The family were already assembled in the dining room as Thomasin crept through the door with Rafe behind her. Although it was almost summer, a low fire was burning in the grate, set within the large, carved fireplace. Due to his advancing age, her uncle, Sir Matthew Russell, often felt the cold in his bones at night, in this old monastic-style house with its thick stone walls. He was leaning against the mantel, his short hair and beard almost completely white now, but the jolly look he used to wear was gone. Since the death of his son, Barnaby, he had aged more quickly. Having his daughter-in-law, Ellen, in the house was something of a consolation.
Beside Sir Matthew, on the other side of the hearth, stood Thomasin’s father. Sir Richard Marwood was tall and lean, but as with Sir Matthew, recent cares had etched lines about his grey eyes. He had elected to spend most of his life in the country, returning only occasionally to court, happiest when he was riding through Suffolk with his dogs yapping at his heels. To his right, in a carved chair, sat Lady Elizabeth Marwood, whose pale beauty seemed more exaggerated with every passing year. Her fair hair, once the colour of butter, was streaked through with white but her water-blue eyes missed very little. For many years, there had been distance between Thomasin and her mother; she had always favoured her elder daughter, Cecilia, who had inherited her ice-blonde looks, but recent troubles had brought them closer.
“Here they are,” said Ellen, appearing from the corner. “Now we can be seated.”
“Ah, Mr Danvers,” said Sir Richard, looking up in recognition, “I am pleased that you were able to join us this evening. I trust it was not too difficult for you to obtain leave?”
“Not at all, thank you,” Rafe replied. “My master was most accommodating. It is a great pleasure to accept your kind invitation.”
“You are looking most handsome tonight, Mr Danvers,” said Lady Elizabeth, rising slowly to her feet. Her old heart trouble still left her weakened on occasion. She had had plenty of rest since the Marwood parents’ arrival in London three days before, and though her movements were slow, her glance, and her tongue, were as sharp as anything. “Come, sit by me.”
Thomasin took the seat on the other side of Rafe, with Ellen opposite, along with the two older men.
“How fares the king?” asked Sir Richard. “Is he hale and hearty? You are the most recent of us to have seen him.”
“Hale and hearty, I believe, as he always is,” Rafe replied cautiously, “but he loves not this situation, and is consumed with the arguments he must present to the court.”
Servants entered, bringing dishes of steaming meat dressed in herbs, wine and thick cream sauces. A pie with a golden crust, decorated with the Russell coat of arms was placed before Thomasin, while Rafe was presented with a platter of stuffed larks in honey.
Sir Richard waited until the door was closed again. They all knew that Rafe was speaking of the impending Papal Court, which was to open at the end of the month, to investigate the validity of the king’s marriage. “I do not doubt it. It is an unenviable situation for any man to find himself in, let alone a king. Is he prepared?”
“I believe so, my lord — as prepared as he can ever be for such a battle. He has a team of lawyers at his disposal, as well as the university rulings from across Europe, the bishops and some of the leading authorities in the land.”
“And the queen?” asked Lady Elizabeth, recalling the woman she used to serve in her younger days. “Who will be speaking for her?”
“She will not go undefended,” Rafe assured her. “You need have no fear on that account. She has a strong team led by Bishop Fisher, although the two lawyers that were to have come from Flanders never arrived, as the emperor advised them it was not safe.”
“Her own nephew advised that?”
“Her own nephew, yes, but he is also Henry’s fellow king. The queen will speak for herself too, won’t she, Thomasin?”
Beside Rafe, Thomasin nodded. Over the past weeks, she and Ellen had observed her mistress preparing herself for the coming ordeal by reading scripture, meeting her councillors and burying her head in prayer. Queen of England for the past twenty years, Catherine had no doubt that she had right on her side, but she was wise enough to know how men could twist even the word of God in order to suit their purposes. It was to be the fight of their lives, and no one was sure how things would look afterwards.
Yet although Thomasin would be standing by Catherine’s side soon enough, tonight she wished they could move off this sombre topic.
“She will speak from her heart and soul. She has a clear conscience in this matter. What will be will be.”
“Pray God deliver her the true verdict, amen!” added her mother, crossing herself elaborately with a jewelled hand.
“I have been summoned by Lord Cromwell to attend,” said Sir Richard, his face betraying his dislike of the situation. “No matter how many times I have tried to evade him, or offered my doubts, he is not a man to be refused.”
“So will you speak for the king’s defence?” asked Rafe.
“Not if I can help it. Once I have sworn my oath to speak the truth, I will do nothing but that, no matter how much Cromwell dislikes it.”
Thomasin recalled the unpleasant, porcine man she had encountered several times at court. He was in attendance upon Cardinal Wolsey, but his ruthlessness was entirely his own. He had been a constant figure in the background, trying to convince her father to use his considerable legal experience to the king’s advantage, even though the Marwoods had long been devoted friends to the queen, having served her in former days.
“If only it could be concluded swiftly,” added Ellen. “Whatever the outcome, this matter has dragged on long enough, and taken a toll on the poor queen’s health.”
“Let’s drink to that,” agreed Sir Matthew, raising his glass. “Good health and happiness to Her Majesty. May she find peace again.”
“May she find peace,” Thomasin added, wondering if this was the right time for Rafe to speak up. As they lowered their glasses, she turned towards him, but he was reaching for the dish to his right.
“My Lady Marwood, might I offer you some of this fine venison?”
“Oh, you are kindness itself,” Thomasin’s mother replied, beaming. “Just a little then, as you ask so nicely.”
Ellen caught Thomasin’s eye. It was gratifying to see Rafe making an effort, and the warm response it elicited. And sitting there, at table with her family, with night falling outside and the fire crackling in the grate, Thomasin could picture it all. A few years down the line, she and Rafe could be happily married, an infant or two asleep upstairs. After waiting so long, the vision seemed so real that she could almost reach out and touch it.
