Thomasin took her arm. “Then it is time to go. There are hostile eyes here.”
“You mean Hatton? I took pleasure in flaunting the king’s favour before him.”
“Mary Boleyn. We must leave.”
Thomasin led Cecilia away, feeling the weight of the room’s gaze upon them. Behind, Henry was calling for his groom, for spices and sweet wine.
“But don’t we actually want Mary to see?” asked Cecilia, suffused with a sort of pride. “So that Anne is jealous and they quarrel?”
“Your work is complete.”
Mary Boleyn watched them approach, wringing her hands, but Thomasin marched straight past her towards the door. Cecilia dared to drop a curtsey as they passed.
Once the king’s doors were closed behind them, Thomasin let out a deep breath.
“Why did you come?” asked Cecilia. “I was not ready to leave. I don’t need collecting like a child!”
“It was either I came or Mary Boleyn would have gone in there and dragged you out of the king’s bed herself. Would you have preferred that?”
“She would not have dared. She also knows how he likes to take his time.”
Thomasin brushed off this reference to Mary’s former relations with Henry. “She is furious for her sister. I think she will be rushing in there, right now, to confront the king herself, and then she will send word to Anne. We shall see that woman back at court in the morning, I have no doubt.”
“Then we have succeeded, have we not? In what the queen intended?”
“A little too well, I think.”
They hurried along the corridor, shivering with the late night cold. The question was burning on Thomasin’s lips all the while, and as they turned into the arch that led to the queen’s rooms, she could not help but ask, “Did you … was it?”
Cecilia nodded. “It was not as I expected. He was considerate.”
Thomasin nodded, a new gulf of experience between them.
“He needed a little encouragement,” she added.
“And you?”
Thomasin saw a rare, genuine vulnerability in her sister’s cold, blue eyes. “There was a little pain. The Duchess of Norfolk told me to expect it, as the lot of a maid. But he was satisfied with me, I know it.”
Thomasin recalled the conversation she had had with Ellen at Hever, about the avoidance of pregnancy. “And did the duchess speak further advice?” she blustered, shyly.
“Advice? She gave me lots of advice. About how to please him.”
“Anything touching upon the getting of a child?”
“Plenty, I assure you. Now we must only wait and see.”
Cecilia’s words felt like a brittle wall between them.
They had reached Queen Catherine’s chamber now, where the guards admitted them. Lady Howard was standing waiting, having been informed by Lady Mary of Thomasin’s departure, and the queen’s bedroom door stood ajar. She seized upon Cecilia at once, taking her arm and leading her away, quite ignoring Thomasin.
“Is it done? You were intimate? Did he spend himself inside you?”
Thomasin turned away, a feeling of emptiness washing over her. These games, with their emotional high peaks and low valleys, were exhausting and dangerous. She could not foresee what would happen next, not for Cecilia or the queen, nor for Anne and the king. No doubt, though, the Boleyns would be doing their best to repair this damage and return Anne to Henry’s favour. Cecilia had given him the very thing that Anne was withholding, but would it play to their advantage, or had she yielded too soon?
In the antechamber, a figure was sitting in the shadows. As Thomasin pushed the door open further, candlelight spilled inside, revealing Ellen’s tear-stained face.
“Oh Ellen, what has happened?”
