“Ah, the queen’s ring. I remember now.” He smiled up at Thomasin. “You have served the good Lady well, I think, Mistress…?”
“Thomasin Marwood.”
“Mistress Marwood.” He lifted the cup to his lips. “I drink to your good health.”
“Why, thank you. Can I bring you any more cushions? Are you comfortable?”
“Comfortable enough, my dear. Don’t worry about me. God will ease my pains.”
Suddenly Ellen was at Thomasin’s elbow, her eyes and cheeks bright with alarm. “Barnaby is here, in the hall.”
Looking round, Thomasin saw her father and Thomas More, followed by her uncle and his odious son. Ellen’s estranged husband looked particularly pale and round, his skin sallow as if it had not seen the sun all summer.
“Oh, Ellen, this is intolerable. Why not say you have a headache and ask to retire? The queen does not need all of us here.”
“I think I will do so. I have no desire to see him or speak with him. The very sight of him makes me feel ill.”
“I can’t imagine what they were thinking, bringing him here. Go, go now while he is still at a distance. Speak to Mountjoy; do not disturb the queen.”
Ellen went to speak to the baron, and a moment later, Thomasin was relieved to see her leave the hall.
“Is she well?” asked Lady Mary, seeing Ellen go.
“Just a headache, I think. Does the queen require more food?”
“Some of the sweet sauce, I think — you know, the one she likes? There seems to be none on the table.”
“I will ask for it.”
Thomasin headed across the room, to make her request of a servant. As she turned back, Nico was approaching, dressed smartly in green and gold trim, with a crisp white shirt collar and a jaunty cap, quite exotically Venetian amid the greys, blues and browns of the court. At once, she felt a little bad for having hurried away from him the last time they had met.
He made a shallow bow. “My Lady, you are looking lovely as ever.”
Thomasin curtseyed and smiled. “You enjoyed the tournament?”
“The little I saw of it, before my master dispatched me on errands!”
“Oh dear, I am sorry. Anything important?”
“Well…” He stepped closer, took her gently by the elbow and steered her towards a corner. “I should not say it aloud, but Cromwell sent me about the king’s business.”
“Oh?”
“The king and his paramour have quarrelled. Yes, Anne Boleyn. She is refusing to attend, even though this tournament was devised for her entertainment. I had to dispatch a messenger to demand her presence, but still she has not come. The king is in a fury.”
“That would explain much,” Thomasin nodded. “She was not present at dinner yesterday, and the king was most distracted throughout the tilting.”
“It is not yet resolved,” said Nico, turning to see King Henry enter the hall, which erupted in applause. “She remains defiant at Durham House. Be discreet.”
Nico took advantage of the disruption by seizing Thomasin’s hand and pressing it to his lips. “I hope I shall see you later?”
“Yes, indeed,” she said, smiling, but her mind was already turning this news over. If the king and Anne had quarrelled, and Anne was refusing to come to court, what better time to launch the queen’s new plan to divert him?
She turned to find Cecilia coming towards her again, her eyebrows arched.
“So, who was that very fine young man who kissed your hand?”
“That is not your business,” Thomasin snapped, annoyed at having been observed with Nico. “Where has Mother gone? Shouldn’t you be following in her shadow?”
