“Then we put our hope in the cardinals.”
Thomasin found Charles Brandon walking in the gardens with his hounds. The dogs were sober, well-trained, yet filled with the excitement of outdoor smells and sounds as they careered between the bushes. He appeared deep in thought, crossing her line of vision without being aware of her presence, rubbing his long beard, before he paused to pick up a stick and throw it into the middle of the lawn. The dogs raced after it at once, four of them, light in step.
It was a pleasant day, a little chillier than before. The palace chimneys pumped out smoke from many hearths, as a reminder of the many people contained within its walls. Thomasin could not help but wonder what exactly was taking place within the king’s chambers, and whether any of his windows looked out across this garden.
“Ah, Mistress Marwood!”
The dogs reached her first, sniffing about her feet, but not jumping up.
“Away, boys, go.” They obeyed his command at once.
“Good day, My Lord.”
“Good day. You have come to tell me about your sister? How does she fare?”
“Seemingly well, as far as I can see.”
“Has she made an impression yet?”
“I believe so, and she is currently with the king in his chamber, so she has a further chance.”
“In his chamber? So soon?”
“That is where she was headed. Whether he has admitted her, I cannot say.”
Brandon frowned. “She is a little pert, a little forward. She must not yield to him too soon, or else he will not value her.”
“I did not think that was the intention, my Lord. We do not want the king to value her, to wish to replace Anne, or the queen, with her. Is she not merely an instrument to rouse Anne’s jealousy, to force a further breach?”
He surveyed her for a moment. “You are very shrewd for one so young. Yes, your sister is to be a sacrifice in this matter, although it will suit her well enough, I think, given the rewards it may bring.”
“Baron Mountjoy mentioned that you were arranging a possible match for her, afterwards.”
“We shall see, we shall see. It is not yet final.”
Thomasin nodded. “It was actually my cousin I wished to speak with you about. Ellen Russell?”
He turned and whistled to his dogs. “Yes, and what of her?”
“About her unhappy marriage. She is trapped in a situation with a most odious man, who betrayed her with her own sister, and she longs for her freedom.”
“And why do you bring this to me?”
“Her husband is being stubborn in the matter. She repeatedly asks him for a divorce, but he insists that she return to him instead, which is something she cannot bear.”
“But it is his right, as her husband.”
“Yes, but…”
“Would she consider entering a nunnery?”
“A nunnery?” Thomasin was shocked. “No, she wants to remarry and bear children.”
“Can she not find it in her heart to forgive her husband and fulfil her duty?”
“No, Sir, she cannot, and I, for one, cannot blame her. I wonder that so many are opposed to her seeking freedom and advocate her return to misery.”
“Who else has spoken in this way, then?”
