She smiled. It would not hurt to let him prove his worth to her. “Well, Nico Amato, I will give you the chance to show me how you Venetians woo.”
He pressed her fingers to his lips. “You will not regret it, I promise. You may consider me your humble servant from this point forwards.”
Then he stood up, at his full height again, his eyes just a little above hers. “Pleasant as this has been, and I must admit my heart is soaring at your graciousness, we have not yet achieved your purpose. We have not found Mary Boleyn. Come, let us go and search inside, as she proves not to be here.”
As they turned back towards the palace, Ralph Sadler appeared in the doorway. He was a slight youth with a hungry look.
“Have you heard?” he asked Nico as they approached.
“Heard what?”
“Cardinal Campeggio has crossed the Channel and landed at Dover!”
“So, he is here at last,” Nico replied. “This is when our real work begins.”
“And you, Miss,” said Ralph Sadler, turning to Thomasin, “I think you are lady-in-waiting to Queen Catherine? She’s back already from her ride.”
“Already? But she only just left. I’m sorry, I must leave you for now, Nico.”
And Thomasin hurried back towards the palace entrance, with Anne Boleyn’s letter still scratching in her sleeve and the Venetian’s words still ringing in her ears.
FOURTEEN
Queen Catherine was sitting with her back to the door, facing an open window. Still dressed in her riding habit, she had pulled off her headdress and let out her long, greying hair, which hung in wisps down her back. Maria Willoughby was brushing it gently, with a big silver-handled brush that bore the Spanish coat of arms.
The women turned as Thomasin slipped through the door, as if expecting someone else, or resenting the intrusion on their privacy. They seemed relieved when they saw who it was. Ellen beckoned Thomasin over to stand beside her.
Catherine was holding herself with taut poise, chin high, spine rigid, her eyes fixed on the window panes. Outside was a view across the Thames, with its little craft heading back and forth to Lambeth, but the queen saw none of that. Even from the side, where Thomasin stood, it was clear that she was barely containing her emotions.
“What happened?” Thomasin whispered to Ellen.
“Apparently they encountered Henry.”
“And…”
Ellen nodded. “And her. They were … close.”
Thomasin looked back at Queen Catherine, who sniffed quietly, holding back a flood of tears. She wondered what her cousin might have meant by “close.” Had they been riding side by side, or had Catherine witnessed the king and Anne touch or kiss? And, of course, to add further insult to injury, Anne would have been riding Catherine’s horse. Thomasin would have to ask more questions when the opportunity arose.
“Here we are,” said Lady Howard, emerging from the inner chamber, carrying a glass. “Spiced Spanish wine.” She handed it to Catherine, who sipped gratefully. When she had drunk enough, the queen rose to her feet and turned to face her ladies. Her eyes were steely with resolve.
“This state of affairs cannot continue. I am calling a meeting of my most trusted intimates. You must summon them to attend me here, this afternoon: Bishop Mendoza, More and Fisher, and the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, if they can come. Only those we can rely upon for their discretion. Go!”
Then Thomasin remembered. “My Lady?”
Catherine half turned her head.
“I have just come from the white hall, where I heard news that the Italian cardinal has crossed the Channel. He is at Dover as we speak.”
Thomasin thought she saw the queen smile a little in response. Catherine drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly.
“Campeggio is in England, at last. It must be a sign.” She turned back to them. “Go, do my bidding. Tell those loyal to me to assemble here at four of the clock.”
Thomasin hurried after Ellen down the corridor, until they were in a quiet corner.
“What happened on the ride?” she asked.
Ellen turned. “What happened to you? You said you were right behind me, then you disappeared. I had to cover for you. I said you felt unwell and needed fresh air.”
