“She had good cause to be jealous, but she went about it like a spiteful cat, so he squashed her down.”
“No wonder she is on edge.”
“The sooner this child arrives, the better. Now, I must take a barge back to my lodgings. I hope to see you again soon, mistress. It is good to have an ally on the inside.”
Thomasin watched him hurry away, not sure whether she would class herself as his ally, but at least he was another source of information. When she thought of the gentleness, consideration and respect with which she and Giles treated each other, she could only pity the poor queen in her unhappy situation and pray that things would improve. Chapuys was right. When Anne bore her son, all this tension would melt away and she and Henry would be reconciled.
TWENTY-FIVE
The palace was finally silent. The last feet had ceased their shuffle, the final plates had been stacked, the floors swept, the gates bolted, the air filled with the steady breath of sleepers. Outside, the hoot of a lone owl seemed to intensify the silence. Thomasin lay on her back in the narrow bed, listening to the sounds of the women around her. She had visited Anne again before she slept, to wish her goodnight and promise that all would be well. Now the wait stretched before them: these dog days of summer from St Bartholomew’s Day, though to the feast of St John the Baptist and into September. Thomasin fervently hoped that a healthy boy would arrive soon.
She rolled over, dug down under the coverlet and tried to sleep. It was strange to see the queen like this, so vulnerable and afraid. No wonder she was lashing out at Henry. Flashes of the old Anne came back to Thomasin as her mind started to drift: the golden-clad laughing woman who had danced and sung, the seductress in red with her eyes fixed on the king, the angry spirit who railed at Thomasin. All these were the same person, precarious in her situation: a situation that was unprecedented and now risked Henry’s very soul.
As sleep was about to claim her, Thomasin heard a noise outside the door. It cut through her clouded mind and roused her. Footsteps along the corridor, approaching, coming close to the door, then moving past. That could be anyone, a maid in need of a drink perhaps. But then there came a stifled sob. Thomasin opened her eyes. Someone outside the room was crying. It could not be Anne: if she had roused herself from bed, distressed, there were women in her chamber to hear her, tend to her. Nor could she move so fast and lightly at this stage of her pregnancy. It could not be Lady Elizabeth either, as the footstepsalso moved too quickly for her. But it might be any one of the other women in the queen’s household. Thomasin was faced with a dilemma: she could roll over and sleep, say that she had imagined it, or it was not her business, or she could rise and find out who was distressed. She sighed and swung her feet out of the side of the truckle. There was no sign of the morning light yet; dawn was still several hours’ away.
“Hello?” She whispered, closing the chamber door behind her. The corridor was quiet and there was no sign of anyone about. It sounded as if the feet had been travelling away from her, down towards the royal chamber, past the dressing room and anterooms, so Thomasin took a few cautious steps in that direction.
One of the doors on the right, halfway along, was standing ajar. It was customary for all doors to be closed at night, to help prevent the spread of fire. This was a room used to store Anne’s clothes and necessaries, and it should have been empty at that hour, but from inside there came a snuffling sound.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
A very small voice answered her. “I’m sorry, I… Sorry.”
Thomasin pushed open the door but it was dark inside. A figure came towards her, in a long white nightgown, unkempt hair streaming down its back. She recognised the tearstained face of Jane Boleyn.
“Jane? What is this? What’s the matter?”
“I’m so sorry to have woken you. I tried to keep quiet; I thought I might sleep in here and no one would notice.”
“But why? Why are you out of your bed tonight, so upset?”
She stared at the ground. “George and I quarrelled. Well, it was not so much a quarrel, as I took no part in it except to receive his harsh words.” Her voice was full of tears.
“I am sorry to hear that. What was the cause?”
“Oh, the usual cause. We have no child and it is me, only me, who is to blame. And now being here, while Anne is due to deliver hers, it is so much harder. Of course, she fell pregnant almost at once, just as she promised she would, and now she will deliver a son.”
Thomasin felt her pain. “Such things are very difficult. I have been married four years myself and have not been blessed with a child. I have to tell myself that it is God’s will, and will happen when he deems it best.”
“Do you really think so?”
“It’s what we must think, isn’t it? There are women who have borne a child after a long time. We must pray and not give up.”
“Would you, Thomasin, if you don’t mind … would you be so kind as to pray with me tomorrow, in the chapel here?”
Thomasin took her hand. “I would do so gladly.”
More tears appeared in Jane’s eyes. “Sometimes here it is hard to find a friend, when all are about their own business. I am glad you have come, Thomasin. I always felt you to be sympathetic. You were kind to my mother-in-law, too. I noticed that.”
“It is not difficult to be kind,” Thomasin said gently. “We all suffer in some ways. It is how we chose to navigate through difficult waters that matters.”
“You would be surprised,” Jane snuffled. “Not everyone is so. I will sleep in here tonight and see you in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please don’t trouble yourself. Go back to bed.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
