Thomasin looked up, but Catherine was too engrossed to pay attention to her whispering maids. “It was all about his soul, his tortured soul! He said that his conscience was troubled about the marriage, and he feared he had been living in adultery. If the marriage was proved false in law, he would be sorrowful to part from such a good woman as the queen, and if he could choose, he would choose her again.”
“Are those good words?”
“No, no, it was all a bluff. He would not choose her again; he chooses Anne, for her age and her looks. He knows the queen can no longer bear him the heir he desires.”
“But he already has an heir. A lovely daughter.”
Both women looked towards the queen, whose eyes were fixed in delight upon her daughter’s face as Mary was speaking.
“When he chooses a husband for the princess,” Ellen continued, lowering her voice, “then he can choose his own heir.A foreign prince or a good English lord. Her husband will be king.”
“He spoke of leaving the country unsafe at his death.”
“He spoke of his own death?” Ellen was horrified to hear the thought that was never usually voiced. Such words could lead idle tongues into treason.
“Yes, and how the country would revert to war without an heir.” Thomasin sighed. “I must tell the queen, mustn’t I? It is better that she hears of this from me, surely, than from gossiping tongues, which must happen sooner rather than later.”
“She won’t like it.”
“I know. I don’t want to be the one to tell her, but…”
The timely sound of knocking upon the outer door interrupted them, and Bishop Fisher was shown in. He had an austere face and intelligent eyes, and wore a dark cape and hat. Having seen him at the gathering, Thomasin realised he was about to deliver the same message, and breathed a sigh of relief at being absolved from the heavy responsibility. The bishop had always been a trusted confidante of the queen and a man Thomasin respected.
Fisher bowed low.
“My honourable friend,” said the queen, all smiles, then urged her daughter forwards to meet the bishop. “Look, Fisher, do you see who has arrived?”
“My Princess,” said Fisher, turning to honour Mary, his taut face warmed by a genuine smile, “it is indeed a pleasure to see you back at court, looking so well. You have been away too long.”
“Hasn’t she?” said Catherine, patting her daughter’s hand.
“And your journey was smooth?”
“It passed very well,” Mary replied prettily, “although not quickly enough.”
“Forgive me for this intrusion into your happiness,” the bishop continued, looking towards Catherine with concern. “I have justcome from witnessing an unexpected event and wished to be the first to inform you about what has occurred.”
His words drew the attention of all those in the room. Thomasin saw the queen’s face sink, her brief moment of happiness already threatened.
“An event in the palace?” Catherine asked, sitting back in her chair. “Why, what has happened now?”
Her tone implied a weariness at the world: she was a survivor of the long line of events that had destroyed her hopes, frayed her nerves, and preyed upon her weaknesses.
“I am sorry, my lady, but I was just arriving by road when I saw a gathering in the main chamber on the king’s side. There were dozens of people, some lords and prelates, others drawn in from the streets, and the king addressed them all. He spoke about your … situation.”
The queen gave a visible shudder. “Maria, take my daughter into my bedchamber, and let her see my jewels.”
“But, Mother,” Mary protested.
Lady Willoughby rose at once, holding out her hand to Mary, who reluctantly took it.
“Go, child, we shall not be long.”
Fisher waited until the door closed behind them.
“To what end?” Catherine asked, her voice focused now. “To what end did he speak, before these assembled strangers?”
“He sang your praises first, my lady, I cannot deny him that. He praised you as the most noble, virtuous, loving and comforting woman born of noble blood.”
