Thomasin dawdled in the corridor, wondering whether she should turn and head back down to the hall. It was uncomfortable overhearing their private business, and for all Anne’s former animosity, she did not relish her suffering.
There was muttering from within, low voices that she could not decipher. Footsteps were slowly approaching the door. It openedto reveal Lady Elizabeth, dressed in an informal long dark robe, her grey hair pulled back under a lace cap. She stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind her, and offered Thomasin her arm.
“My dear, you have walked into another of our little dramas, but I am most pleased to see you. Come with me to the gallery.”
They turned back towards the staircase, taking a right turn along another corridor that led into a long gallery with windows on each side, the rest of the walls covered in carved linenfold panels.
“I come up here sometimes to think,” she said. “And I have a lot to think about.”
“I am sorry to have come at such an inconvenient time.”
“Not at all; you came as you were asked. I assume you came to accept my lord’s offer?”
“That was my intention, although I wished to speak with you first.”
“I do hope our little performance has not put you off, although I think that my family’s foibles are hardly coming as a surprise.”
“I am sorry to hear of Anne’s distress, especially in her condition.”
Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “She is too hot-headed, too passionate, too easily roused to anger. She knows it, we all know it, but she cannot seem to curb it, even now she has the ring on her finger.”
“She will soon be crowned. Surely then she will feel more secure.”
“I would hope so. She must not take the king’s actions to heart. If she turns a blind eye to his fancies, then they need not touch her. Her position is not in doubt, but she must stand firm.”
They paused before the portrait of an old, bearded man from an earlier era, not regal in his attire, but wealthy and imposing.
“Sir William Boleyn, my lord’s father. He was a merchant, who rose to become Lord Mayor of London.”
Now she mentioned it, Thomasin could see a likeness about the eyes.
“His wife had ten children,” Lady Elizabeth added, “but they did not paint her portrait. She is Irish, and lives in Oxfordshire now. Sometimes it is our lot to suffer in silence, as Eve did.”
Thomasin did not like this advice, but she recognised the irony of it as she, herself, decided that was not the moment to speak up.
“Men do not like to be challenged openly, or to have their behaviour questioned. Especially when they are up to no good. No king would stand for it.”
“What will Anne do?”
“Calm down, sulk a little, wait for his letter, and return to court with her tail between her legs when it does not come.”
“But what about her coronation?”
“Well, she can hardly miss that. This is the price she must pay for it. So, tell me, you have come to accept my lord’s commission?”
“I accept the invitation to be your companion throughout the coronation, so long as it is your wish, and that a few conditions are met.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled. “You have come to make a bargain.”
“Not a bargain, no, only to ensure that I do not neglect my husband and young sister. I also have the charge of a young girl from Suffolk, who has joined us recently. At times when I am not needed, I must return to Monk’s Place. I cannot be resident here.”
“That seems reasonable. I wish you to be here ahead of the procession, to help me prepare, to sit with me during it, and at the feast afterwards, and then in the abbey the following day. Does that sound fair?”
“It does, my lady. I am glad we can come to an accord so easily.”
“After my own daughters,” she said, smiling, “you are as smooth as cream.”
They had come to the end of the long gallery and stood looking out of the end window. Its view gave out across the rooves and outhouses of the Durham House complex, over the river itself and into the south bank, a not dissimilar view to that which she was used to.
