“Jane, I hope you are well.” Thomasin thought of the child she knew Jane had carried and lost. At least one that she knew of, although she suspected there may have been more. And yet here she was now, at her sister-in-law’s side, to help her through her delivery.
“I am not unwell.” Jane smiled wanly. “We are all praying for a swift delivery.”
“Do you know the others?” asked Lady Elizabeth. “Mary and Nan are inside with her, but there are many new faces here today. New appointments. Everyone wants to be here to witness the birth of the next king.”
Thomasin looked around the room. “Not so many, no, although I see Lady Kingston at the far end.”
“Yes, Mary Kingston is one of Anne’s ladies now, and that’s Margaret Dymoke with her, with the dark hair, and that pale one is Seymour’s daughter, Jane, and that small one…”
“Is Bess Holland,” Thomasin finished for her, looking at the little red-haired firecracker with the pursed mouth. “Our paths have crossed before.”
At that moment, the door to Anne’s chamber opened to allow Mary Boleyn to slip out. She approached her mother without even glancing at Thomasin.
“She is still restless, but I am trying to get her to sleep a little. She will dine in her inner chamber, although at other times she may eat in the hall, before the formal retiring.”
“Still restless?” asked her mother.
Mary rolled her eyes. “It is this nonsense about the baptismal cloth. She will not let it go.”
“The cloth Catherine brought from Spain?”
“Yes, she insists that her child be wrapped in it, but Catherine will not yield it. Henry has sent to Buckden again to ask her for it.”
“But it was Catherine’s own?” said Jane timidly. “From her mother in Spain?”
“Yes, yes, but when she married, it became part of the royal treasury. No longer her own.”
“There are other cloths,” said Jane. “A new one could be specially made.”
“I have told her all this,” said Mary in frustration, “but she insists she must have Catherine’s. It is personal. A battle of wills after Catherine was forced to hand over her jewels.”
Thomasin thought Anne already had so much, she might leave Catherine her personal mementoes, but she thought it wise not to say so. Her heart ached for her former mistress, shut away in the countryside, clinging to the relics of her former life. And yet here Thomasin was, serving another queen. Just as Rafe had once said, she thought, almost hating herself for it, the people at the top might change, but the servants kept on with the same work.
“May I go to her?” she asked.
Mary turned abruptly. “You? Go to her?”
“Yes. You are aware your father has engaged me for the purpose?”
“She is resting.”
“You just said she is restless, and I have lavender and camomile.” Thomasin held out the two bundles she had received from the cook on her way up to the queen.
“Do what you will!” Mary flounced away.
It was quiet inside the chamber as Thomasin approached the door. She knocked softly, then entered at once, without waiting for a reply. The curtains were pulled across the window and the fire glowed dimly. Anne was a dim shape in the golden bed, lying atop the embroidered coverlet.
“My lady?” Thomasin bowed.
“Who is that? I can’t see you. Come closer.”
Thomasin obeyed, moving right to the side of the bed. “It is Thomasin, Lady Waterson, brought here at your father’s command to be of assistance.”
Anne was quiet. “He seeks to surround me with enemies.”
“I am not your enemy. I will do all I can to help you through your ordeal.”
“I have women enough for that, and doctors and midwives. The whole world waits outside my chamber door. Besides, you hate me, along with half of England.”
