“Your husband awaits you outside.”
Then she hurried back up the stairs, back to the chamber where Lady Elizabeth lay sleeping and closed the door. The sooner she could return to Suffolk, the better.
TWENTY
The morning of the coronation dawned fresh and bright. A broad blue sky stretched across the palace of Westminster, from east to west, as if conferring a blessing from heaven. Lady Elizabeth was stirring early, sitting up in bed and breaking her fast with spiced honey cakes and curds while Thomasin struggled to open her eyes. Mary and Jane had come 0in later the previous evening and their sleeping forms lay still in the two beds on the further side. It reminded Thomasin of when she had served Catherine, often lying on a creaking truckle bed that was pushed away during the daytime, staying awake at night to hear the queen’s sobs soften into heavy breathing.
A flash of colour caught Thomasin’s eye as she looked around the chamber. She had not noticed it before, but someone had hung up the robe that Lady Elizabeth was to wear in the abbey — a vivid scarlet velvet lined with ermine that was long enough to trail on the floor as she walked. It hung like a bright stain, bloodlike, and again, Thomasin could not help her thoughts wandering to poor Queen Catherine. She must have gone to her coronation like this, feasted and gowned, full of hope, with all the court in attendance, glittering with jewels as she was anointed. Now she was hidden away in the countryside and they were to crown Anne Boleyn, the granddaughter of a Mayor of London. How the wheel of fortune turned.
Lady Elizabeth was slow to dress. Thomasin’s fingers seemed to fumble with every tie and lace, as she sat patiently and sighed about the pain in her back. Jane and Mary proved swifter, assisting each other with deft fingers as they smoothed their hair and pinned their headdresses into place before disappearing. Finally, Thomasin slipped back on the red velvet gown of Mary’s: there was no change of dress for her.
“I find myself tired today,” said Lady Elizabeth, curling and uncurling her fingers. “Is it today? Is it happening today?”
“Yes, Anne is about to be crowned.”
Lady Elizabeth sighed. “Sometimes I wish her safe away in Ireland, you know. She might have married her cousin Ormond, and all this would have been avoided.”
“You wish her to have avoided being queen?”
“You yourself have seen what it means to be queen.”
Thomasin knelt to ease the tiny, birdlike feet into their shoes and clipped on the jewelled buckles. She had, indeed, seen what it meant to be a queen, and she could understand Lady Elizabeth’s point: nothing would have induced her to wear the crown, no matter the advantages.
Before long, they were all dressed and ready. The procession had assembled in the great hall, where the trestles from last night had been cleared away, and the lords and ladies of the realm, all in their scarlet gowns, jostled to find their exact place, according to precedence. All the Boleyns and Norfolks were present; the Duke of Suffolk, Arundel, Dorset, Oxford, Talbot and other earls who Thomasin knew from a distance, but with whom she had never spoken. She did spot the tall figure of Lord Lisle, the king’s illegitimate uncle, whose wedding she had attended before she left court four years ago, and who now played a ceremonial role.
Among the crowd were the bishops in rank: Gardiner and Fisher, the foreign ambassadors in their finery, including Chapuys and Anne’s close circle; Norris, Bryan, Wyatt, Carew, Hatton and faces Thomasin did not recognise. Through the crowd, she spotted John Dudley, but he was too far away to speak to. Today, Thomasin was not to walk beside Lady Elizabeth in the abbey, on account of the difference in their ranks. Instead, she delivered her charge to Mary Boleyn, who refused to meet her eyes, and then was instructed to takeher place, two by two, beside Jane, being considered similar in position. Behind them, Isabel was waiting alongside Nan Gainsford, but Thomasin faced forward, unwilling to be drawn into conversation with either. There were mere hours to endure now, before she could return to Monk’s Place.
Officials with lists hurried up and down the lines, counting those present, checking off their names. Anne had already taken her place at the front. Thomasin caught a glimpse of purple velvet, and her hair, which was long and loose again under the same gold coronet she had worn yesterday. It was not yet nine in the morning when the vast doors at the end were opened to let the daylight stream in. A red carpet had been laid down, crossing the yard from the end of the hall to the steps of the abbey, which loomed large ahead of them in the sunlight. The procession moved in a single body, slow and dignified, sometimes pausing to allow others to pass through the doors, sometimes hurrying slightly to catch up. Thomasin wondered how Lady Elizabeth was faring, and hoped that Mary had her mother by the arm for this stage at least. At the side, she spotted Thomas Cromwell watching over the assembled guests, scanning each one with a look that seemed to pass straight through them.
At the steps to the abbey, the archbishop and bishops were waiting in their colourful robes and mitres. It was Thomasin’s first glimpse of the new appointee, Thomas Cranmer, who had been responsible for smoothing the path of the king’s second marriage. He was a man in his mid-forties, with a dour, fleshy face and black eyes, his gaze fixed reverently upon Anne as she drew near. From the rows behind, Thomasin could not see their greeting, but soon she and Jane were climbing the steps and entering under the vast perpendicular arches of the abbey. Their seats were halfway down the nave on the left, and their progress meant that Jane was seated first, leaving Thomasin shoulder to shoulder with Isabel. She could not stop herself from lookingdown at Isabel’s hands, pale and freckled as they rested in her lap, with long tapering nails that she had shaped and polished smooth. Upon her left hand, a gold band spoke of her marriage: Rafe himself had placed it there, and held her hand in his, kissing her fingertips perhaps even last night.
“You are the countess’s companion?”
It took Thomasin a moment to realise she was speaking of Lady Elizabeth, using her newest title.
“Oh, yes, only for a brief spell.”
“You are not usually at court, then? I have not seen you before.”
“I have spent the last four years since my marriage in Suffolk.”
“But you have come back for the coronation?”
There had been more pressing matters, not least her uncle’s estates, but Thomasin had no desire to explain them to Isabel, so she merely smiled in return.
“I’ve been at court since I was married, two years ago,” said Isabel. “I never thought I would come here. Each day is a new surprise.”
She had not yet tired of it, then. “How did you meet your husband, may I ask, if you never came to court before?”
“Oh,” she said, smiling, “our fathers knew each other. We’ve been promised since we were children.”
Thomasin swallowed. “Promised since you were children?”
“Yes. I had to wait a long time, but it was worth it in the end, and now I have a son. He is with my parents in the West Country at the moment, but I can’t wait to return next week and see him again. Do you have any children?”
“No.”
Luckily, with Mass about to begin, their opportunity to talk had passed, although Thomasin could not help wondering if the young woman actually knew who she was, or anything about her history with Rafe. Promised since they were children? He clearlyhadn’t spoken to his wife about the woman he had almost wed, which would have meant breaking that promise.
