Thomasin could not reply.
“I have hit home.” He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings, truly, but I can help you. We can help each other. Just think how much the king and queen, and this future king, would be in your debt.”
“I wish for no man to be in my debt.”
“No one is so untouchable that they need wave away such a connection.”
Thomasin turned to see Giles heading towards them across the field.
“Your husband comes. Surely he will see the sense of my request?”
“Why? Because he is a man?”
“Because he is a man of good judgement, having taken you for his wife.”
Giles reached them, slightly pink-cheeked from having hurried. He looked at Thomasin, masking his surprise, then back at Sir Thomas. “My lord, what an unexpected visit this is. To what do we owe this honour?”
“I am minded to drink a little wine. Let us retire inside your good house and I will explain everything.”
TWENTY-THREE
“You will be arriving ahead of the queen,” said Sir Thomas, as the oarsmen pulled him and Thomasin through the water. “Her rooms are being prepared, but she and the king are still at Windsor. They will arrive in a day or two for her lying-in.”
Ahead of them lay the royal palace of Greenwich, set on a bend of the Thames to the east of London — a vast, sprawling complex with its turrets rising up to the skies and the expanse of gardens and parkland sloping up to the horizon beyond. Coming into focus, it brought back memories for Thomasin, of her friendship with William Carey, Mary Boleyn’s husband, and the long, terrible days she had lain ill with the sweat, nursed back to health by her cousin Ellen. Greenwich always reminded her of her own mortality; but for a few small changes, her life might have ended here five years earlier.
“Is it good to be back?” asked Sir Thomas.
She smiled as if to agree with him, keeping her own feelings tight to her chest. She hadn’t anticipated that he would accompany her back to London from Suffolk. In the end, they had decided there was no need for Giles to go, as Thomasin would be staying at court, and he would then be alone at Monk’s Place, so he intended to use the time to visit his property in the north and arrange some necessary repairs. So, Sir Thomas had ridden beside her coach, which was now safely stored in Thames Street, and from there they had taken a barge at Whitehall. She had to admit, surprisingly, that he had proved good company, conscious of her comfort and not overbearing, with a wide range of topics at his disposal. In fact, she had felt quite at ease in his company, something she would never have predicted a few years ago, when she had thought of him as manipulative and distant.
The barge brought them up alongside the palace steps, where guards were waiting to help her dismount. However, Sir Thomas alighted first and turned to offer her his hand. She had little choice but to accept, and he gently supported her as she stepped back onto dry land, with the great relief of one who never much enjoyed river travel. As they headed in through the gates, with the outer court looming around them, Thomasin tried to blot out the memories crowding in upon her. Will Carey’s gentle smile, Anne’s laughter, Rafe’s drunken words as they’d quarrelled in the rose garden, Queen Catherine’s quiet grace, the clash of lances in the tiltyard. How long ago that summer felt; although it was but five years, it might have been a lifetime.
A servant appeared to take Thomasin up to the new apartments.
“Come and dine in my chamber this evening,” said her companion, turning as if to head towards another staircase. “The kitchens are only providing basic food until the king arrives.”
“You are not going to join the court at Windsor?”
“I think not. Anne has quite enough people about her; she will hardly notice me there.”
“Is Lady Boleyn at Windsor?”
“She is currently at Hever, but prepares to depart for Greenwich as soon as Anne enters her confinement.”
Thomasin nodded.
“But remember she is not your concern this time; I want all your attention devoted to Anne, to keep her at peace.”
“Very well.”
Last-minute touches were being made to Anne’s chambers. In her state room, a great chair on a dais had gilt pommels and was covered in gold, beneath a canopy of state hung with cloth of tissue, fringed with yet more gold. Tapestries of birds and maidens hung from her walls and Turkey carpets were spreadover her cupboards, waiting for the gold and silver plate to arrive ahead of the royal party. All around, maids were sweeping, washing and polishing; supplies, firewood, pastilles and linen were being replenished. Thomasin’s quick glance took in more chairs in scarlet and purple silk, cushions with the king’s initials entwined with Anne’s, a harp and lute, crates of books and a chessboard on a checkered table.
“Ah, my lady,” said a man with a grey beard, who seemed to be in charge, “have you come ahead to check things?”
“I’ve not come from court; I have been fetched from Suffolk to act as a companion for the queen during her lying-in.”
“You must be Lady Thomasin Waterson. I am Sir Edward Baynton, the queen’s vice-chamberlain. As you can see, we expect her any day. Come, we’ve prepared rooms for the use of her ladies.”
Thomasin followed him through into the private chamber, furnished with more comfortable chairs around the hearth, where a table set with silver would cater for private meals.
