At that moment, there came a knock at the door and Mariot herself appeared, carrying a plate of biscuits. She smiled to see Thomasin had returned.
“My lady! I am so sorry to have been the cause of such trouble.”
“Mariot,” said Thomasin, rising to her feet, “I have been hearing all about your adventures, and the part you played in the prevention of the plot against the queen.”
“It was quite by accident, my lady. I only thought to run after the stolen pie. I didn’t know I was going to get locked up and ransomed.”
“It was that which led directly to the arrest of the smith. You have been very brave, though, locked away like that, not knowing whether you would be found.”
“It was terrifying, my lady, when I knew what they were planning. But all the time I was there I kept thinking how you and my lord would be looking for me, thinking I had run away, causing you more trouble.”
“Your instincts were good,” said Giles. “You ran to get the pie. You could not have known what the smith was planning.”
“Nor did I. I would have let that pie go if I had known. Cook would have had to bake another, but I did bake these biscuits all by myself.” She held out the plate. They were made into simple round shapes and flavoured with marigolds, which gave them arich yellow colour. The tops were dotted with chopped almonds and dusted with sugar.
“These look delicious,” said Thomasin, biting into one.
“I think I have found my talent, if you please,” the girl said humbly. “Cook’s been showing me how to make sweet dishes, and I’m so much better at them. I’ve made an apple pudding for supper too, with raisins and cream.”
“I shall look forward to that! Thank you again, Mariot.”
“You’re not cross then, my lady?”
“Not at all; you have done well. I am pleased to see you back safe and sound.”
The girl curtseyed gratefully and turned to go.
“But don’t forget to leave the plate!”
“Of course, not, no,” she said with a smile, placing it on the table before she left the room.
“Well, we have both foiled plots, then,” said Thomasin, telling them all about the scuffling in the servants’ corridor.
“Two plots that we know of,” said Giles. “I wonder how many more have been quashed behind the scenes. No doubt Cromwell will have been hard at work.”
Thomasin recalled seeing his stony face at the coronation, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble.
“Anne’s situation has not made her popular. She already knew that.”
“Still, to go in fear of one’s life each day — I would not choose that path for the world.”
“I wonder,” said Thomasin, with a flash of realisation, “how much choice she really had.”
Giles looked sharply at her, but she had no energy left to elaborate.
“Come,” she said to Lettice, “I wish to take off this headdress and the gown I borrowed from Mary Boleyn. It must be cleaned before it is sent back to Durham Place.”
Lettice’s swift fingers quickly removed the pins that secured the pearl headpiece to Thomasin’s hair and pulled her long chestnut locks out of the golden net. Thomasin shook them out with relief. It felt like a symbolic removal, shedding her responsibility.
“What a weight that was!”
Giles put his hands on her shoulders. “It is good to have you home. The place hasn’t been the same. The court didn’t manage to turn your head, then? You have no desire to remain and watch Anne’s reign play out?”
“I must admit,” she said, laughing at herself, “part of me is a little curious to see how she fares, with all this opposition and the birth of her child soon.”
“When is it due?”
“Late August, early September — it is difficult to be precise, especially with first children. But the taste I have had of court life reminds me again why I left. London is too busy, too full of conflict, the court too glittering and brimming with jealousies.”
