Thomasin blushed, dropping a small curtsey as all eyes turned briefly upon her.
“I am sure there will be occasions this season when you will enjoy each others’ company again,” the queen promised.
As her family melted back into the crowd, Thomasin saw an unwelcome face emerge. It was impossible not to recognise Sir William Hatton with his shock of fair hair. Though it had been a year ago, Thomasin had not forgiven the arrogant young courtier for his role in her sister’s tragic debut at court. After wooing Cecilia and gaining her trust, so that she broke off a promising marriage, Hatton had deserted her, just at the moment that the pair intended to elope. Except now Thomasin was of the belief that Hatton had never had any intention of going through withthe plan, and had merely seen Cecilia as a diversion. Still, she was glad that her sister was married and living in the country, so she was not present to have to see the man again. She turned away as Hatton greeted the king, unwilling to even look at him.
The final guests came through one by one, faces and names that were vaguely familiar to Thomasin. There was the ancient white-haired Archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham and the frail Bishop Richard Foxe, followed by Bishop Cuthbert Tunstall. Then there were more great families with historic surnames: Staffords, Nevilles, Russells, and the Sheltons, who were more Boleyn relations from Norfolk.
Then there were courtiers whom Thomasin had seen dance at Bridewell or Windsor, women in the best dresses they could buy, men who clustered around the king: Richard Page, Thomas Heneage, Thomas Cheney, William Fitzwilliam and their silent wives. Their names blended one into the other, their faces merging in Thomasin’s mind like endless players across a stage, so that she was relieved when the ceremony came to an end, and the trumpeters announced the banquet.
SIXTEEN
The musicians were playing and the fire crackled in the great hearth as Thomasin made her way through the crowded hall. Finally, after almost two hours, all the guests had been presented, and she had leave to wander among them.
Long trestle tables covered in white cloths had been spread with a special Christmas banquet, with dishes clustered around the gilded centrepiece of a huge, carved subtlety: a marzipan sculpture of three kings dressed in exotic garments studded with jewels, each bearing gifts. Thomasin’s eyes grew wide as she took in the coloured jellies, spiced tarts, wafers and butter biscuits, candied fruits and comfits, and more marzipan treats, dyed red and yellow and covered in gold leaf.
Gathered about the fire, the guests were dressed in their finery, dazzling in gold, sequins and the rich shades of the season: tawny, crimson and chestnut velvets, with cloth of gold and silver. Many more were gathered by the large oriel window, outside which the snow fell thickly against the darkening sky.
“Thomasin!” cried Sir Richard Marwood, coming forward to take his daughter in his arms. “How well you look, and how patient you were waiting at the front.”
Thomasin smiled. “I am so glad you were able to come, and that you arrived safely.”
“We had an early departure and a smooth journey, and so we were almost in sight of the palace when the snow began to fall.”
“And such a beautiful sight it was!” exclaimed Lady Elizabeth, coming forward. “Are you eating and resting well, Thomasin? You look a little pinched — a mother can tell!”
She leaned forward to kiss her daughter’s cheek, and beside her, Sir Matthew Russell placed another kiss upon Thomasin’s other cheek, making her laugh.
“It will be such a wonderful season with you all here,” Thomasin replied. “Mother, I hope you will pace yourself, and reserve some strength for all the festivities.”
“I have had two weeks of bed rest, overseen by Dr Galiento, so I will be hale and hearty.”
“Your mother has a new Italian doctor,” smiled Sir Richard, indulgently, “young and very handsome, newly come from Padua, so she is doing exceptionally well.”
“Nonsense, it is that being young, he is less expensive,” added Lady Elizabeth.
“Of course it is,” her husband soothed.
Thomasin was pleased to see her parents in such good spirits, but she turned to her uncle Matthew, aware that this was his first Christmas without his son, Barnaby. “I am especially glad to see you here, Uncle, and hope you will find the palace entertaining. I know Ellen was hoping to see you, although she is in the queen’s chambers at the moment, but she will make her greeting in time.”
“I am glad to hear it, and I look forward to seeing her. I did not relish the prospect of Christmas alone at Monk’s House, so the invitation was most apt.”
Behind them, a huge roar of laughter cut through the crowd. Henry strode down among his guests and stood with his hands on his hips, watching as his tumbler rolled along the floor. The young man, dressed in bright yellow and red, was somersaulting and twisting, performing acrobatic feats so that the king could not catch him, no matter how swiftly he followed.
“By my troth, you are a slippery one,” Henry laughed, as the acrobat sprang forwards, walking on both hands. “Now that is a feat that not even a king is fool enough to attempt!”
Thomasin noticed the princess had also come forward and was watching intently.
“How clever!” the princess declared, clapping her hands. “How do you not topple forwards? I wish you would teach me how to walk like that!”
“So that you might walk on your hands into church, or after your dressmaker?” laughed her father.
“I can perform many tricks: dancing, singing in French or Latin, and playing upon the virginals, so why should I not excel at this too?”
“Your skirts would fall down and cover your face!” added little Catherine Willoughby, standing beside her friend.
“Yes, that would be troublesome,” the princess admitted. “Now I see why tumblers must be men.”
“Or else a woman dressed as a man?”
