Thomasin bit her lip and resolved to wait and hear More’s side of it. She thought back to the Legatine Court of summer 1529. Two cardinals had sat in judgement on the king’s first marriage, with little resolution, referring the case back to Rome. Little good that small victory had done Catherine — and Thomas Wolsey, the king’s old favourite, who was dead now.
Lady Elizabeth put her hand on Thomasin’s arm. “Sometimes it is wisest to conceal your feelings, square them with your conscience, and survive. I know the marriage is not popular, but it happened regardless and Anne will be crowned.”
“Of course.”
“I am somewhat friendless here, Thomasin, for all my connections. Mother of the queen I might be, but I have no one to tell the secrets of my heart.”
Thomasin began to twitch, sensing that this might be a good time to leave.
“And you?” The old lady’s dark eyes were watering a little. “No children yet?”
She had already asked this once; had she forgotten? Thomasin felt that familiar flush in her stomach whenever the matter wasraised: part shame, part grief, part annoyance. The best answer was a short one.
“No, my lady.”
“But everything is otherwise as it should be?”
Elizabeth Boleyn looked at her pointedly. A hundred answers sprang to Thomasin’s lips: yes, she and Giles were sleeping together regularly; no, there was no physical impediment to speak of, no health difficulty, no lack of desire for each other or for a child, no imbalanced diet, no excessive drinking or dancing or idleness, and no lack of herbs she had tried. She turned her head away.
“Oh, now I have offended you,” said her hostess, taking her hand, although Thomasin wished to snatch it away. “I meant no harm. I meant only to help. There is no point being modest about these things, when speaking plainly can be so beneficial. I have known women in your position. You know how our dear Jane has struggled.”
Thomasin carefully extricated her hand. “I thank you. I am not in any particular position. I am sure that God has everything laid out in his plan and that my time will come.”
“An admirable sentiment. You will not remain cross with an old woman who wishes you well?”
“No,” Thomasin said, sighing. “I am not cross.”
“I wonder,” continued Elizabeth, “if I might impose upon you further. I am not entirely helpless, and there is power within my reach, although little real company and joy. I seek a companion. Someone I trust, someone I admire. Someone without such commitments is even better.”
“My lady, I…”
“I have it within my gift to improve your lot, advance your husband, find a match for your sister in time, bestow certain properties and titles — in return for a little company. I am due at court in two days, to some banquet for the French ambassador.He’s quite Anne’s pet, you know, and I would like you to accompany me, as my right hand. I would make it worth your while.”
Thomasin should not have come. It was a mistake. And now she was trapped. She sat silent, miserable, unsure how to extricate herself from such a request.
“Do say you will. I know I ask a lot. One trip to court, for an old lady, before you return to Suffolk.”
“One trip to court,” she agreed reluctantly. “And then we return to Suffolk.”
Thomasin was met at the door of Monk’s Place by Giles, whose face looked strained, with an anxious Lettice hovering in the background.
“What is it? What has happened?”
Giles ushered her inside. “It’s probably nothing, but we can’t find Mariot. Cook had thought she was out in the garden picking herbs, but there’s been no sign of her for over an hour.”
“We’ve checked everywhere,” said Lettice. “She doesn’t seem to be in the house or the garden. Perhaps she got into a boat on the river and got carried downstream.”
“That’s not helpful,” said Thomasin, struggling to control her imaginings. “She can’t have disappeared into thin air. Was anyone out in front of the house who might have seen her leave?”
“No one,” said Giles. “We were in our chambers, Williams was in the study, Cook in the kitchen and both stable boys were cleaning the tack, so she might have walked right out of the front gate without anyone noticing.”
“But why?” asked Lettice. “Why would she do that?”
“Let’s be certain before we start to consider that,” said Thomasin, trying to ground them all. “Lettice, go out into the garden again and double check everywhere: behind thebushes, in the corners, along the walks, in case she has fallen somewhere. Giles, you go upstairs and I will search this floor.”
They parted at once, a sense of panic starting to rise in Thomasin’s throat. The girl had confessed that she was feeling overwhelmed, but Thomasin had thought her words of advice had served to calm her nerves somewhat. They weren’t asking too much of her either; she needed to follow instructions, ask for help, perform simple tasks. Perhaps she had overestimated the girl from the village after all. Thomasin really didn’t want to have to explain to Mr Gull that she had taken his daughter to London and lost her.
She met Williams coming out of the kitchens. “Nothing in there, my lady. I checked all the rooms, even inside the chests and the boiling room.”
