“I had hoped for more from you. There is no disrespect meant to your husband, or my wife, but life is not as simple as that. Think on it.”
“My lord, I will leave you now.”
“You will change your mind, Thomasin, when you consider what is involved.”
“Goodnight, my lord.”
With her heart racing, Thomasin hurried away to Anne’s empty apartments and into the women’s chamber. A fire had been lit and one bed made up for her comfort, with cushions and a jug of wine, although she could not stomach any more that night. Had he planned this all along? Was this his sole reason for bringing her back to court? No, she was certain that he truly desired her assistance with Anne, and had chosen her for the qualities he’d described: her discovery of the traitor at Anne’s coronation convinced her of that.
She paused and took a long, slow breath. Perhaps she should leave court at once, take a barge back to the city and collect her carriage from Monk’s Place to return to Suffolk. She should not let any man speak to her that way, let alone such a powerful man, over whom she had little control. To disappear at once would send him the right message.
But then other feelings boiled up inside her, like her old self; unpredictable, riotous. To be the mistress of Sir Thomas Boleyn, father of the queen! What dizzy heights she might ascend to, if she was so minded. And yet, how he had misjudged her. How little he knew her, if he thought that she was anything other than devoted to Giles. Yet perhaps that had been the attraction? Her steadfastness, her loyalty, or worse still, perhaps he had seen it as a challenge? As he’d said, he was one of the most powerful men at court, and yet he might have taken her rejection more to heart. Another, less scrupulous man might have tried to force her, although she did not believe it was in Sir Thomas’s characterto act that way. No, she must remain respectful but firm towards him: she would have to walk a very fine line.
Blowing out her candle, Thomasin lay down to sleep, her mind in turmoil, wondering what the morning would bring.
TWENTY-FOUR
From the courtyard, Thomasin watched the procession of carriages and horses arrive. The king and queen’s servants had arrived first, accompanying carts laden with chests containing clothes, jewels and items of value. There were the cooks with their special pots of spices and herbs, their favoured pans and syrups that could not be replicated, their jars of ginger and bottled oranges, and their preserves of quince and damson; the poulterer with his pheasants and cages of songbirds; and the cobbler with his dancing shoes, not that Anne would be dancing much, thought Thomasin. The musicians, astrologers, physicians, embroiderers, perfumers and keepers of the king’s hounds followed. Everyone trailed inside, clearly weary from the journey.
Presently, trumpets announced the arrival of the king. From her vantage point, Thomasin saw Henry’s barge appear, bumping gently against the steps as the king dismounted, his brow irritable as he barked orders and summons. He wore sombre clothes, grey and white, with no gold chains, perhaps as a mark of mourning for his sister, and his expression was grave. Cromwell was beside him, shuffling in his furs despite the summer heat, along with George Boleyn, Henry Norris and others of his household. The king paused for a moment, as if looking up at the palace, then strode up the steps, heading for his apartments, not too far from the queen’s, yet far enough that he would not be disturbed by her travails. Out on the quay, Baynton was still waiting alongside Sir Thomas, but Anne’s barge was still a way off, a distant shape at the river’s bend, slowly wending its way on the tide.
Thomasin held back. She had no desire to encounter Sir Thomas after his proposition the night before. She’d woken thatmorning hoping she’d dreamed it, and when she realised she hadn’t, she hoped that he had forgotten himself after too much wine, and would seek her out to apologise. But no apology had come. She’d kept to Anne’s rooms, picking at imaginary specks of dust, straightening cushions as the hours of the morning passed. At noon she’d dined with Bayton and the others in the hall, grateful that no further invitation had arrived from Sir Thomas, and afterwards she’d helped the chamberlain oversee the menus and supplies for Anne’s lying-in.
“I heard she craved apples,” Bayton had mentioned to the cook. “Ensure there are enough in storage — both to be eaten raw and to be made into puddings and sauces. And game birds — simple fare, not too rich, just white meats and stews.”
The trumpets sounded again as Anne’s barge drew close to the steps. It was full of ladies, overflowing with their colourful skirts and headdresses, nesting Anne amidst them as if the flock were tending to the shepherd. Dressed in black, with her laces loosened, Anne looked pale among them, as if she had not slept.
Lavender, thought Thomasin, and camomile. She would ask in the kitchen on the way up.
Two ladies helped Anne out of the barge, placing their arms under hers and half-lifting her out of her seat. She was large with child and looked uncomfortable, her black eyes haunted and huge as she submitted to their good offices. There was little fuss as her party disembarked, mostly her ladies, although Thomasin noticed that Dr Butts had ridden with her, to be close at hand. Her time was very close; in fact, it could happen at any moment now. Lady Elizabeth was also among the group at the back, supported by her daughter-in-law, Jane, her familiar face worn and drained.
Thomasin stepped back into the shadows. She would wait for Anne to reach her chamber and be settled, before she wentto offer her services. The tired woman would not want to be bothered at the moment, not while she was in visible discomfort. The procession swished past, slowly moving around Anne, while others led by Nan Gainsford and Mary Boleyn hurried ahead to be ready to assist her up the staircase and into her apartments. Briefly Anne paused, leaned against a pillar to catch her breath, then moved on again. The sound of subdued chatter went with her, and the scents of citrus and rose.
“Choosing your moment?”
Sir Thomas was watching from the dark mouth of a corridor. His grey eyes were fixed upon Thomasin, reminding her once more of the gaze of a hawk upon its prey. She would keep herself fixed upon her business.
“Yes, my lord, exactly that. I see your daughter is tired and needs her rest. I shall visit her presently.”
“And myself? Will you come and visit me?”
“I shall be busy with the queen. I see your wife is here.”
He gave a small, taut smile and stepped back into the darkness again.
After an hour had passed, when Thomasin knew Anne would have rested and been served with wine and wafers, she made her way up to the queen’s apartments. Baynton was hurrying about on some errand and waved her inside. The large reception room with the gold chair of state was filled with people, while Anne appeared to have retreated to the inner chamber. Dozens of eyes turned to watch Thomasin, narrowing with scrutiny, wondering at her arrival, given that she was not one of Anne’s official ladies. She paid them no mind, knowing her purpose, clinging to the brief duration of her visit. A month perhaps, two at the most.
“Thomasin?” Lady Elizabeth was rising from a chair. “I thought it was you! How good it is to see you! Did my husband send for you?”
“Yes, my lady.” Thomasin went to her old friend and took her papery hands in her own. “I am here to assist Anne as much as I can.”
“It is such a comfort to have you here, dear Thomasin. I hope I shall be seeing much of you in these coming weeks.”
“I shall be here as long as it takes.”
“She is skittish, you know. Uncertain. It’s always the way with the first child; you never know what to expect. Once you’ve done it, you know what you’re in for the next time.”
“Hello Thomasin,” said Jane Boleyn gently. “It is good to see you here.”
