“I have much on my mind.”
“I am sure that you do. If there is anything I can do to assist you or your family, please let me know at once. I will do all I can for you.”
Thomasin was silent. His words went beyond what was required, what was expected, and made her feel uncomfortable. She had welcomed his help, but something about his promises struck a strange chord with her.
Soon they approached Bridewell, with the boat drawing close to the steps. Giles jumped out and offered her his hand.
“Thank you, I can walk by myself.”
His blue-green eyes were baffled for a moment. “Have I somehow offended you, Thomasin?”
At once she felt guilty. “No, no, I just wish to walk unaided.”
They passed along the landing stage and in through the side gate where she had seen Rafe earlier. As afternoon becameevening, the light was beginning to deepen in its warmth, with hints of the night ahead.
“Forgive me, whatever it is,” he continued, following her. “I would not have upset you for the world. But only tell me what is wrong, so I may correct it.”
“Please, stop! It’s too much.”
“Too much?”
“All of this. I am grateful for your help, and I know we are family, but sometimes it feels … I don’t know, too much.”
His face changed as he grasped her meaning. “Surely you know why, Thomasin. Surely you must have guessed?”
But a wall rose up within her. The memory of Rafe’s bad behaviour lingered.
“I must get to the queen.”
“You must know, Thomasin?”
“No! Stop! I am expected back!”
She hurried away from him towards the doors and out of sight, her heart pounding.
NINETEEN
Thomasin smoothed down her dress and approached the main court doors. Catherine and the rest of her ladies were removing to Baynard’s that morning, but she was to remain and listen to the evidence given by the king. It was not a task she relished, given that Cromwell would be present, and the matter distasteful, but she had faithfully promised the queen that she would report back all the details. If she was to join her father in the Tower for supporting Catherine, then so be it.
Bishop Fisher was waiting for Thomasin inside. “Come and sit with me, today.”
He led her to the seats at the side, where Clerk was also seated. She noticed a number of new faces in the chamber that morning, no doubt the legal experts the king had consulted on the final details of his divorce. Henry himself was sitting at the front, in the same place he had occupied the day before, looking out at the arrivals with an air of expectation. At his side, Cromwell was gathering his papers, preoccupied for a moment. Thomasin allowed herself to shoot him a look of pure venom while his head was bowed.
“I saw Father yesterday,” she told Fisher. “He is in fairly good spirits still, and Sir William is taking good care of him, but his eyes are strained.”
“I am sorry to hear that. He has a good keeper in Sir William, although it should never have come to this.”
“He hopes to be released once the court has reached its decision, but there is the question of his letters.”
“Letters?”
“To the Abbot of Guisnes, an old friend.”
“John? I know him well. We have also corresponded. What is the problem with these letters?”
“Cromwell has them; they were taken from my uncle’s house. Father may have written in favour of the queen’s cause — he has copies — and the abbot has replied in a similar tone. I’ve not seen them myself.”
Fisher looked at Cromwell, who was taking a paper forward to show the king. “He will use anything he can to punish your father for not following his instruction.”
