Thomasin closed her eyes, but could not shake off the feeling of foreboding that was creeping into her mind.
FIVE
“The green dress, and the black with the tawny sleeves, but not the pink. It is too bright; I will leave it for summer when we return.”
Thomasin’s clothes were spread out across the bed as she instructed Nell what to pack in the trunk. Already it was filling up with petticoats, kirtles and nightwear. Thomasin was planning for a two-week stay, including the journey and time in Chelsea. Her letter to More had been warmly received, and a return missive issued an immediate invitation, welcoming them as guests to his home, with a promise that Margaret would leave her home at Eltham for a while to be with them, too.
“How about this dark blue? In case the weather is chilly.”
Nell pulled out a rich velvet dress, seemingly plain, but made with luxurious folds, which Catherine of Aragon herself had gifted to Thomasin during her time in her service.
Thomasin eyed it, the memories flooding back. She recalled a bright spring morning in the gardens at Windsor Castle, walking with Ellen and the queen, looking for the first flowers to open their buds.
“Yes, a London dress for a London visit. The weather is often unpredictable. Pack it up with some lavender, though, as it hasn’t been aired in a while.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Then I think just the tawny one, for the Chelsea visit, and that should suffice. And the brown shoes, and silk slippers for indoor use.”
“Will you take your amber beads, my lady? They suit the tawny so well.”
Last Christmas, Giles had given Thomasin a string of beads made with amber from the Suffolk coast, long enough to wind twice about her neck.
“Excellent idea, Nell. After that, go along and see if you can help Mademoiselle Lettice make more suitable choices.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Nell was to remain in Green Hollow when they departed, as her mother in the village was ailing.
Thomasin turned to the window. Her bedroom overlooked the front of the house, down the long lawn to the side of the driveway. She could see the top of the little chapel beside the gate, and the road leading up to it. As she watched now, a figure in grey passed behind the posts and disappeared out of sight behind the wall. Although she was at a distance, something told Thomasin that this was the girl Mariot Gull, the daughter of the village carpenter she had spoken with the other day. Although Thomasin waited, Mariot did not reappear on the other side of the wall, so she must have entered the chapel again. A sudden thought seized Thomasin. She grabbed her coat, called to Nell that she was taking a walk, and hurried downstairs and out of the house into the park.
It was a cooler day. The grass was fresh from recent rain, and the whole scene was starting to sprout green with new life. Soon, May would bring that flourish when the hedgerows sprang up, the roses bloomed and leaves opened on the trees.
Thomasin was soon at the chapel door, pausing for a moment before pushing it open. She had been right; it was Mariot, but this time the girl was hunched in the corner, weeping, one arm flung over her eyes. She gasped when she saw Thomasin enter and turned as if to leave.
“Mariot, please stay! I saw you from the house and came down to speak with you.”
The girl gulped down her tears, barely able to form words.
“What is it? Has something happened? Is it the marriage?”
She nodded, wet-eyed.
“Calm yourself. You can speak of it to me without fear. Breathe deeply.”
Thomasin turned away and picked at a few dead leaves on the altar flowers, to allow Mariot time to gather herself. She was a pretty girl, mature-looking for her age: Thomasin could see why her father was trying to arrange a match for her, but it was a tragedy for a girl like this, so full of life, to be tied to a man she had no liking for. It could only lead to unhappiness on both sides.
“I tried,” she began, falteringly. “I tried to speak with Father.”
“And what did he say?”
“That it was an honour to marry. He says, what else am I going to do in this village? He couldn’t provide for me anymore, not with trade being poor and the cost of wood increasing. He says butchering is a steady trade and will always keep a roof over my head.”
“I see.”
“I cannot marry Jeremy Gates. I will not. I would rather throw myself in the river!”
“Come now, let’s have no more talk like that. Your father says this because he does truly want what’s best for you. He’s trying to provide you with a future after he is gone, and he chooses this because he can’t see any other way.”
