Thomasin raised her eyebrows. “I can’t imagine.”
“He is a man of surprises. Mark my words: I think we will see him rise even further, as he is prepared to do almost anything to achieve his wishes.”
Nico broke off as a small boat made its way towards the quay, nudging against the steps. Thomasin looked beyond, expecting to see the princess’s barge close behind, but there was only a single man rowing and another seated within, clutching a leather bag as if for dear life.
“Letters for Master Cromwell,” he called up, in a high-pitched voice.
“I am here to receive them on his behalf,” said Nico, inching close to the water’s edge. “I’m Master Amato, Cromwell’s secretary.”
Teetering in the boat, the messenger passed the bag into Nico’s outstretched hands, then sat back down at once, and the little craft was already pulling away.
“That’s my evening accounted for,” Nico sighed, feeling the weight of the papers. He opened the leather flap and looked quickly inside. Then he paused, eyes lingering. A frown crossed his brow.
“What is it?”
“The one on top is addressed to me.”
Thomasin looked down at the small, folded page he had plucked out, with its address written in a neat, dark hand.
“It’s from my mother.” Nico could only stare at it.
“Won’t you open it?”
He looked up, his bright expression dimmed. “It has to be bad news. Why else would she write?”
“There might be a hundred reasons. But you will never know if you don’t open it.”
Reluctantly, he handed her the leather bag, turned the paper over and broke the seal. Thomasin watched his face as he scanned the lines. At first, he smiled, then he nodded his head slowly.
“Yes, yes. My sister has had a son — that is good.”
“That is wonderful news. Both healthy?”
“Yes, yes. But my father is seriously ill. She does not go into details, but she is gravely concerned.”
“Oh. I am so sorry to hear that.”
Nico took a deep breath and blinked into the rain. “It is the way life goes. Look, the ink is getting spoiled. I must get these letters inside. And now, the princess’s barge arrives.”
Thomasin turned to see the wide, stately vessel gliding closer, with its coloured streamers flying. Finally, Princess Mary was returning to court. When she turned back to thank Nico, he was already hurrying through the Watergate, without another word. Puzzled, she wondered about the words his mother had written; they were a riddle to her, written in a foreign tongue, but they may well have contained more than he admitted. She could not dwell on it, though: the barge was drawing level with the quay, and her assistance was required. Nico’s troubles would have to wait.
The figure seated under the barge’s canopy was dwarfed by the curtains and drapes about her. Her small form was wrapped in furs, so she was almost completely concealed beneath them.A dark headdress lined with pearls kept her long red hair back from her pale face, which appeared smooth and clean as that of a baby, with blue eyes and a rosebud mouth, although her lips were set in a steely line of determination. Thomasin had seen her before, a year ago at court, and she seemed little changed since that time.
At the princess’s side, a tall, gaunt woman in her mid-fifties rose to her full height, ignoring the sway of the boat beneath her. With a swift gesture, she removed the girl’s bulky outer furs, revealing the a damask cloak underneath, and the glint of a large silver cross hanging about her neck. The woman offered Mary her hand and helped her rise as steadily as possible while the boat rocked beneath them.
Thomasin dropped into a curtsey, then came forward to offer assistance.
“My Princess, my lady, welcome to Bridewell.”
The girl looked back at her pleasantly, but the older woman snapped, “Who are you?”
Thomasin was used to the rudeness of her superiors, but this unnecessary sharpness took her by surprise, nonetheless.
“Thomasin Marwood, lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty Queen Catherine.”
“One of Mamma’s ladies,” said the princess, allowing herself to smile a little.
“Is it only you?” asked the woman, looking about in expectation of a welcome committee.
