TWELVE
Princess Mary lifted her arms so that the seamstresses could measure her again. She stood as still as she could, while the tape measure was held across her shoulders, and then from armpit to armpit. Her waist and chest measurements followed, and the long span from the middle of her back all the way down to her ankles.
Standing at the side, Catherine’s ladies held the reams of material brought up from the wardrobe for inspection. In Thomasin’s arms, the rich folds of scarlet silk were so smooth and rippling that they threatened to slip to the floor like water, and she was obliged to keep adjusting her grip upon them. Ellen, by contrast, held a heavy, mustard-coloured velvet.
“And I want more blackwork shirts,” instructed Queen Catherine, who was overseeing everything. “Scroll-work on cuffs and colours, interlaced with gold.”
“How many, my lady?” asked the chief seamstress.
“Two for the princess and two for myself.”
“Very good, my lady.”
The queen indicated the swathe of deep, sea-green folds that Maria Willoughby was holding. Obligingly, her servant stretched out the fabric, the better that the colour be seen.
“I like this one — not too bright, but not too dark. Quite suitable. What say you, Mary?”
“Oh yes, I like that one best.”
“We will have a full gown in this one, and upon the bodice, the embroidered initials H and K, worked in gold.”
It was a bold move, Thomasin thought, requiring her initials to be entwined with those of the king: a provocative move, no different from what she had been requesting for the last two decades, but now the significance could not be overlooked.
“And we will each have a new silver petticoat,” Catherine added. “For Christmas at Greenwich, where I intend to dress like a queen.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“That is all, go to, go to.” She clapped her hands and the seamstresses scuttled about, gathering their items and fleeing from the chamber.
“More coal on the fire,” called the queen, “and more wine.” She settled into her chair by the fire. “Ellen, bring theLives of the Saintsand read to us.”
Ellen went to fetch the book and Thomasin reached for her darning, but Catherine stopped her. She held out a little earthenware pot. “Thomasin, would you take this poultice to Bishop Mendoza in his lodgings? He is afflicted again, and it would soothe his wounds.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Thomasin took the little pot, which was heavier than it looked.
“It was made according to my recipe, with the freshest ingredients and he should apply it twice a day, when he wakes and before sleep, and at any other times when the pain is strong. And I have ordered a good supper for him, with wine, to be brought to his chamber at the appointed hour.”
“I will tell him that, my lady. I thank you.”
Thomasin knew where Bishop Mendoza was lodged. His worsening gout had made it necessary for him to occupy a small ground floor chamber within the palace, for ease of access to the queen. With the autumn weather increasingly wet and dismal, he was unable to make the journey to and from the town house he had been renting. After Catherine made a number of requests, Henry had finally agreed to allow him a place, but the allocated chamber, set in the outer court, was alongside the river Fleet, among the coldest rooms in the palace. If the queen hadbelieved her friend was being deliberately discouraged, she said nothing but ensured that coal, blankets, wine and food made the old bishop’s stay more comfortable.
As she passed along the stone corridors, shivering with the chill in the air, Thomasin could not but help feeling sorry for the old bishop. Since meeting him at Windsor, she had watched the deterioration of his health, as his feet gave him great pain, and his legs swelled. But she was full of admiration for his devotion to Catherine, an ally among the many disparate voices at court.
At least his room was in a quiet part of the palace. Thomasin knocked upon the door and a voice from within called for her to enter.
Mendoza was sitting in his inner room, reclining before the fire, heaped in furs. A table beside him held warm wine, spiced cakes and candied oranges. But he was not alone. In the chair opposite, Thomasin was surprised to see the figure of Cardinal Wolsey himself. The cardinal was dressed plainly, although like the bishop, he wore many furs against the cold. Their talk ended as Thomasin made her curtsey before them.
“Mistress Marwood,” Mendoza smiled, “God is indeed good to send such a welcome face amid my suffering.”
“The queen sends you her best wishes,” Thomasin explained, “and this poultice, which should be applied morning and night, and whenever the pain requires.” She placed the pot upon the table. “She has also ordered your supper and fresh supplies to be sent shortly.”
“For her kindness, I give her my eternal thanks and prayers.” Mendoza inclined his head. “How does she fare today?”
“She is in good spirits and health, I am pleased to say; I left her listening to theLives of the Saints.”
“Most edifying,” Mendoza agreed. “I do miss my books, most of which are still in my lodgings. I could while away these long evenings with them.”
