“Cousin, this is Sir Henry Letchmere from Kent. He came with Sir Giles.”
Thomasin dropped a curtsey. “Very pleased to meet you, my lord.”
“And I likewise. Please call me Harry.” He rose and gave a short bow. He stood at about her height in grey and silver, and there was a pleasant air about him.
“Your cousin was speaking of you just a moment ago, anticipating your return.”
“You were in court?” asked Ellen.
“Yes, I have given my report to the queen.” Thomasin shot her cousin a look: she was not prepared to speak about this matter before a stranger.
“It is pleasant to be at court,” said Harry, as if understanding her reluctance. “I have just returned after a long absence, and I forgot how good it is to be among merry people.”
“Unfortunately, we are not as merry as we have been,” Thomasin could not resist saying. “Great cares hang upon the king and queen, as you must have heard.”
“News reached us even in Calais,” confirmed Harry, “although we are not as close to the heart of things as you are here.”
“In Calais?” asked Ellen. “What was your business there?”
“I was placed as a child in the household of Lord Berners, so I accompanied him when he became lieutenant of that city, serving with him on the Council.”
“What is it like there?”
“Very much like England in many ways, but in others, very different. It is hard to explain; it has its own unique atmosphere, with the Channel on one side and France on the other.”
“Were you not always afraid that the French would invade?”
“We worked hard to maintain good relations with our French neighbours, counting some of them as friends.”
“I should like to see the place one day,” said Ellen, “if I dared set foot aboard a ship. I am not sure how I would like to sail.”
“Everyone did it for the first time once,” Harry said with a smile, his eyes crinkling. “If you embark upon a fair tide, with the wind behind you, you will sail across and barely feel it.”
“Come now,” said Giles, striding up to them. “Catherine is going to talk me through the steps of the Almain. Do any of you know it?”
“Now that’s something that didn’t cross the Channel,” admitted Harry.
“Are you so sure?” Giles laughed. “The north sea, perhaps, then. It is German, is it not? Allemagne?”
“A German dance!” exclaimed Harry. “Surely there is at least an Italian one instead? I’m not sure I’m heavy-footed enough for a Protestant dance.”
“Thomasin, do you know it?” asked Giles.
The Almain was a dance Thomasin had learned during her time at court, but she was not really in the mood to join in.
“I recall it vaguely. I will direct you if I see you taking the wrong steps.”
“You will not join us? It would be better if you were by our side to guide us.” His blue-green eyes sent out a silent appeal.
“Go on, Thomasin,” urged Ellen. “You must help them if you can, or else they will be all a-muddle instead of Almain.”
Thomasin winced at her cousin’s painful play on words. “Very well, but it is only to escape from your poor attempt at puns that I agree.”
She joined Catherine Willoughby in the centre of the room as the musicians struck up their opening chord.
“Thomasin!” said the child. “You must follow me!” And she started her pattern of steps.
Laughing, Thomasin did her best to keep up, although little Catherine was so fast and nimble, twirling about and jumping like a hare. Opposite them, Giles did his best to partner her actions, but she left him behind, too.
