Thomasin kept her head down, rubbing the last of the poultice into the bishop’s skin, but Wolsey had no intention of pursuing his line of thought further in her presence. She was aware now of both men watching her.
“There,” she said, rising to her feet, “that should help.”
A knock at the door brought in the promised plate of food and a flagon of wine.
“God be praised, and the kindness of the queen,” said Mendoza, sitting up straight in his seat.
“I will leave you,” Thomasin said with a curtsey, placing the pot of poultice on the table. “Remember: twice a day or whenever needed.”
“My warmest thanks for your kind offices, and my deepest gratitude to your mistress. Please inform her that I shall visit her chambers as soon as the pain has passed.”
“I am sure she will be glad to hear that.”
Thomasin left them, with Wolsey pouring wine. But as she closed the door, embraced by the chill outside, the little gem of knowledge glowed within her. Wolsey did not feel he had the king’s confidence. There was a wedge opening between the king and his closest servant, which might serve the queen’s cause, if only they could find a way to use it.
She paused at the end of the corridor, where an archway led into the outer court. Rain was falling in sheets just yards away, where the ground was already filled with puddles. It was possible to go the long way round, but the more immediate route to the queen’s chambers was right across the middle of the court. Perhaps Thomasin might wait a few minutes and see if the intensity of the rain lessened.
“It’s good weather for fish!”
Thomasin had been waiting only a few minutes when the familiar voice interrupted her thoughts: she turned to see John Dudley coming through a doorway.
She smiled at his words. “Indeed it is, John, but since I have the misfortune not to be one, I am waiting for this rain to ease a little.”
“Me too. I fear I would be drenched to the skin if I was to set out just yet.”
“Are you visiting the king?”
He sighed. “Only to ask my leave of him. I must return to the country for a spell. Jane is unwell; she is carrying our second child, so soon after our first.”
“I am sorry to hear she is unwell, although another child is to be celebrated.”
He shot her a sideways smile, lips generous under his thick moustache. “It is, isn’t it? I forget that sometimes; I will be sure not to when I return to Chelsea.”
“Please send her my love.”
“I hope that Jane will be well enough to accompany me to Greenwich at Christmas, even if only for a few days. But it will be a busy time, with so many guests present, and I hope it will not overtire her.”
“So many guests?”
“Yes, have you not heard? The king has issued invitations to all those he feels will support his cause, summoning them from the country. I think he intends to drown out the queen’s friends with his own. It is to be a crowded season.”
“And perhaps an uncomfortable one.”
“Everyone under the same roof, with the papal court hanging over our heads. Perhaps it will be the last Christmas with the king and queen together.”
Thomasin nodded. “Perhaps it will.”
“I do hope for a swift conclusion to this painful dilemma, no matter which way it goes. The queen has suffered enough. I would not be Wolsey amid all this, not for anything.”
Thomasin digested the irony of this, given what she had heard moments before. “No, nor I. And I would not have this on my conscience for anything.”
“I hear the king is hopeful, that his meetings with Campeggio have gone well.”
Thomasin raised her eyebrows, surprised at this intelligence. She had assumed the opposite, from the meeting betweenthe cardinal and Catherine. “Then perhaps Campeggio has not spoken of the queen’s dispensation,” she said.
“Oh? What is this?”
“The queen has a copy of the dispensation that was issued for their marriage back in 1509; it proves that the former marriage was ruled unconsummated. Campeggio says the Pope will not rule again on a marriage that has already been dispensated.”
