“Some plans to disrupt the ceremony ahead at St Paul’s.”
Lady Elizabeth’s face creased into a frown. “And you knew of this?”
“A stranger told us in the street. Giles went to the king at once. It has been dealt with, never fear. Any protest will have been prevented.”
The old lady still did not look certain.
“See?” said Thomasin. “There is a double layer of guards here. More in the houses and down the side streets.”
The procession headed through Goldsmith’s Row and out the other side, where a temporary archway had been erected across the way they must take towards the cathedral. Due to the displays, it was impossible to see Anne ahead.
“Why did you not mention this?”
“I thought Anne was quite alarmed enough. You did not need this additional concern.”
The moment they passed under the arch, something cracked. The sound of gunfire filled the air. Lady Elizabeth flinched at once, but managed to stay still, but Thomasin almost jumped out of her skin. Then something was raining down upon them from a great height, filling the carriage. Something struck Thomasin on the top of her headdress and something else hit her arm. Fear shot through her limbs. Had they not done enough? Was this it? An attack upon Anne?
“Wafers,” said Lady Elizabeth, her mouth pursed tightly. “Sit up, they are only showering us with wafers.”
NINETEEN
By the time they had reached Whitehall, Thomasin found herself able to breathe freely again. The dense streets of London, thronged with faces, lay behind them and Westminster was ahead, where they would rest for the night. The fluttering inside her was calming, almost gone entirely, save for the odd flit as if a bat was settling itself down to sleep.
The back of Anne’s carriage drew them onwards. She was still poised, still waving, despite the crowds thinning, her hair smooth and sleek, the gold coronet still straight on top. They took the bend at Charing Cross and the familiar gate and courtyard of Whitehall engulfed them, flooding Thomasin with reassurance. Clearly Lady Elizabeth was feeling the same, as she reached over and patted her companion’s arm.
“That’s it — we’ve done it. Home and dry.”
The palace courtiers were lined up on both sides, breaking their usual marble expressions and cheering as the procession passed. But the carriages did not stop, in spite of the warm welcome; the second gate led them out into King Street and the abbey welcoming them, rising up behind the clustered rooves. The front of the procession was drawing to a halt. All the carriages slowed and the guards marked time, so that Anne might dismount. Thomasin imagined Henry coming out to greet her, drawing her into Westminster Palace, where the Great Hall awaited. Presently, they moved forward, through the Westminster gates and into the large tiltyard, where the guards melted away and figures came forward to help them down.
Sir Thomas Boleyn appeared at his wife’s side, flushed from the walk, offering her his arm. Thomasin watched as she carefully climbed down, placing her stiff feet with caution, exchanging a few silent words with her husband that no one elsemight hear. They seemed relieved, Thomasin thought, from the way they interacted. All had gone well, without any of the trouble they had feared.
“My lady?” A man was waiting to help Thomasin out of the carriage. She turned and reached for the arm he offered, sleeved in black velvet, before taking in the dark hair and chestnut eyes. There was no mistaking Rafe Danvers.
Thomasin felt her body turn cold then flush hot with panic. She fought the sudden unpleasant feelings, determined not to show her surprise. He had aged a little, his face slightly fuller, his hair cut shorter, his eyes more tired, but in essence, he was still her Rafe. No, she corrected herself, plucking at her skirts to buy herself a moment, he was Isabel’s husband.
She placed her arm through his without a word. That familiar scent enveloped her: woody and spicy, overlaying the musk of his body. He lifted her out of the carriage and they walked towards the open doors of the palace, where the procession was gathering. His arm felt like any other. She wanted to scream, but she kept her lips firmly shut, so no sound escaped. Had he known it would be her? Had he planned this? Why was he not assisting his wife?
Thomasin waited for him to make some gesture, some comment to indicate his recognition. Perhaps he would tell her that she looked well, or that it had been a long time, or that her gown became her. Then she might reply, or she might not; she might choose politeness or a few words of dismissal. But he did not. He remained silent. As they approached the doors, and she realised he was not about to speak, she wondered whether he had recognised her at all. Perhaps she was just another lady to assist in his formal role. Perhaps he had not looked at her face, not reflected upon the name: Lady Waterson needed accompanying, and he was allocated the task. Lady Waterson could be anyone, and he might not know her married name. Butafter all they had been through, could he really mistake her? The doors loomed ahead, drawing them into the shady interior with its vast stone arches. Here in the darkness, surely he would risk a word of greeting? She felt oddly like crying, her throat constricting. How could he be so cold?
Already it was over. The ladies were gathering on one side at the top of the Great Hall, beside where Anne was seated under a golden canopy. Trestle tables were laid out, covered in white cloths ahead of the banquet. Rafe led her over to where the Boleyn party stood, right up to Lady Elizabeth, then bowed sharply and turned on his heel. Immediately a servant held a dish of spices up under her nose, and Thomasin was pleased to distract herself with a pinch of cinnamon. The warmth of it spread welcomingly through her veins. Looking at Anne, serene and regal, she wondered if the mint leaves she had suggested had been put to use. When she turned back to the gathering crowd, Rafe had disappeared, as if he had come out of nowhere.
King Henry appeared to the sound of more trumpets, glittering in gold, his face beaming with pride. The hall rose to its feet as he strode down the centre to join his wife and took his seat at the top table with her. Lady Elizabeth seemed satisfied; all had gone well, but the strain of the occasion had taken its toll. Thomasin could tell by the drawn expression about her mouth and the droop of her eyelids.
“My lady, do you wish to retire?”
Anne’s mother sighed. “I do not wish it; I wish to remain here, but perhaps my body demands it.”
Tumblers in colourful clothes rolled out of the shadows at the back of the hall, turning themselves over and walking on their hands, jumping and rolling forwards before springing up again. In shades of yellow, red and green they swirled and contorted their way around the hall, drawing gasps of delight and surprise.Their energy seemed to work in reverse for Lady Elizabeth, who appeared drained in the torchlight.
“The main feast is tomorrow,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “So long as I attend that one…”
“Shall I take you up? Do you require more assistance?”
“Just your arm for now, I think.”
Thomasin felt a pang of disappointment as they headed away from the feast. If Anne noticed her mother leave, she did not make any attempt to stop her, nor summon her father or sister to do so. The new queen remained still, shining in silver, a carved statue beneath the gold canopy. One hand cradled her belly as she looked above the heads of the crowds.
Fortunately, the apartments were not far from the great hall. A grand staircase led them to the first floor, where rooms had been allocated to Anne’s close circle only ahead of the coronation, which was scheduled to take place early the following morning. Away from the beating heart of the feast, it was suddenly dark and quiet, but welcome enough for the old lady’s needs. Servants showed them to a large chamber that contained several beds, which they were to share with Mary and Jane Boleyn. Their chests had been carried ahead and were laid out along one side. Lady Elizabeth eased herself down onto the four-poster, sinking into its deep feather mattress. With gentle fingers, Thomasin helped remove her jewelled shoes and headdress. She unclipped the pearls from her throat, wrists and fingers and placed them carefully inside one of the chests, locking it afterwards.
