Presently, as it approached the hour of noon, Ellen returned. Her eyes were rimmed with pink as if she had recently shed tears.
Thomasin followed her into the queen’s empty chamber.
“Did you speak with Barnaby?”
Ellen nodded. “He is being as stubborn as ever. Insisting that I return to him and refusing to give me a divorce.”
“Oh no, what a vile man he is. I am so sorry.”
“He seems to take delight in persecuting me. I just don’t know what I can do.”
“What does Uncle Matthew say?”
“He has spoken to him, urged him in every reasonable way he can. I’m sorry.” Ellen drew in a deep breath. “I am at my wits’ end, with that and the queen telling me to return to him.”
“No one can make you do that. We need to appeal to a higher authority.”
“The king?” Ellen’s eyes grew round. “He has enough trouble getting his own divorce.”
“I hadn’t thought to aim that high, but someone in authority whom Barnaby might fear would work. Like a duke or a person in office. I was thinking of Suffolk, or even Wolsey?”
“Do you think they would favour my cause?”
“Why not? All it would take was a few minutes of their time, a few words to impress upon your husband what his correct duty should be.”
“I am scared to ask.”
“Then I will. Let me speak to Suffolk at dinner. Hopefully it will all be over soon.”
“Thank you, thank you, Thomasin. Perhaps freedom is within sight, after all.”
“If we do not chase after it, no one else will.”
TWENTY-TWO
The hour was approaching evening. Shadows in the corners lengthened and maids went from room to room in the palace, setting fires in the grates. From the opposite side of the river, Westminster Palace appeared as a host of gleaming windows, sparking into life as those fires kindled, like a constellation overhanging the Thames.
Queen Catherine had resolved to dine quietly in her chamber, and had kept back Maria Willoughby and Lady Howard for company. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Lady Mary, Ellen and Thomasin, telling them to eat in the main hall and partake in the dancing. Lady Mary rolled her eyes, only longing for a good meal and her bed, but the younger women pulled on their cloaks against the autumn chill and hurried outside.
“Oh no,” said Ellen as soon as they entered, looking down the hall.
Cecilia was standing down by the top table where King Henry was seated, resplendent in the red and cream gown lent to her for the part. Thomasin could see at once that she was bent upon seduction, hanging on Henry’s every word, smiling widely, laughing at his jokes. If Thomasin had not felt sick already over the missing letter, this was quite enough to put her off her meal.
“Oh, let me have a seat with my back to her, I beg,” she groaned, “so I can pretend tonight that I do not have a sister.”
“I thought her instructions were to be subtle, suggestive,” said Ellen, unable to tear her eyes away. “She is as good as announcing her intentions to the world. People are looking.”
“Come, let’s ignore her and eat, then we can leave quickly.”
They took a place as far down as they could and began to load up their plates. Every so often, Cecilia’s laughter reached them, sounding forced to Thomasin’s ear. And yet, the king did not dismiss her. He kept recounting his stories, pleased to hear her response.
“Can it really be that simple?” Thomasin groaned.
“I believe that men are especially susceptible to flattery,” said Ellen, “and as the king likes to remind us, he is a man like any other.”
Thomasin looked back, drawn by the ghastly spectacle of her sister’s flirtation, and she spotted Baron Mountjoy close by the pair, eyes turned towards them with a frown to which Cecilia was oblivious.
“Oh,” said Ellen, “there is Hugh, with Suffolk.”
