Catherine moved as if she was made of lead. As if she was dragging her soul with her, pulling heavy chains that none could see. Her ladies followed, Thomasin among them, as she moved towards the main doors, not looking behind her as voices called after her. Was the queen unwell?
She headed up the stairs, one by one, climbing slowly. Halfway up, she paused and cast her eyes up to the sky, murmuring to herself although her words were incomprehensible. Thomasin and Ellen exchanged an anxious glance. At the top, Catherine did not turn towards her apartments, as Thomasin thought she would, but headed the other way along the passage into her closet above the chapel.
There, Catherine knelt, leaving her daughter and ladies to do the same behind her.
It was cold. No one had been expected in the chapel at that hour. There were no fires lit, and the contrast from the great hall was immediate, with its torches, dancing and the feast that was about to be laid. Thomasin’s stomach rumbled at the thought of it.
“We pray,” said Catherine, “for the soul of the King of England, my husband, the true and rightful heir of this realm, anointed in God’s eyes, for the benefit of his subjects, for the peace and prosperity of his realm. It grieves me sorely —” she broke into a sob — “and fills my heart and soul with fear, to see how he has been tempted, and has so easily succumbed, to heresy and lewdness. Guide him, Father, rid him of these evil influences. Return him to his true faith, his true calling, and to the sideof his loyal wife. Protect his precious soul, bring him to see the error of his ways and return him to his people.”
She focused her eyes on the gold cross standing upon the altar.
“He is your subject, Father, as am I. But he is no mere mortal man, and with his destiny he carries the fate of the people of this realm. We have served you long and loyally, with profound faith and belief. Lead him through this temptation, that his people suffer not. Remind him of his promises, his duty, of what he owes to your sacrifices, Father. And —” her eyes narrowed — “preserve him from the influences of those who are about the devil’s work, who spread the word of heresy in this realm. Vanquish them, O Lord, break them, destroy them, utterly and entirely, that your faithful sheep may live in peace, unmolested by the wolves.”
Thomasin could not stop the vulpine features of Viscount Boleyn from appearing before her eyes.
After what seemed like an eternity, Catherine rose to her feet. Thomasin’s fingers and toes were numb, and her legs protested as she tried to stand.
“We will depart in the morning for Windsor. I will not remain another day under this roof where such heresies are encouraged.” She turned to look at her daughter, taking Princess Mary’s white, shivering hand in hers. “This is our battle, our personal crusade, to fight within the true faith. Your father is in danger, and only we can save his soul.”
And at that moment, the chapel bell above them tolled to mark the hour, as if it had heard her and was in agreement.
Princess Mary nodded, swallowing her fate. “Yes, Mother. We must always fight to preserve the true faith.” She squeezed the queen’s hand. “Don’t fear. We will save Father. Between us, and God, we will save him from her.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
A robin flew down to perch on the outer gate. He ruffled his feathers against the cold and looked down into the courtyard with his beady eye. There was much to see. Carriages were being loaded with chests and crates, horses tied into shafts. Servants hurried to and fro across the cobbles. Dozens of chimneys pumped smoke into the white sky, filling it with the scents of birchwood and bread.
Thomasin pulled her shawl around her shoulders. The snow had almost melted away entirely, with a few drifts lying in the shadows of the park, but there was still a nip in the air.
Beside her, her father was overseeing the boxes being strapped onto the top of their carriage. Servants nimbly threw ropes over the top, pulling them tight and tying them into intricate knots.
“We will spend Twelfth Night at Monks’ House, with Matthew, then return to Suffolk and await news. I have been summoned to give my legal opinion at the Cardinals’ Court.”
“Do you think it will be long?”
“It might be. It is a job I do not relish, with Cromwell breathing down my neck to make me side with the king. I can only give my honest opinion, which is that the king and queen’s marriage was dispensated for back in 1509. I was there at the time!”
Thomasin put her hand on his arm. “You will do what is right, Father, what is in your conscience. That is all they can ask of you.”
Sir Richard gave a wan smile. “I hope so, even if my conscience conflicts with the king’s wishes.”
“But we serve a higher king, who sees all,” Thomasin replied, recalling Princess Mary’s words in the chapel.
“That we do.”
A commotion from the doorway behind interrupted their thoughts. Thomasin’s mother, with her arm firmly laced through Cecilia’s, was navigating the steps and the stubborn reluctance of her daughter.
“Cecilia is not happy at this new plan, is she?” asked Thomasin, with more pity for her parents than her elder sister.
“I am a married woman and should be allowed to return to my own home!” Cecilia protested, drawn out into the yard against her wishes.
“You will spend some time with us, in the country, until Sir Hugh returns,” insisted Sir Richard. “Otherwise you are rattling round in that big house all alone, without company or guidance.”
“I have company and guidance enough.”
He shook his head. “It is final. I have written to Sir Hugh and informed him of our plan.”
Cecilia’s pale eyes opened wide in terror. “You didn’t tell him…”
