The king drew out a fold of cloth, which he unwrapped to reveal a dazzling brooch, the gold twisted around the outside before forming into two clasped hands, encircling a flat ruby the size of a walnut.
Thomasin thought it a somewhat romantic, mature gift for a twelve-year-old.
“Is it not beautiful?” Henry asked.
Mary took the jewel in her palm and stared at it. “It is exquisite. Thank you, Father.”
Henry seemed delighted at her response, but also took it as a sign that he had fulfilled his paternal duties for the moment. “Now, off you go. If we are to hawk on the morrow, you must not neglect your studies today.” He turned to Lady Salisbury, his eyes appealing for the child to be removed.
There was laughter coming from the queen’s chamber, greetings and hearty welcomes. As they entered, Princess Mary darted forwards into the little crowd that had assembled around Catherine’s chair.
“Oh, my household has arrived!” the princess announced, as those assembled knelt before her. “I hope the roads were not too punishing. It is wonderful to have you here.”
She kissed each in turn and introduced them as she did: her doctor, Fernando Vittorio and his wife Mary, her ladies Anne and Susan, and her laundress Beatrice ap Rhys.
“You are all welcome to court,” echoed Catherine. “My Lady Essex, please show them to their lodgings.”
The group bowed again and allowed themselves to be led away.
“Now, child,” said Catherine, “did you meet with your father? Did it go well?”
“Well enough,” Mary said sombrely, “if I am content to be dressed by him like a doll.”
Her tone had changed. Mary was no longer the gushing child, eager to please. She had missed nothing of her father’s intention.
“Why must he desire me to wear yellow and red, when I am content with my dark, godly tones that suit me well?”
The queen looked to Lady Salisbury, who raised her brows in confirmation.
Catherine nodded. “So, he wishes you to have new dresses, does he? He is right to do so, as you are growing. We shall call formy seamstresses this afternoon and measure you for new gowns, but they shall be of your choosing.”
“Thank you, Mother. And he gave me this.” Mary opened her palm to reveal the ruby.
Catherine’s eyebrows rose. “Did he, indeed? I remember this. It used to belong to his mother, the late queen. Did he not mention that?”
Mary shook her head. “My grandmother? May I wear it, Mother?”
The queen held out her hand, and her daughter dropped the jewel into it. “When the occasion presents itself. It is too precious for everyday wear.”
SIX
The doors of the queen’s chamber were held open to reveal the frail, bent figure of a man dressed from head to toe in the crimson robes of a cardinal.
Thomasin gripped the back of the chair she was standing behind. This moment had been so long expected, so discussed and anticipated, it was hard to believe that it had actually arrived, on this autumn morning at Bridewell. They had followed Campeggio’s long, tortuous journey from Rome by letter, hoping that his presence would finally resolve the issue between the king and queen.
“My Lord Cardinal!”
Catherine made the unprecedented gesture of stepping down from her seat and coming forward to meet the old man, extending both her hands to him. He reached out and clasped them, almost as if they were necessary to steady himself, bowing his head before the queen of England, despite his papal authority.
“Come, come,” she insisted, leading him into the room, where the empty chair awaited him, stacked with cushions. “Rest yourself. We have heard of the great suffering you endured during your journey, and wish to make you as comfortable as possible.”
The cardinal eased himself down into the chair, as if the very bones of him might break upon contact.
“Wine, bring wine,” urged the queen, causing Maria Willoughby to dart into action at once.
Campeggio drank deep from the glass and leaned back against the carved wooden seat. When he spoke, his voice was thickly accented, although he had a good command of English. “Better than the wine I was sent at Rochester. Like vinegar, unbearableto drink. I almost wished to turn round and head back to Dover. Who sent me such rotten wine?”
Thomasin concealed her surprise, refusing to meet Ellen’s eyes, which she was certain were wide with incredulity at his rudeness.
