“I do. It’s a good, honest way to earn your bread, but I always wanted something more. To travel to foreign places and witness the lives of great men.”
“And here you are.”
“I always had a burning ambition,” he said, his face lighting up, “since I was small. Once, I saw the emperor riding through the city, and I used to sit and watch the ships arriving from all over the world. It made me long to travel and see other places, to serve great men.”
He was looking fresh and crisp that morning. Thomasin thought that he might have just jumped up from his bed, raked his fingers through his curls and put a cap on top, but somehow he always managed to look beautiful and effortless. It was his neat jawline and long eyelashes, his curved lips and his perfect, glowing skin. Like a classical sculpture. Thomasin both adored and envied his good looks.
“Does your master keep you busy?”
“Cromwell? Always. But he has travelled into Kent this morning, to greet Campeggio, so what is your English saying … while the cat is away, the mice will play.”
Thomasin smiled.
“And after I have played, I will have to copy out his letters.”
Thomasin’s eyes were focused on a small boat, a river ferry, that was approaching the steps. As they watched, it drew alongside the palace quay, and she recognised the Astons climbing out. They looked a little shaky after their journey on the choppy waves and took a moment to breathe. Ursula straightened her headdress and skirts while Gilbert paid the ferryman.
“These are my distant cousins, through marriage,” Thomasin explained, watching them approach. “They come to have their case heard today.”
The pair drew closer. The garden paths were laid out in geometric shapes, so it would be impossible for them not to pass her.
“Good morning,” Thomasin said, as they drew near.
Gilbert looked at her sharply, as if surprised. His sister looked frightened.
“I’m Thomasin Marwood, niece of Sir Matthew Russell, so we are related through marriage.”
As soon as they heard the name Russell, the pair turned inward.
“And this is my friend, Nico Amato, secretary to Lord Cromwell.”
At Cromwell’s name, though, Gilbert’s demeanour changed. Ignoring Thomasin, he turned to the Venetian. “You serve Cromwell? Is he here today? Might you take us to him?”
Nico raised his eyebrows at this presumption. “I am at the service of Mistress Marwood.”
Realising his mistake, Gilbert turned to Thomasin. “My apologies, a very good day to you, cousin.”
“I found my first time at court daunting,” Thomasin replied generously, trying to make eye contact with Ursula, “so I am happy to help, to show you around, regardless of the outcome of the case.”
A slight smile touched the young woman’s lips, lifting her expression at once. “That’s nice — isn’t it, Gilbert?”
Her brother did not answer her, instead turning back to Nico. “Is Cromwell in his rooms today?”
“Sadly he is from court.”
“Not here at all?”
Nico shook his head. “Not at all.”
“When do you expect him back?”
“Whenever he chooses to return. I am merely his secretary.”
Gilbert gave a curt nod and took hold of his sister’s arm. “Very well. Good day.”
He led Ursula away before she had a chance to speak further. She looked back once, over her shoulder, and Thomasin thought she glimpsed a little hope in her eyes, before they disappeared inside.
“What an intolerable man. Such rudeness,” said Nico, once they were out of sight.
