Thomasin smiled but would make no promise.
“I know that my wife and her family think highly of you, Mistress, and that you were by her side throughout her ordeal, cheering her spirits and calming her nerves. For that I give youthanks.” He gestured to a page at his side, who hurried forth to press a heavy velvet purse into Thomasin’s hands.
“My lord, I had not expected…”
“A sign of my gratitude. A healthy child is a blessing from God, and soon there will be sons to follow. So perhaps we may have cause to summon you to court again in a year’s time.”
Only a year. Thomasin hoped Anne’s exhausted body would have enough time to rest before her next pregnancy.
“Thank you, my lord. I am most grateful.”
He was not ready to dismiss her yet, his face thoughtful. “How fare your parents?”
“Both are well, enjoying their country retirement, although they have sadly lost my good uncle recently, Sir Matthew Russell.”
“Yes, I had heard as much. A sad loss indeed. I suppose your father never comes to London these days?”
Not since Henry had allowed Cromwell to send him to the Tower for daring to speak in defence of Catherine of Aragon, Thomasin thought, her cheeks flaring with suppressed memories.
“He does not, my lord.”
“It is a pity. I have some, dare I say, misgivings, about the last time he was here. A difficult time, when loyalties were tested. I have sometimes wished things had not turned out the way they did. I will send him a good barrel of Rhenish wine and a flitch of bacon for his table.”
Thomasin tried to conceal her smile. An apology? From King Henry? “That is most kind of you, my lord.”
“And should he ever wish to visit court again, he would find himself most welcome. Your mother too, God bless her.”
“I will tell them so, my lord, although my mother’s increasing infirmity does not allow for much travel.”
“She has good physicians? Shall I dispatch Dr Butts?”
“That is most thoughtful, but there is a man living near the cathedral of St Edmund who visits her often and has proved most skilled.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it. And your … sister?”
Thomasin was shocked to hear him ask after Cecilia, with whom he had once shared the briefest of liaisons as part of a former plot to wean him away from Anne.
“She is well, my lord.” She wondered how much she should admit to the king: that her marriage to Sir Hugh Truegood had failed, that she was living in Suffolk, that she had borne William Hatton’s illegitimate child? How much did Henry know? She looked round the faces quickly, but Hatton’s didn’t seem to be among them. “She is caring for my parents.”
“A dutiful daughter at last.”
Thomasin nodded. She could not disagree that since the birth of little Rose, her sister was much changed.
“Well, Thomasin Waterson, you have my thanks and my permission to leave court. God speed you on your way and give you good health.”
“I thank you, my lord.”
She hurried away, weighing the purse in her hands. As soon as she was out of sight of the hall, and round the corner into the corridor, she pulled open the strings. It was full of gold coins, radiant as sunshine. There was a small fortune contained within, more than she had ever expected, more than she might have dreamed of.
Next, Thomasin made her way up the stairs to Anne’s apartments. It was not without a twinge of sorrow that she made this walk for the final time, although her heart yearned to be away, on the road, heading towards her beloved Green Hollow. Within these walls she had witnessed fear and pain, but also deep love and the miracle of birth. It made her think again of her own situation, wondering whether she might ever be blessed inthe same way that Anne had been. Again, Sir Thomas’s proposal returned to haunt her. She could not stop her mind from racing down the dark avenues of possibility: what if there was some impediment preventing her and Giles from having their own child? Four years was a long time to have not conceived. What if this was her one chance to become a mother? What would Giles say if he knew she was even entertaining the thought?
Anne’s antechamber was quiet. A number of her original ladies had returned to their homes, or relocated to the women’s chamber, leaving a small group to tend to her daily needs now that she was soon to be churched and would return to society. Bess Holland had returned to the company of the Duke of Norfolk, as had his own daughter Mary, to prepare for her marriage to the king’s illegitimate son; Grace Parker and Madge Shelton had returned to their families for a spell. As Thomasin entered, the pale Jane Seymour sat reading in a corner, waiting to be called upon, but never a favourite in the queen’s inner rooms. There was also the loyal Nan Gainsford, seated with Jane Boleyn and Rafe’s wife Isabel. Mary Boleyn was nowhere to be seen.
As Thomasin arrived, Mistress Blackwood was leaving Anne’s chamber, having delivered Princess Elizabeth.
“Is all well within?” asked Thomasin.
“All’s well, so I am sent to rest.”
