“Thank you, Thomasin, you are a true friend to me and to the princess.”
“Always, my lady.”
Ellen was sitting by the fireside when Thomasin returned to the main chamber. Her cousin had stretched out her hands and was warming herself before the flames.
“Does the queen need us yet?”
“No,” replied Thomasin, “she is writing letters.”
“It is so cold outside. I went to the wardrobe to request more thread and a bitter chill has set in.”
Thomasin sat opposite her, still musing over the princess’s words.
Ellen shot her cousin a confidential look. “I learned something while I was on my errand.”
“What was that?”
“That new woman with Anne, the one we have seen a few times. The seamstresses were complaining about her, because Anne has ordered new dresses for her, demanding for them to be made within days, at the same time that they are already working on the princess’s new gowns.”
“I am sure they will honour the order for the princess first.”
“They will. But Anne was most insistent, speaking harshly to them about it, so they are quite put out.”
“That is unfair. Surely she understands the princess must take precedence?”
Ellen shrugged. “But I learned her name. This new woman is called Anne Gainsford, although they call her Nan, to distinguish from Anne Boleyn.”
“Heaven forbid there should be two Annes at court!”
“Well, apparently she is newly arrived from Surrey. Her great uncle was an usher to the late queen, but her father needed to get rid of her because he has so many children, and she has come to be a lady-in-waiting to Anne, until she can find herself a husband.”
“She will need a steady eye for that!”
“I heard from one of the seamstresses that all in Anne’s household adore her and she already has a number of suitors.”
“Good for her. I hope she will be wary; court is a dangerous place to be popular.”
“Thomasin, you sound cynical,” Ellen said with irony. “Has experience made you so?”
“Experience and observation. The court is a heady place at first, as you well recall, but it is too quick to judge, too fickle, too fast. Yet as Anne’s friend, she is not our problem.”
“Indeed not, but I fear we shall see her dancing her way into trouble ere long.”
EIGHT
Darkness had fallen across the city. The palace lights burned brightly in hearths, lanterns and torches, pushing the night away. Having left Princess Mary dining with her mother, Thomasin made her way down the broad staircase towards the great chamber. The scent of cooked meats reached her halfway down the steps, tinged with cinnamon. She could hear the clamour of voices and laughter, and strains of music.
“Thomasin?”
Rafe was waiting in an archway to the side.
She had not thought to see him here, so his sudden approach took her by surprise. Thomas Boleyn’s ward had changed his habitual black for a white shirt under a green doublet: the splash of colour was unusual for him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“My mind was elsewhere.”
“You look well.”
