“Is that how you see it? I want to help because I am in a position to do so. That’s how this court works, by personal recommendation.”
He frowned. “I do not want to argue. Things are hard enough without us falling out.”
“Good. Nor do I.”
A silence fell between them. She saw his eyes stray back to his unfinished letter.
“Have you heard from your mother again?”
“No, I am waiting for a reply to my letter, but it might be weeks. I am concerned.”
“Is your father very ill?”
Nico nodded. “I should be at his side. I may never see him again, but instead I am here, copying these infernal letters that mean nothing. Rents and land and tithes. What is the point?”
He threw up his hands. Thomasin was afraid he was about to do something dramatic.
“Please, stop.”
“Stop what? Did you think I would tear the paper, knock over the desk, due to my Venetian temperament?”
She took a step back. “I only came here because I care. I do not like to see you like this, and I wish I could help. Don’t push me away.”
He turned his back, perhaps to hide his emotion. “I do not wish for you to see me like this. What kind of man can I be, in your eyes, if you see me like this?”
“No less of a man at all. Please let me help.”
“You do not understand me. I do not wish you to be here at the moment. You should go. I have lots of work to do.”
“Oh Nico, don’t send me away.”
He made no reply, but pulled out his chair again, sat down and picked up his pen.
“May I send up some food and wine for you?”
Again, he made no reply. Thomasin took another step into the room, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Nico, please?”
He shrugged it off. “Please, allow me some dignity.”
Thomasin had never felt so powerless. The injustice of it stung her and a sob rose in her throat, but right now, there was nothing she could do but respect his wishes. She turned and left the room, walking back down the long, narrow corridor, the winding stairs and out into the cold night.
“My lady?” Ralph Sadler had followed her down. “Do not pay attention to Nico. He is not himself. I know he cares for you, but he is under too much pressure at the moment.”
Thomasin tried to hold back the tears.
“It was no excuse for the way he spoke to you, though,” Sadler continued. “I am sure he will repent of it, and make amends. Please give him a little time.”
She nodded resignedly and headed away, but the change in Nico stayed with her.
Thomasin did not feel like returning to Catherine’s chambers at once. The queen and her daughter had visited Lambeth Palace, across the river, that day, and were now resting, requiring little attention.
Her thoughts turned instead to Tyndale’s book and the dilemma of Anne reading it. Perhaps, at this hour, it was worth wandering through the palace and seeing whether the Boleyn rooms might be empty. She could always make up some duty, pretending she was thanking the viscount for his hospitality, or enquiring after Lady Boleyn’s health. She was in the mood to be brave, even reckless, after her encounter with Nico. Her feelings were raw and near the surface, and she required some decisive action to distract herself.
It was still the dinner hour, and many of the corridors were quiet. Guards and servants used the lull to fulfil their less pleasant duties, collecting dirty linen, lighting torches and taking fresh logs. A suite of rooms had been assigned to the Boleyn family in the east of the palace buildings, despite their possession of Durham House, a little way downriver. As she approached, Thomasin could see that preparations for the night were being made, with supplies of linen, wine and pastries, candles and pastilles being carried inside.
Keeping her head down, she approached with purpose and slipped inside as if it was as much her business to be there as anyone’s. The servants coming in and out paid her no attention. She held her head high and looked about as if these were her own rooms, allocated to her by the king. They were splendid rooms indeed, with their tapestry drapes, the rich red curtains and embroidered furnishing. The main chamber contained a table and chairs set before the fireplace, and a cupboard with plate, but through the further door, Thomasin saw the bedrooms. She moved towards them. It was far more likely that an illicit book would be stored in one of those, out of sight beneath a pillow, or inside a chest.
The servants were moving onto the next apartment, their tasks for the Boleyns complete. Thomasin heard one of them pull thedoor closed behind them and the rooms fell silent. But for how long?
