“It is simply a letter from a mother to a daughter. But I lost it several days ago. You must have been holding onto it all this time, Duchess. I wonder why you did not simply speak up, for the matter could have simply been resolved.”
“Like you,” Lady Howard snapped back at once, “I have no desire to cause the queen pain.”
“And yet you have caused this drama.” Thomasin’s hands were shaking, but she stood her ground against the duchess.
“What impertinence!” Lady Howard cried. “How she stands there so brazenly after being the go-between with that awful woman. And her very own sister, having just made the sacrifice she has.”
“A sacrifice that brings her more than adequate rewards,” Ellen chimed in.
Seated at the side with Charles Brandon, Cecilia made no move to comment or intervene.
“Stop,” called Catherine, raising her hand. “Mistress Marwood, you claim that this is a letter entrusted to you by Lady Boleyn, for her daughter Anne.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Then you must discharge your duty and deliver it.”
“Pardon, my Lady?”
The queen handed Thomasin the letter. “It is your duty to deliver this into Mistress Boleyn’s hands. Go and do so now.”
“Deliver the letter?” exclaimed Lady Howard. “But…”
“Hush!” said Catherine. “We will have no more mischief in my chambers. Maria, make ready to accompany me to chapel.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Don’t stand there staring,” Catherine said sharply to Thomasin. “You have your instructions. Off you go.”
It was with trepidation that Thomasin made her way down the corridors in the direction of the Boleyn chambers. It sounded merely a simple matter, to place the letter in Anne’s hands, mutter a few words of explanation and withdraw, but her steps were heavy, and a weight hung about her heart. The Duchess of Norfolk’s dreadful attempts to discredit her may have harmed her good relations with the queen, hard upon the terrible news that Cecilia was to marry Hugh. Thomasin could not imagine how Ellen must be feeling. Surely if Cecilia had any decency, and Thomasin could explain the situation to her, she would not go through with the match? For no matter how self-centred and vain her elder sister was, she was not heartless. Surely she would not wish to become the wife of a man who still loved another?
“Thomasin?”
She turned to see Nico, coming along the corridor. He was as golden and glowing as ever, if not a little dishevelled, as if he was in a hurry. In one sense, he was a welcome distraction; in another, he was a delay to the inevitable action she must take.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, brandishing a sheaf of papers.
“To the Boleyns. I must deliver a letter there.”
Nico winced. “By all accounts it is a battlefield in there at the moment.”
“Oh no, I had feared as much. But I must do what the queen insists.”
“Good luck, sweetheart,” he said, leaning in to plant a kiss upon her cheek. It took Thomasin a little by surprise, but it was not unpleasant. “I am glad to have come upon you like this,” he continued. “As you can see from all these papers, Cromwell is keeping me busy making copies of his records. He has announced his intention to go to his house at Chelsea later today, and I am to accompany him. It may be for a week or more, so I shall not return to court for a little while. I shall be thinking of you, though.”
Thomasin felt sorry to lose a friend, even temporarily. “I hope your work is speedily concluded.”
He stepped closer. “Will you miss me, Thomasin?”
“Of course.”
“I mean, really miss me? Will you long to have me beside you?”
Thomasin was unsure whether she would go that far. “I shall miss seeing you, of course.”
“Perhaps, when I return, we might find the occasion to spend a little private time together, if you would like to.”
He bent and tried to kiss her lips. She drew back a little at the speed of the gesture.
