“A shame, a lovely house like that, so close to court. Don’t you miss court?”
There were many answers Thomasin might have given here, but she chose to be careful. “I do love the country. I feel quite at home there.”
“But it is so quiet, isn’t it? As you know, I have a great love for Hever myself, but it turns out all my family are in London, so I can either be there all alone, or here with them. You’ve heard about my Anne? Queen, she is now. Queen!”
“Yes,” said Thomasin, “I heard.”
“And poor Catherine gone, although I am not permitted to say so. I know we understand each other, Thomasin. We always did, I think.”
Thomasin drank from her wine glass to avoid answering.
“But even so, here I am, all alone. My family are always busy, you know. Preparations to make. I just get in the way.”
“Oh, I am sure that is not the case.”
“Sometimes I get Jane for company, but she is indisposed today; she’s often indisposed. I was so glad when my lord told me he had seen you back in London. I hope you don’t mind me writing to you like that, asking you to visit.”
“Of course not.”
“When you get to my age, you have to reach out for the things you want.”
“You are not so old, surely.”
“I just had my birthday. Fifty-three. It is a good age; many don’t reach it. I should be thankful to have seen all I have seen. My own daughter, queen!”
“And how is your other daughter?”
“Mary? Busy, of course. She goes everywhere with her sister, but they are sharp with each other. They quarrel too much; they should be kinder. How little they understand that life is frail and passes swiftly.”
Thomasin could not help but wonder whether Mary’s past relationship with the king played any part in the sisters’ arguments. As she remembered, both sisters had sharp tongues; it seemed time and good fortune had not softened them.
“And how is your husband?” asked her hostess. “He accompanied you from Suffolk?”
“Yes, Giles is well. He is at Monk’s Place, and my younger sister Lettice is with us too. It is her first trip to London; she is fourteen and very excited.”
“Oh, to be fourteen again. We had already sent Anne away by then — to the Netherlands, then to France. Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing. She came back quite changed, so French, so many elegant airs and ways about her. That’s what drew him, I think.” She was speaking of the king.
“And she is to have a child soon?” asked Thomasin.
“A boy, of course, so they all say. Due in September. And then it will be done. Complete. Marry the king; bear a son. That’s all I’ve heard for the past few years.”
Thomasin concealed her smile.
“Will you go to the coronation? It is ten days away. The preparations have all been made; it’s just the final touches now.”
“Oh, no, we will be back in Suffolk by then.”
“You don’t want to go?”
An awkward silence fell between them.
“It’s not so much that,” Thomasin lied. “It’s the crowds. The noise. I promised Mother I’d be back soon; she is deeply affected by her loss.”
“Of course.” The old woman eyed her shrewdly. “And you served Catherine, did you not? I feel your loyalties still lie there. Others are staying away too. I heard Thomas More will not attend, even though he was commissioned to write verses for it.”
Thomasin’s ears pricked up at her friend’s name. “More? I hope to see him soon.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath. He is no longer at court. He resigned as Lord Chancellor. He and Henry no longer talk the way they used to. He’s opposed to the marriage, of course.”
