Thomasin followed the other women out into the great chamber, which was abuzz with noise. The king had just passed through, leaving them in no doubt of his mixed feelings, and the servants bringing in fresh supplies were already gossiping. Snippets of disaster and disappointment flew about the place, and speculations of all kinds about the future, amid heavy sighs and the occasional tear, both of relief and despair. Thomasin could not bear to stay. Excusing herself to the guards, she stepped outside and kept walking.
There was a strange mood in the palace — one which she might have anticipated, but it still caught her heavily as she progressedthrough its corridors. Whispers chased about the place; glances were exchanged and heads dipped as she passed by.
“Is it true, miss?” asked a passing boy who was carrying wood. “Or is the child rightly formed?”
“All rightly formed and perfect,” snapped Thomasin. “Who says otherwise?”
“Not me!” The boy held up his hands. “It’s what they whisper in the kitchen.”
“Kitchens be damned! All they need do is prepare the food! If the king hears of this…”
The boy sped away, afeared of where his mouth had led him, but the damage was already done: Thomasin was tired and hungry, and her mood had soured. She had to get away from all this until it settled. The gardens were too busy, filled with the well-wishers, local people who had brought gifts to the palace — cheeses, rabbits, pies, apples and rosewater. Likewise, the chapel would be full of those giving thanks in the traditional way. Instead, she headed for a particular corner of the walled garden, which she recalled as being secluded. It should be draped with the last of the honeysuckle at this time of year.
Thomasin’s instincts had proved correct. There were two maids drying laundry in the near corner, but her little niche was empty, hidden from the main paths, and the pleasant seat awaited her. It was only when she sat down, away from the eyes of the court, away from Anne’s pain and Henry’s coldness, that she allowed her tears to fall. All the emotion of the past two weeks and the tension from waiting and the fear of the outcome released themselves in a flood. Thomasin simply put her face into her hands and wept.
Thomasin went to dine in the great hall that evening. Despite all the gossip and glances, she found it easier to get lost among the crowd than it was to return to Anne’s chambers andbear the weight of disappointment that clung about them. Her commission had been fulfilled: she had remained at Anne’s side throughout the confinement and birth, calming and guiding her as best she could. Soon, Thomasin could pack her bags, collect the handsome reward that Sir Thomas had promised, and make her way back to Suffolk, to Giles and Green Hollow. And yet, she wondered, why did she feel so empty and bereft, as if she had failed?
Various figures came in to dine. She watched distant lords and ladies take their places and drink their wine. Cromwell came in briefly, hurrying through his meal with an abstracted air. The French ambassador, Du Bellay, was laughing with some women in a corner. Bishop Gardiner sat solemnly eating his meat, alone and unwilling to speak to anyone. Sir Thomas Wyatt seemed to drink his way through gallons of wine while barely touching a morsel of food. Other faces came and went, but there was no sign of Henry, nor of Thomas Boleyn. Thomasin hurried her meal and headed outside, where dusk was already falling.
A group of young women ahead of her in the corridor were about to leave court for the day. Thomasin listened to their chatter as she walked behind them, most of it awed with their surroundings, but then snatches of more unpleasant whispers reached her ears.
“Quite undone by this… He may put her aside … not another divorce … the old queen.”
“Ladies,” said Thomasin, unable to stop herself, “if you must come to court, at least learn not to slander your queen in public.”
“But we…”
“The queen has just given birth. Mind your idle tongues!”
The women hurried away, red-faced, leaving Thomasin’s anger still burning in their wake.
“Idle tongues?”
Sir Thomas Boleyn had come up behind her silently. She felt an odd mixture of emotions in his presence, exhaustion and relief knitted together with caution.
“You have done well, Thomasin. You have served me well.”
“I have done my duty to Anne.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“Yes, it has been draining.”
“You must be ready to return to Suffolk.”
“At this moment, my lord, I am fit only for my bed.”
“Might I keep you a few more moments before you retire? I heard the king visited Anne’s chamber. Did he show his disappointment?”
“Not openly, but it was plain to see in the restraint of his manner.”
“He is beyond disappointed, but he tries not to show it. The astrologers who predicted a son have all fled the palace. How did Anne take it?”
“Stoically. She did not let him see her tears.”
“That is good. With God’s grace, she will conceive again soon and a son will follow. In the meantime, she has a healthy daughter. She has much to be thankful for.”
“I think she will see it, when she has rested.”
