“And what time does it start?”
“Ten,” replied Ursula quickly.
“Well, then, the abbey bells have only just rung for terce. There is a full hour still to wait, so I might take a little of your time without any disruption.” She turned to Gilbert. “It’s so important that the women here know what their safe privy places may be, to avoid any embarrassment or compromise.”
His face turned sour and he waved a hand between them. “Do not be late back, Ursula. I shall be waiting.”
Thomasin led Ursula out through the back door to the gardens. The woman visibly relaxed at the change of scene. Warm sunlight slanted down, lighting up the grey stone walls. Gardeners were pulling up weeds and picking the dead heads off roses.
“Thank you,” Ursula said. “I shall be all right now. You may leave me.”
Thomasin was surprised. “But don’t you want to hear any of my advice about being a woman at Westminster?”
Ursula gave a slight smile. “I appreciate your help, but I do not wish to take up more of your time. You must be busy.”
“I am not too busy,” said Thomasin, not wishing to make Ursula feel unwanted, but hoping that Lady Boleyn’s letter still sat waiting under the cushion.
Ursula looked around her, nervously. “Please don’t think badly of Gilbert. He is so concerned about this case, convinced that they will try and take Father’s money away from us. We’d have to leave our home, sell the tavern.”
When it was put like that, so starkly, Thomasin could see their concerns. “I understand. I hope he will convey that in the court; the difference the money would make to you. It is a substantial sum, but my uncle, Sir Matthew Russell and his son, are already well provided for.”
“That’s what Gilbert says. It would make only a little difference to them, but a world of difference to us.”
“What does your mother say?”
“She is in Essex still. She is too afraid to come to court, and her back troubles her. It would mean we could take over the running of the tavern and afford to look after her properly.”
Her reasons were compelling. Thomasin privately resolved to speak with her uncle when she had the chance. She looked sidelong at Ursula. Miss Aston was breathing deeply, her chin lifted in relief. Where the sun fell upon her skin, it warmed her features, making her suddenly seem pretty.
“You like court?”
“I’ve hardly seen any of it.”
“Of course. And I suppose you’ll leave as soon as the case has been decided?”
Ursula shrugged. “No reason to stay, so Gilbert says.”
“Would you like to stay?”
Ursula picked at a flower. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose.”
They walked a little further, chatting until Thomasin felt herself compelled to ask, “And Gilbert? Does he often speak harshly to you?”
“Oh that, no. Only when he is in a temper about something.”
“But he is not in a temper today with you?”
“No. But he is still in a temper.”
“Does he experience them much at home?”
“Sometimes. But only when there is a reason: if the supplier sells us bad ale, or if the roof leaks. He’s not bad really. He has a lot of responsibility, especially now Father has gone.”
“And does he raise his voice to you, like that? Or strike you?”
“Not very much.” Ursula turned away. “I shouldn’t speak of him this way.”
Thomasin led her down towards the water, past the gardeners. “There is no one to hear us now; you may speak freely to me.”
