“As do we all,” echoed Mary Tudor. “Well, I shall certainly attend.”
At that moment, the door behind them opened again and in strode Charles Brandon, in his riding boots and cloak. His arm was flung about a second figure, tall and broad. He was dressed in russet brown, and his head was thrown back in laughter at whatever the duke had just said.
Thomasin was taken by surprise to see Hugh Truegood again so soon, having left him behind at Raycroft just a few days before. She could sense Ellen’s response — the sudden quickening of her pulse, the smile spreading shyly across her face.
“Well,” beamed Brandon, “what have we here? How pleasant a reunion this is.”
The women curtseyed, but Hugh came forward to take each by the hand.
“This is a pleasure indeed. I had not thought to see you both again so soon.”
“Nor we you,” replied Ellen, “although we have been expecting you.”
“I have come up for the tournament tomorrow,” Hugh explained. “I hope you will be able to attend.”
“Of course they will!” Brandon replied. “The whole court will be in attendance.”
“My Lord,” said Mary Tudor, “the ladies have brought us an invitation to attend the queen at four this afternoon.”
“For dinner?” Brandon beamed.
“For the pleasure of our company and our good counsel.”
“Why, then, of course. Do tell the queen that we shall be most pleased to attend.”
“We shall,” smiled Thomasin. “And we shall now leave you in peace, as we have other messages to deliver.”
“I will walk out with you, if I may,” Hugh beamed, his eyes fixed upon Ellen.
“Remember, Sir Hugh, to seek an audience with Wolsey. Do not leave it much later.”
“I won’t, my Lord Suffolk. I thank you for your kindness.”
But Hugh did not direct his gaze away from Ellen, nor did he see that Brandon was looking at him with concern. Only Thomasin saw the look that passed between husband and wife.
Thomasin bid farewell to the Suffolks, then followed the pair out into the corridor. Hugh had bent his head low to whisper to Ellen, whose face was turned up to his, so close that it might have led to a kiss. They were so absorbed in each other that Thomasin was struck by an idea.
“Ellen, I will go and try to deliver my letter again, and seek out Thomas More, if he is here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. Why don’t you try to find the bishops, as they are likely to be together?”
“Very well.”
Thomasin leaned in and lowered her voice. “And I am sure you would wish for a little time with Hugh.”
Her cousin blushed, mouthing her thanks.
Thomasin headed away to the chapel, where More had mentioned he intended to pray during his visit.
The richly painted St Stephen’s Chapel protruded from the main palace site towards the river. Thomasin felt its solemnity at once, as she opened the door into darkness and the smell of candles and incense. Even though the sun had disappeared behind clouds, the light shone through a horseshoe of stained-glass windows encircling the altar.
All was quiet within. She peered through the dim light, hoping to catch a glimpse of More’s rounded shoulders and bent head. Instead, to her surprise, she spotted Mary Boleyn herself, sitting close by the entrance, her eyes lifted in contemplation of the light. Finally, here was her chance to get rid of the troublesome letter.
“Mistress?”
Thomasin halted, unsure whether to address Mary by her family name of Boleyn or by her married name of Carey. The latter felt too uncomfortable to voice.
