“Come this way, then,” said Sir Thomas, offering Lettice his arm and leading her off through a gate in the hedge. Mary and Hatton followed.
“Wretched tennis!” muttered Thomasin to Giles. “We should get her home, away from this influence.”
“We can hardly drag her away from Boleyn.”
“As soon as we can make an excuse. I never wanted her involved with that family. Her infatuation with Anne is bad enough!”
But Lettice almost skipped along at Sir Thomas’s side, taking in all the wonders around her.
“Will the queen be there?” Thomasin heard her ask her companion.
“That I cannot answer,” he replied. “You will see for yourself.”
The tennis court lay to the south — an enclosed space with high walls covered in netting, a red chalk floor and galleries on each side. Henry was already on the court, stripped of his coat and doublet, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Playing in opposition wasthe Duke of Suffolk, despite his wife dying at home. Thomasin sighed, wishing herself elsewhere. There was no sign of Anne.
Thomasin took a seat next to Giles, behind Sir Thomas and Lettice. For a while they watched as the king and Suffolk moved about on the court in short, swift movements, returning the balls with a thwack of their rackets.
Giles slipped his hand into hers. “Back to Suffolk?” he whispered.
“As soon as possible, please.”
FOURTEEN
The garden was beautiful at twilight, dripping with colour and scent. Having walked the length of the covered gallery at Monk’s Place, Thomasin and Giles had come to the steps that led down to the river and stood, looking out across the water, where small vessels were still gliding past and a few lights were flickering on the south bank.
“I’ll miss this house,” said Giles, putting his arm around her shoulders.
Thomasin relaxed into his embrace. It had been such a busy few days that she’d missed their quiet moments alone together. “It’s still ours, still here. We’ll be back.”
“Of course we will. Lettice will never let up until we return!”
“I do fear for her sometimes,” said Thomasin. “I know she is young and that can explain away a lot of things, but from time to time she has such high spirits, and is so impulsive and reckless that she reminds me of Cecilia.”
“Now, she is nothing like Cecilia. She is her own person and it’s just the excitement of coming to court for the first time.”
“I saw William Hatton looking at her today in a way I did not like.”
“Perhaps he was also reminded of Cecilia.”
“Perhaps. You noticed he did not ask after his daughter?”
William Hatton had never seen Cecilia’s child, little Rose, who was now almost four years old, born in the Suffolk countryside. At one point he had urged the pregnant Cecilia to run away with him abroad, before she came to her senses and returned to her parents. Her marriage to Hugh Truegood was over, although the divorce had not yet been finalised.
Giles gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Forget about Hatton. He is nothing to us. In a few days we will be miles away.”
“Yes. We will, won’t we?”
“Of course. Why do you ask that?”
“Only that court, and the people there, have a funny way of getting their claws into you and keeping you there.”
“Then don’t let yourself be caught.”
Thomasin sighed, watching a ferryman rowing against the tide.
“Look!” Giles pointed. “The moon, up there above the steeple.”
She followed his eyes and saw the pale glimmer of a crescent between the clouds.
