“Thomasin Marwood,” Jane greeted at once, having not seen her friend for a long time, on account of her latest pregnancy.
“You stay,” whispered Ellen. “I’m going in.”
Thomasin watched her slip into the hall, no doubt looking for Lord Letchmere, and turned back to Jane. Her friend was looking well, in a new gown of green and cloth of silver, although she was pinched about the eyes from lack of sleep. By the time Thomasin had finished hearing about Jane’s lying-in, and the baby’s little habits, Ellen had disappeared amid the crowd.
“Are you coming to dance?” Thomasin asked.
“No, I’m afraid we’re just leaving,” explained John. “Our carriage is waiting. But while you are here, have you heard my news? My stepfather Lord Lisle is to be married, here in the palace next month. I fear the king will favour Anne and her family in attending, so that the queen will not be informed of it, but I should like you to come.”
“How lovely to have a wedding to celebrate,” Thomasin replied, smiling. “Who is the bride to be?”
“Lady Honor Grenville, a young widow from the West Country, although her father served at court in the days of the old king. She is quite a fascinating woman.”
“I should be delighted to come, and to make Honor’s acquaintance. Thank you for asking me.”
John nodded, then paused and looked around to see whether they were being observed. “And, Thomasin, I should not say this, but I heard it whispered today that Cromwell will try and bar you from the trial, as you are the queen’s eyes and ears.”
“Bar me?”
“He intends to find some pretext to expel you from the court, so give him no cause. Do not let him intimidate you. He wants to control the means by which Catherine is informed of proceedings.”
The shock of this news took hold of her. She had not realised that Cromwell had even registered her presence.
“Thank you, John. I do appreciate your warning.”
“Take care, Thomasin. I hope we will meet again soon. God bless you.”
Then he offered Jane his arm and they disappeared into the night. Thomasin stood for a moment, still trying to compose herself. But she was determined that Cromwell should not get the better of her, and now, thanks to John, she was forearmed.
As soon as Thomasin stepped through the doors, the music and bustle chased away all her other thoughts. In their gallery high above the crowd, the musicians were halfway through a lively tune and couples dressed in bright colours were following a complicated pattern of steps that saw them fall into lines, form circles with their hands joined in the centre, then fall back into smaller groups. There was no sign of Ellen, but Thomasin did spot a few familiar faces, as the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk had taken the lead, with their group of friends around them. George Boleyn whirled past her, followed by Francis Bryan, George Zouche and one or two others Thomasin had known before. She turned away in distaste at the sight of William Hatton, her sister’s former lover, laughing heartily as he conversed with some of Anne’s women.
Thomasin headed to a space at the side, from where it was possible to see the whole hall. It was then that she spotted the king, not dancing, but seated on a chair on the dais, under the royal canopy. Perched on a stool drawn up to his side, Anne was leaning into Henry, whispering something in his ear that made him roar with laughter. Thomasin turned away.
Across the heads of the dancers, Ellen was speaking with Lord Letchmere, a smile on her face the like of which Thomasin had not seen in many months. Not since before the debacle of Cecilia marrying Sir Hugh. She began to wonder again about her sister’s behaviour and what the outcome might be.
“Mistress Marwood, might I have this dance?”
Unexpectedly, Sir Thomas Boleyn was looming over her, his steel-grey eyes bearing down upon her like a hawk examining its prey. The final chords of the tune sounded, and the dancers broke up and regrouped. There was no polite refusal to be found. Without a word, she inclined her head and offered him her hand.
Sir Thomas led her into the centre of the space, as if reclaiming his natural position. The king and Anne also rose to take part, and Ellen stepped forward with Letchmere, making a four with the Suffolks. Mary, Duchess of Suffolk, beautiful but recently frail due to illness, smiled graciously at Thomasin on account of their old acquaintance, yet although she admired the duke, Thomasin could not bring herself to fully forgive him for his role in Cecilia’s marriage. He was newly returned from France, where he had been on the king’s business, and was dressed finely in a doublet of Parisian watered silk.
As the music began, the crowd was jolted into action. A few graceful steps and hand sweeps to the right and left, then a pace forward brought her closer to her partner.
“You are looking well, Thomasin,” he said softly, his voice smooth and deadly. She had never been able to shake the sense of him being vulpine.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“And your family?”
If he was hoping for gossip about Cecilia, he was not going to get it. “Well enough, thank you.”
“Your parents are in London again?”
“For the court.”
He said nothing but gave a curt nod, before the music parted them again.
As Thomasin followed her route, Ellen crossed her path, but her cousin’s eyes were fixed upon the face of her partner and she did not notice. Thomasin turned back, past the duchess, and rejoined Sir Thomas.
