“Oh,” exclaimed the girl, “I don’t know if I have the patience today. Not after sitting still for so long in church. I almost want to play standing up!”
Thomasin quietly went about laying out the pieces. “It was a good sermon, was it not?” she asked the princess.
“A very good one. And a full church! There is such comfort to be had from a full church, is there not?”
“What do you mean, my lady?”
“Well, from knowing that everyone is united in their faith, listening together, praying together, all receiving the eucharist, as I will one day.”
“When you are old enough, yes. It is not long to wait.”
“Then I will not just get the bishop’s hands on my head in blessing, but I will also receive the true body and blood of Christ.”
Thomasin drew up two chairs and sat opposite the board.
“But faith unites people,” the princess continued, still refusing to commit to the game. “Whatever arguments or disagreements they may have, their faith brings them together to worship under one roof. Surely faith can solve any problems in that way?”
“That is very admirably said,” Thomasin agreed. “That is also my understanding of what faith should be.”
“I like St Bride’s,” Mary continued, “it is so good to be in a proper church, full to the rafters. At Ludlow, it is only me and Lady Salisbury, and our household, in a little round chapel. It doesn’t make me feel connected to others, not in the way this morning did.”
Thomasin nodded her head. “It must be lonely at Ludlow.”
Mary cast a glance over to the door of her mother’s chamber, checking that it was closed. She took a step closer to Thomasin and spoke confidentially. “Very. It is so lonely, so cold and isolated. I have pleaded with mother not to make me return. Even if I cannot stay permanently at court, I hope I may be allowed to live at some property outside the city, perhaps Hatfield or Eltham — peaceful enough, but within easy reach of the court. And Mother and Father can visit, if they wish.”
“That would be a pleasant change for you.”
“I think it will happen too. I spoke with Father while we were riding the other day, and he agrees that the expense for my upkeep at Ludlow is unnecessary, when there are closer palaces standing empty.” Abruptly she sat down at the chess table and stared at the pieces. Selecting a white pawn, she charged it forwards two squares.
Thomasin wondered at the implications of the king’s words. Ludlow had traditionally been the seat of the Prince of Wales, the heir to the kingdom: his own brother, the tragic Arthur, and the Yorkist kings Edward V, his uncle, and Edward IV, his grandfather, had both spent their childhoods at Ludlow.Perhaps Henry meant his words literally: there was cost involved in maintaining Mary at Ludlow, which could be better spent resolving this great matter between himself and the queen, but what if this was a symbolic move? Thomasin could not help but wonder if the king was removing Mary from Ludlow so as to distance her from the role of heir. Given what had been whispered lately at court, was he clearing the castle to make way for a new Prince of Wales?
Thomasin tried not to show her thoughts upon her face, but moved her red pawn forwards on the chequered board. Mary immediately countermanded by mirroring her gesture.
“Wasshethere? This morning?”
Thomasin knew at once who the princess meant, but remained quiet, unwilling to encourage this line of thought. But Mary was not so easily put off.
“My father’s mistress? I had a look round inside the church, but there are so many ladies that I could not work out which one it might be.”
“You should not give mind to such things,” said Thomasin, “especially in church, when your thoughts should be entirely on God. Now look, I am moving my knight; you will have to respond to the threat to that pawn.”
Mary effortlessly moved her piece out of the way. “But was she in the church?”
Thomasin could not ignore a direct question for the second time. “I did not see her in the church,” she said, hovering on the verge of truth. She had only seen Anne outside.
“Anne Boleyn,” said Mary, as if trying out the name in her mouth.
“I give no credence to court gossip, and nor should you. You should not speak that name in your mother’s chambers, or anywhere else, otherwise you might cause upset.”
Mary fell silent, staring at the board.
“There,” said Thomasin, moving her castle. “Now it is your turn.”
The princess moved her queen to the right. “But God sees all,” she said softly. “It does not matter whether or not I see the woman, because God sees all.”
“Yes,” agreed Thomasin, “yes, he does.”
The door to Catherine’s inner chamber opened and the queen emerged. Catherine was dressed in an ash-grey gown with cloth of silver, ahead of the dinner and supper she had been invited to partake of with her sister-in-law, Mary Tudor.
