“Yes, yes, she said she would. Let me go inside and see what is keeping her.”
Thomasin turned to Ellen, who waited at her side, dressed in a new summer cloak of forest green with a silver trim. She had always loved clothes, picking out coloured ribbons and engraved buttons, but now her wealth allowed her to wear good-quality fabrics, sewn by the court dressmakers. Her dark eyes were bright this morning, lighting up her face. Ellen always appeared lovely, thought Thomasin, because the goodness of her heart shone through.
“You are looking well this morning, cousin.”
Ellen smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “I made the decision to forget what happened here the other night. It is none of my business. I shall think no more of it.”
Thomasin squeezed her arm. “That is a bold and brave decision. It suits you well, and soon we shall be too busy to think of anything else.”
“I do hope we find the queen in good spirits.”
“We can only serve her the best we can, and try to ease her pains.”
Sir Matthew’s two dogs came rushing out of the house, giving small, excited yelps at the sight of the women waiting before the carriage.
“Ceasar! Brutus!” Sir Matthew came striding out after them, calling the pair back to his side. He looked up at Thomasin and Ellen. “So, you’re off?”
“Thank you again,” said Thomasin, “for being such a generous uncle, even when circumstances make it difficult.”
Sir Matthew gave them a small smile. “We are family. We share our troubles. My home is always open to you both. Just make sure you behave yourselves at court!”
“We always do,” said Ellen, smiling.
“I know,” he replied. “We can count on you two, at least.”
Sir Richard appeared in the doorway with Lady Elizabeth on his arm. This morning, she was dressed in her favourite combination of blue and silver, with pearls at her throat and across the band of her headdress. The morning light made her look very pale.
“I am glad I did not miss you. Come, let me kiss you.”
Surprised, Thomasin went towards her mother’s outstretched arms. Lady Elizabeth clasped her tight and kissed her cheek, while Thomasin inhaled her mother’s scent: lavender and cedarwood.
“I am very proud of you,” Lady Elizabeth whispered unexpectedly in her daughter’s ear before she let her go.
Thomasin felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She could not recall her mother saying such a thing to her before, in what had always been a slightly combative relationship. Now it seemed that Cecilia’s disgrace had opened her eyes to Thomasin’s true value.
“Right, into the carriage,” urged Sir Richard. “You cannot keep the queen waiting.”
Ellen climbed in first and Thomasin followed, rearranging the folds of her own silk skirt so they would not be creased.
Sir Richard closed the carriage door and stepped up to the window. “I wish I had some words of wisdom for you, girls,” he said, with a sombre expression. “I know you will do all you can to lift the queen’s spirits, but I fear the coming weeks will be tough. But listen, pay no heed to rumours you may hear about the court, to stories about the past or accusations the king’s counsel might make. They will try all means possible to discredit Her Majesty, but you must see them for what they are: the weapons of war.”
Thomasin nodded.
Sir Richard lowered his voice. “And give no ear to those who might approach you, asking for private details of the queen’s habits and functions, such as when she had her last courses. They will try to flatter or coax you, or even bribe you for details. Speak to no one.”
Ellen’s eyes opened wide in wonder.
“No,” said Thomasin, “we will keep our counsel and share none of the queen’s secrets.”
“Not even to those who profess their friendship.”
“Not even to them.”
“Then God speed, and I will see you again soon. We shall dine together at Bridewell before long.”
He nodded to the coachman and the wheels started to turn on the cobbles. Thomasin turned to wave back at the three figures in the doorway of Monk’s Place, wondering when they would all be together again.
It was a short ride, along the length of Thames Street, to the house of the Blackfriars, across the river Fleet, through the city wall and into Bridewell Palace. Thomasin and Ellen might have walked, but it was the way of the court to shield its ladies in carriages, rather than have them rub shoulders with those in the street. Thomasin appreciated the protection it offered as they trundled past busy shop fronts, pedlars crying wares, wary-looking sailors, foreigners, stray sheep, dogs and children running amok. Soon they pulled into the outer courtyard and came to a halt.
