“Then how might I have a brother or sister, if that is the case?”
“What has put this idea into your mind?”
Mary sighed. “Yesterday, while I was out riding, there was talk. Oh, they didn’t know I was listening. Two gentlemen of the court — I don’t know their names — who accompanied us into the fields. They were speaking of the future, as they saw it, the changes to the country if I was to have a brother or sister.”
Thomasin’s cheeks flamed with rage at the casual, thoughtless words that had been overheard by the child. “People say strangethings sometimes. They like to speculate and cast fortunes about all sorts of things that they should not. Those men should not have been speaking so, especially in your presence, and if I knew who they were, I should scold them! You should put such things from your mind.”
Mary turned and unexpectedly threw her arms about Thomasin’s neck. “I am glad to be back here, among friends. It is so dull and quiet at Ludlow. And Lady Salisbury is kind but so strict. I have missed having friends. We are friends, Mistress Marwood, are we not?”
“You may count on me in all things, at all times, my lady. Now, let us finish your hair.”
With deft fingers, Thomasin parted and plaited the princess’s tresses and bound them up in a less formal style for the evening, placing a simple cap over them, which tied under her chin.
Barely had the ribbons been tied, before the door opened and Lady Salisbury appeared.
“Come, Mary, you have tarried long enough. It is time for your reading and prayers.”
“Very well.”
The princess jumped up and gave Thomasin a smile, before heading off across the room.
Moved by what she had heard, Thomasin made her way to the queen’s inner chamber. Catherine was sitting with Maria Willoughby, writing letters in Spanish to various friends around the world.
She turned at Thomasin’s approach. “Mistress Marwood?”
Thomasin curtseyed. “My lady, forgive this intrusion. I hoped I might speak a word with you.”
“Very well, go ahead.”
“I am concerned by something that the princess has overheard, and I thought you would wish to know of it.”
“Go on.” The queen placed her quill upon the desk.
“She was asking me questions just now, as I was combing her hair. First about marriage, and whether she could choose her husband, and if she would have to leave England. I replied that it was in the hands of yourself, my lady, and her father, the king. But then she asked about a brother or sister. It seems that while she was hawking with the king yesterday, she overheard two gentlemen speaking indiscreetly.”
The queen’s face blanched.
“I do not think she has heard anything specific; there were no names mentioned. But apparently they spoke of how the country might change if the king had another child. The princess assumed that this would be borne by yourself; I don’t think she has any awareness of the presence of…” Thomasin couldn’t bring herself to name Anne. “I am sorry, my lady, to be the bearer of such insensitive news, but I fear for the princess and what she might learn whilst such loose tongues speak within her earshot.”
The queen exchanged a concerned look with Maria. “You are right to bring this to my attention; it is most diligent of you, as ever, Thomasin. I fear I walk a fine path at court, when it comes to my daughter. The only remedy, which would render her deaf to all this, would be to keep her at Ludlow, which is not in her interests or mine. Although I can keep her close, dine with her in my chambers, I cannot prevent her from being with her father when he asks for her, and I fear the time will come soon when she will become aware of how things stand between us.”
“It is a dreadful shame,” said Maria, shaking her head. “The poor child.”
“While her father keeps her close, and is kind to her, I can do little else,” the queen replied. “At least he treats her as his heir in the public eye, for all the doubts that he might express behind closed doors. She is his daughter, at least.”
“My greatest fear, my lady, is that the princess will come up against a —” Thomasin faltered — “a particular person in the corridor, or walking in the gardens, and that something wounding might be said. Perhaps unintentionally, but something that might open her eyes to the situation.”
“She would not dare,” Catherine glowered. “Surely she would respect the child’s age and position enough not to engage with her?”
“I would hope so, my lady, but there are those about her who may not be so discreet.”
“I must speak with the king. He should be aware of this indiscretion, or else how are we to protect her from such gossip?”
“My lady, if I may make a suggestion? Lady Salisbury is a very diligent and kind mistress to the princess, but I am not sure she is aware of the delicacy of this matter, having been away from court for so long, and unfamiliar when it comes to those involved. If you wish, I could also keep close to Princess Mary, be watchful at such moments, and divert her away from harm, where necessary.”
Catherine looked relieved. “Mistress Marwood, you speak sense with great sensitivity and kindness. I thank you for it. If you are willing to split your duties, so that you continue to attend upon me whilst we are in private, but keep close to the princess whenever she leaves our chambers, that would be a solution with which I would be very content. You would foresee the danger, you knowing the fools and tongue-waggers at this court, and might protect her in some part. Are you willing to undertake this task?”
“More than willing, my lady, I would undertake it with great relief and diligence.”
