“I hope so.”
“I had better get back to your mother now. You know how she grumbles.”
“Oh, wait.” Thomasin remembered she had gathered a little packet of cloves and hurried back into the great chamber to collect them from the chest. She brought them out and laid the small bundle in her father’s hand. “The queen was happy to spare these for Mother’s sake.”
Sir Richard pocketed them. “She will be most grateful. Now, I will be off.”
He strode towards the door, when a thought flickered through Thomasin’s mind.
“Father, one thing before you depart, I pray you. Have you seen the Boleyns at court? I do not know where Rafe is staying.”
“I hear they are at Durham House, and will remain there for the duration of the court, although I believe Mary is to take Lady Boleyn back to Hever shortly. Anne, her father and brother will remain. I imagine that is where Rafe is. I am sure he will get word to you soon.”
Thomasin put on a wan smile. “Yes, I am sure.”
In that case, what had Rafe been doing here at court last night? She shuddered to think he had come especially to seek her out, only to be faced with her laughing together with Giles.
“Farewell for now.” Sir Richard leaned across to kiss his daughter’s cheek. “Have I told you recently just how very proud your mother and I are of you, Thomasin? So very proud.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she waved him goodbye. His kind words, and Rafe’s outburst, suddenly made her feel emotional.
“What is it?” asked Ellen, who had entered the chamber upon hearing the outer doors close.
“Only my foolishness,” Thomasin replied, wiping away her tears. “Does the queen need us yet?”
“Yes, she wants to attend chapel, so we must put on her cloak and change her headdress.”
“Very well.”
Thomasin followed Ellen, knowing from experience that the best way to forget her troubles was by serving another.
The church of St Bride was quiet, as if had been cleared especially for the queen. Bright sheafs of country flowers, brought from the fields outside the city walls, brightened the place and candles burned on the altar and in niches at the side.
The train of women followed the queen down the aisle towards the front of the church, where Cuthbert Tunstall, Bishop of London, awaited them. Thomasin dropped to her knees, close beside the rippling dark edge of Catherine’s cloak, and copied the actions of her mistress, clasping her hands together in prayer.
“Bless you and welcome you, my child,” he began, “on this and every day granted to us by God’s mercy.”
Catherine raised her eyes to the splendid stained-glass window behind his head, where the light streamed through, brightening the halo of the infant Jesus. At times like this, thought Thomasin, it was quite possible to believe in God’s mercy. But what if the court did not find in the queen’s favour? What would that do to Catherine’s faith? Her belief in her nephew had been shaken. She had lost her husband. Through the dim, filtered light of the church, it looked as if the queen’s thin shoulders were shaking. She was trembling, despite the weight of her cloak, trembling before God, fearful of her fate.
At that moment, Thomasin knew that her place was at the queen’s side. She would go to Chelsea another time. Right now, Catherine needed all her friends around her.
NINE
Catherine wielded the piece of paper, standing before the hearth in regal purple and white.
“Alive!” she cried. “The Pope is not dead, he is alive and well! Confound these infernal rumours. What absolute nonsense.”
“He is alive?” echoed Maria.
“I have it here, by my messenger, who saw him in Rome just four days earlier. He has recovered from his illness, God be praised. The court may continue.”
Thomasin shot Ellen a look, partly of relief, partly of disappointment that her duties must resume.
“Call my supporters!” demanded Catherine. “Call them all here — Fisher, Clerk, Tunstall, Warham, More, Dudley, West, Standish, Shorter. All whom I can trust to speak for me. Summon them here this afternoon and let no others be admitted.”
A few days had passed since the opening of the Papal Court. With her father at Chelsea, and no sign of Rafe, Thomasin had whiled away the time in service to her queen, helping her in and out of her heavy dresses, lacing her undergarments, draping her with jewels and pinning her headdresses in place. The hours had passed in prayer, reading from the lives of saints, embroidery and cards, until the women in the queen’s chamber began to wonder whether the outside world still existed.
Thomasin and Ellen had made a game of spotting people from the window: the occasional stable boy, or a maid carrying wood. But the court felt very quiet, despite the presence of many important people under its roof.
