“No, I am quite well now, thank you.” Thomasin was returning to the women’s chamber when a door opened in the darkness behind her.
“Lady Waterson?”
Her heart sank to her Sir Thomas’s voice, and instinct told her to keep walking and get to safety.
“Wandering around at night?”
She turned slowly. He was dressed in a nightgown with a robe thrown over the top, his hair dishevelled. “I was assisting your daughter-in-law.”
“Was she in need of assistance?”
“Is there something I can help you with, my lord? I was just returning to bed.” She hoped her question would not invite more of his advances, but his rank and position as her employer demanded it.
“Were you unable to sleep?”
“Yes.”
“As was I. These are trying times.”
A noise from within his chamber caused him to turn. His demeanour changed. “My wife is restless. I heard that you had some lavender which you gave to Anne; I wonder if you have any left?”
“I do, sir,” Thomasin replied, relieved. “I will fetch it at once.”
She hurried back to the chamber, where she had tucked a bunch under her own pillow. Sir Thomas was still waiting in the half-open doorway, although a candle had been lit inside, lighting him from behind, casting his face into shadow.
“Here, my lord.”
He took the bunch, his fingers closing around her own for a moment. His grey eyes met hers as he dropped his voice to almost a whisper. “She has been unwell for years, unable to be a wife to me in the full sense. Thomasin, I could take any woman I wished, any laundry girl, like Norfolk did, but I do not wish for that. I want more.”
“I hope my lady sleeps well.” Thomasin turned away, leaving him standing at the door.
The following morning, she rose early and met Jane at the chapel. The little stone building, once the shelter of theGreyfriars order, was a short walk through the walled garden; Thomasin remembered it from her previous visit. Jane seemed calmer. She had slept a little and washed her face, ready for the comfort of prayer. Thomasin did not ask whether she had seen her husband that morning, nor did Jane offer that information. They passed through the bright green of the clipped beds and into the cool, simple chapel interior, where light filtered through a stained-glass window above the altar and two candlesticks were lit. Side by side, they knelt in silence, lost in their thoughts. Jane bowed her head, her eyes firmly closed, her palms pressed together, and Thomasin mirrored her actions. It was a simple moment of peace, in which she allowed her mind to wander back to Suffolk and her life there with Giles.
When they were returning to the queen’s apartments, Thomasin could tell at once that something was wrong. Footsteps and voices flew out of the open windows along the side of Anne’s great chamber, and a low wailing could be heard.
“Let us hope this is her labours beginning,” said Jane, as they hurried up the staircase to find the room in disarray.
But it did not seem to be the case. Women stood in corners, whispering, their eyes concerned. Anne’s door was closed, but Thomasin strode towards it, mindful of her duty.
Anne was pacing with some discomfort, one hand wrapped about her belly. Her mother and sister were trying to calm her with soothing words, but to little effect.
“What has happened?” asked Thomasin. “Is it time?”
“Only this!” Anne pointed to a piece of paper, crumpled upon her bed.
Thomasin picked it up and saw upon it a drawn image of a crowned woman, with a viper curled about her, her head severed from her body and flames about her feet. “This is villainy, treason. How did it come to be here?”
“That is what I would like to know!” said Lady Elizabeth. “Some servant no doubt brought it in with the linen. My lord is questioning them now.”
“It is the nun Barton’s prophecy,” Thomasin said to Anne, “designed to upset you, but it is not the truth. It is only what some mad person has drawn upon a piece of paper, the ramblings of a diseased mind. You cannot let it upset you.”
“But it has. An image of me, burning, decapitated! Tell me it would not affect you the same way.”
“Whoever did this will be caught and punished. It is the lot of kings and queens to come under such fire.”
“But why? I never asked for any of this. I would have married Harry Percy and borne his children and lived in peace in the north. I never asked to be queen, not for this venom to be brought down on my head.”
“Hush!” said her mother. “You must not let the king hear you speak so. Thomasin is right. A drawing cannot hurt you.”
