“No, Viscount, I did not.”
“It was all that I could do to prevent my daughters, both of them, coming here in anger. She will leave here first thing in the morning.”
“Weather permitting,” said Lady Elizabeth in a small voice, “for she is catching a chill…”
“First thing in the morning,” Thomas Boleyn repeated, with a stern look, before leaving the room.
Cecilia sat soberly, her gold dress shimmering in the candlelight.
“Come,” said her mother, leading Cecilia away. “I have a gown that will fit. Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
“Thomasin, you must return to the queen,” said Sir Richard. “She will be preparing for supper soon. Your mother and I will stay quietly up here tonight. I shall send word to the kitchen for a tray; it is best that we stay out of the way until the tournament tomorrow. Hopefully we can slip back among the crowds unnoticed.”
Thomasin pressed his hand. “I am truly sorry for this upset. I am sure it will have blown over by the morning.”
He nodded. “We seem to have had more than our share of upset since coming to court.”
She could not deny this. “I will try and return later tonight, to see that all is well.”
“Thank you, Thomasin. You are a good girl.”
Thomasin closed the door behind her. Her parents’ chamber was located on the opposite side of the palace to the queen’s. Her uncle was accommodated here too, along with other guests, some of whom were now leaving the hall and starting to seek their beds.
She headed along the corridor, past closed doors, trying to remember her bearings. It seemed familiar, yet also strange, as if she had been here before in a dream. This window, the angle of this wall. Suddenly she realised it was here, behind one of these doors, that she had lain ill in the summer, the days rolling into one as she fought the sweat. It gave her pause to think, again. How frail, how short life was.
Ahead, she was faced with a choice: left or right, and although she was had a suspicion that the stairs lay to the left, some impulse urged her to turn opposite, to explore further, and perhaps to recapture memories.
She passed through a well-furnished space, with heavy curtains and portraits, torches and soft matting under foot. If this was the place she had been in the summer, it had been dressed and improved for the winter season. And she recalled how the court had fled at the first sign of illness, taking everything with them, leaving her alone save for Ellen. A flash of indignation passed through her.
Two guards stood on duty at the far end, suggesting the presence of important guests. She quickly adjusted her mood, shifting her mask. It was likely that the Suffolks and Norfolks were housed here, and others of similar standing, and she must play the necessary role.
On the left, a door stood half open. Thomasin slowed her pace enough to gain a glimpse inside as she passed. Flashes of colour: a window, a bed, a fire. She was surprised to see the young man with chestnut hair who had performed in the masque; what was his name? George Zouche, Rafe had said. He was perched on a stool, his head bent over a book. A single candle burned beside him.
Thomasin narrowed her eyes. What was the book he was reading so earnestly, turning the pages as if to glean its substance as quickly as he could? So far as she could see, the rest of the chamber was empty, but a red dress was thrown over the bed. Could this be a Boleyn room? Even Anne’s chamber?
She was aware that she had paused and was staring. Zouche was looking up, straight at her. With her heart beating faster, she found her feet and hurried away. At the corridor’s end, she nodded to the guards, who turned to her with suspicion.
“I must have taken the wrong turn. I was seeking the staircase.”
“Straight back and down,” said one, nodding back the way she had come.
“Thank you.”
She was about to return, when she paused, with the sense that these guards, like herself, were on the outside. They were not the lords and ladies, dancing and feasting, but were employed here, about their tasks, often for long hours, waiting in the cold.
“I’m from the queen’s household. Might I bring you anything to ease your waiting, or pass the time?”
They looked surprised, unused to such attention. But the older one spoke. “You are kind, Miss, but we are under instructions not to accept anything.”
“No, of course, my apologies. I suppose these are important guests here, and you cannot risk it.”
“That’s right. Boleyns and Norfolks down here.”
“Of course. Well, I hope your time passes swiftly. Good evening to you.”
“And you, Miss.”
Thomasin passed the Boleyn chamber a second time, but the door had already been closed, and the little scene inside was once again secret. Finding the staircase, which she had not lost, and making her way back to help dress the queen, she had her suspicions about what George Zouche had been hiding.
