pageant. It gave them a clear destination to head for, and Thomasin followed Ellen gratefully. Servants were rolling out a huge tableau of the heavens; the sun and moon painted on canvas against a backdrop of stars, all mounted upon smooth wheels. Luckily, it drew some of the eyes away from the women, who slipped onto a bench at the side, sitting back in the shadows.
“All is ready?”
Baron Mountjoy, Catherine’s distinguished, white-haired chamberlain stood waiting for them.
“Quite ready,” replied Lady Howard.
He inclined his head towards Thomasin and Ellen, ever gracious. “Welcome back, ladies. Be seated.”
From her vantage point at the side, Thomasin dared to look around. The layout of the hall was reassuringly familiar. Hierarchical to the last, and therefore, predictable. Down each side of the hall, people sat at trestle tables covered in pristine white cloths, the lowliest at the bottom and the king’s servants at the top. At the top end, far away on the raised dais, a golden cloth was thrown over the royal table, which was filled with plates and goblets. There was a matching gold drape above, upon which the royal coat of arms was embroidered large for all to see. Two carved chairs of state were positioned below, also painted in gold, with cushions in purple satin.
King Henry sat resplendent on one side, a distant figure in furs and scarlet, but instantly recognisable. With broad shoulders, a thick neck and red hair under a pearl-sewn cap, he was every inch the king. The other chair was empty, waiting. Thomasin was relieved to see it, half fearing that Anne Boleyn might have dared to occupy the space in Queen Catherine’s absence.
Thomas Cromwell stood at King Henry’s side. A thick-set man with clever eyes and a quick brain, he wore his habitual plain, dark cloak. He was a lawyer known for his cunning, a servant of great men, willing to get his hands dirty doing tasks that great men shunned. It was rumoured at court that he was the son of a smith from Putney, that he had been a mercenary, a merchant in Italy and the Low Countries. Thomasin recalled how he had tried to pressure her father into supporting the king’s cause, reluctant to take Sir Richard’s polite rejection and visiting Monk’s Place in person. The sight of him made her shiver.
