“For I assure you, that besides her noble parentage, of which you all know, she is a woman of great gentleness, humility and goodness, and of all good noble qualities without comparison, and I say this after almost twenty years have proved, so that if I were to marry again, and the marriage be good, I would choose her above all others.”
There was a murmuring in the room. Thomasin took advantage of it to release a long sigh. Surely many of those present were feeling the sting of this questionable praise for the queen, which seemed to contradict Henry’s actions over the past year. How many of those in the hall would see through it? See the false flattery disguising the true intent? She wondered what Catherine would think, for beyond a doubt, it would get back to her before the hour was up.
The king’s face darkened. “But if it be determined by judgement that our marriage was against God’s law and clearly void, then I shall not only sorrow over the departing from so good a lady and loving companion, but much more lament and bewail the misfortune that I have lived so long in adultery and have no true heir of my body to inherit this realm. These are the sores that vex my mind; these are the pangs that trouble my conscience and for these griefs I seek a remedy. Pray with me, to seek a solution for the discharge of my conscience and the saving of my soul. It was for the declaration of this that I summoned you hither,” Henry concluded, “and now you may depart. God be with you.”
The crowd began to stir. Thomasin leaned in to whisper to Dudley. “I must return to the queen, before I am caught in this crowd.”
“Will you tell her?”
It had not yet struck Thomasin that the responsibility to do so should fall to her, but now she realised with a heavy heart that as she had been present, witness to all, she was obliged to relay the king’s words to the queen.
“I think I must.”
Dudley placed a comforting hand upon her arm. “It is best that it comes from you, as soon as possible, rather than from idle tongues. You would not wish her to learn that you were present but did not inform her.”
“You are right, of course. I must go, John. Farewell.”
Taking to her heels, Thomasin barely noticed that her shoes were still damp at the toe. She raced through the corridor and up the stairs that led to the entrance of the queen’s chambers, heart pounding with the unpleasant news she must impart.
THREE
Queen Catherine of Aragon was seated in her favourite chair, one arm about the precious daughter who was finally by her side. The queen was dressed in different shades of green: deep forest for her bodice and sleeves, trimmed with white fur and embroidered with pomegranates and roses; and bright emerald for her skirts, arranged about her in vibrant folds, with the richness of evergreen leaves. Gold chains hung about her neck and gold adorned her headdress. At her breast was a special gem she had taken to wearing: a diamond from the mines of India, once given to her by the emperor.
“Mother, you are dressed for Christmas!” Princess Mary had announced as soon as she saw her.
“Hush, hush,” grumbled Lady Salisbury, hurrying behind, “that is weeks away yet.”
Beneath the splendour, Catherine’s face seemed smaller, rounder, animated by the blue eyes that were filled with sadness and etched with lines in the corners. Her features had become fuller with age; the pursed mouth and rounded chin that had defined her beauty in youth were now heavy and slack with the passing years. Sorrow and loss showed their effects. And yet at this moment, she was smiling with such joy as Thomasin had rarely seen her smile in recent weeks, so that it made all those around her smile in tune. Solid and immobile, she occupied her chair like a statue, while pleasure radiated from her face.
The child that stood beside her was bubbling over with excitement, rising up and down on her toes, her face a picture of delight. Mary could hardly keep still. The noise, the colours, the dresses, all struck her anew, in contrast to the dull, cold emptiness of Ludlow. She did not move from her mother’s side, clinging onto her sleeve, as she was reintroduced to all theladies. There was Mary, Countess of Essex, who used to brush her long hair at night, and her favourite, the Spanish Maria Willoughby with her little daughter Catherine, to whom she chattered away like a magpie to her returning friend. To the side, her lips thin with disapproval, Lady Salisbury was resting from her journey in one of the carved chairs, becoming more uncomfortable as her great-niece’s spirits rose.
“My lady, the princess will be over-tired after her journey,” Lady Salisbury added.
“There is plenty of time to rest,” replied the queen, “and you must be tired too, Margaret. Why don’t you take the opportunity to retire until dinner and join us then?”
“The princess might need me.”
“She has everything she needs right here,” said Catherine, beaming at her daughter. “And soon the rest of your household will arrive.”
“Still,” insisted Lady Salisbury, taking the tinge of sourness out of her voice for the queen, “I am content to remain.”
The chatter continued, with mother and daughter engrossed in each other, barely noticing the time passing.
Thomasin slipped around to the place where her cousin sat embroidering sleeves. Ellen Russell was her closest friend. She was simple and straightforward in manner and appearance, but no one could call her plain: her hair was a pale brown and her face was pleasant, with the smooth plumpness of youth. Her childhood in the north, and her unfortunate marriage to Thomasin’s cousin, had given her a determined quality that strangers would not identify upon first seeing her face. She looked exactly what she was: a country girl come to court, who had worked hard to find favour. For a year, Barnaby Russell had refused to give her the divorce she requested, despite her pleasand those of her family, before a sudden fever swept him away and left her a free woman.
Ellen lifted her head as Thomasin sat down on the bench beside her. “Here you are,” she said. “I was wondering at your absence. Luckily the queen is too occupied to notice.”
“I have come from a great gathering downstairs,” Thomasin whispered. “The king summoned an audience, from outside the palace, to pronounce about his marriage!”
Ellen’s brown eyes widened. “Here? In the palace?”
“Yes, hundreds of them — courtiers and bishops, fishmongers and tavern owners — but had I not been passing, I would never have known it!”
“Why were we not told of this?”
“We were quite deliberately kept away, so it would not come to the queen’s ears.”
“Well, that plan has failed, as surely the king must guess. What did he say?”
