As they approached the table, musicians were already playing on the pipes and lute. Hugh Truegood had directed Peter Southey to arrange the seating, so that he had Ellen and Lady Elizabeth placed on either side of him, then Thomasin and Cecilia in the centre, while Sir Richard, to his consternation, was placed at the end, beside the seat reserved for Lady Truegood. She came shuffling in, upon the arm of Peter Southey, looking up in surprise, as if she had forgotten that they had guests. The presence of her son, though, appeared to make her more subdued.
“It truly is a most magnificent house,” piped up Lady Elizabeth, as soon as they were seated and the servants were pouring out wine. “How long has it been in your family?”
“I am the fifth generation,” replied Hugh. “The original wing was given to my great-great-grandfather by Henry V after the battle of Agincourt.”
The table was impressed.
“And your father?” Lady Elizabeth continued, returning to her memories. “Might our paths ever have crossed? Richard and I were at court in the early years of the king’s reign, and I was there occasionally before, although it was after the days of the old queen.”
“My father was a diplomat to the Low Countries. He founded our company in Antwerp and supplied the king with tapestries and manuscripts. It is him I have to thank for our current prosperity. But Mother was at court during that time; she did serve the queen.”
Thomasin shot a look at Lady Truegood, to see if she minded herself and her late husband being spoken of, but she appeared to be absorbed in her wine glass.
“I don’t think I recall him,” confessed Lady Elizabeth. “It is so long ago, although I had thought I recognised your name.”
“Father spent much time out of the country, sending his merchants to London. He disliked court.”
“And he is no longer with us?”
“He died when I was eight, but he had not set foot in England for two years by that point.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” asked Cecilia.
“One sister, who died in infancy. No more. It is just myself and Mother.”
“You have never married?” asked Lady Elizabeth, rapidly calculating.
“I have not yet had the good fortune. I have been away too much.”
The question hung in the air. Hugh’s words “not yet” implied a future intention, but not even Thomasin’s mother was bold enough to ask outright if that was now his plan.
Servants brought in the plates, laden with rich country fare: venison with prunes, chickens baked in herbs, coneys in wine sauce. A rich ripe cheese and a creamy slab of freshly churned butter sat beside the warm, white bread. Thomasin needed no encouragement, reaching to assist her mother from the portion they shared. Hugh served Ellen first, saying a few soft words for her ears alone.
The food was simple, fresh and delicious. The venison was particularly tender, falling apart in the mouth. When she tasted the wine, Thomasin found it to be mellow and smooth, far more so than the usual English wines.
“This is excellent,” said her father. “The meat is most wonderful, quite rare, even at the king’s table.”
“Killed this week in the park,” explained Hugh. “I am fortunate in my huntsman. I should send up a haunch to the king.”
“The wine is especially good,” Thomasin added.
“From a chateau in Burgundy I discovered a few years back. I struggle to drink anything else now.”
“I can see why.”
Thomasin noted that Lady Truegood was only served with one dish, a bowl of bread pieces, or sops, dipped in thickened wine. She selected one piece at a time and delicately waved it through the sauce, before placing it carefully on her tongue and sucking. She made no effort to interact with the guests now her son was present, but seemed happily absorbed in her own world.
“So,” said Hugh, when their plates were full, “you plan to go from here to London?”
“Yes,” replied Sir Richard, “we are to stay with my wife’s cousin, Matthew Russell.”
“SirMatthew Russell,” Lady Elizabeth interrupted. “He lives at Monk’s Place, in Thames Street, formerly owned by the Bishop of Rochester. A most splendid house, if you ever get to see it.”
Thomasin winced at her mother’s tone.
“But he has invited me to assist him with a delicate matter of business,” continued Sir Richard. “It’s quite curious. I suppose there’s no harm in me sharing it.”
He paused to take more wine. Thomasin knew what was coming. She had been present when her father had received the letter at Eastwell Hall that summer.
