A ruby pendant glittered in her palm.
“My lady, this is too generous.”
“No, it is not. We have come to see your worth, Thomasin. Farewell, and may my happiness soon be yours.”
Now it only remained for Thomasin to find Sir Thomas, a task she was not relishing. He was not in his chambers, the guard outside informed her, but had gone to seek an audience with the king. She headed down to the walled garden, alongside the palace’s main rooms, where she might wait for him to finish his business and spare her a few moments. It was actually better, she reasoned, to have their final interview outside in such a place as this, instead of hidden away, where he might say or do anything. Out in the garden, he would at least have to observe formalities, and there would be no more propositions. Or so she hoped.
But it was not Sir Thomas who appeared in the garden. As Thomasin sat and waited, Eustace Chapuys emerged from the side door that led to the chapel. He gave the appearance of nothaving seen her, seated among the flowers, so she rose and met him where their paths crossed.
“I have done as you asked, Chapuys,” she said in a low voice. “I spoke to the queen about the Lady Mary and I am confident that soon she will receive permission to correspond once again with her mother.”
“That is most generous of you. You have acted in God’s service.”
Thomasin thought of the girl she had once known, whom she had tried to protect as long as possible from having her heart broken by her father’s cruelty. “It was for the love I bear Mary and Catherine.”
“I shall mention you today when I write to my lady.”
“Please give her my love. But now I am to leave court and return to the country.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You will no longer serve in that woman’s household?”
“It was only a temporary measure, until the child arrived.”
“Ah,” he said, with a waspish smile. “The girl who was supposed to be a boy.”
Thomasin did not wish to engage with that comment, which he had no doubt gleefully sent out to his friends in courts across Europe.
“Good day to you,” she said briefly and headed away.
Thomas Boleyn was coming out of the great hall with Rafe at his side. For once, Thomasin was grateful for Rafe’s presence, as a shield against Sir Thomas.
“My lord,” she greeted, curtseying low.
“Lady Waterson,” Sir Thomas replied, offering a short bow, taking his cue from her formality.
“I have come to bid you farewell. My commission is complete and I wish now to return to my husband in the country.”
His eyes made it clear that he had understood the rejection in her statement. “Very well,” he said slowly, “I cannot refuse your request, although it would be the preference of my family that you remain at court. We are most grateful for your service to the queen.”
“I am glad to see her safely delivered and content.”
“When will you depart?”
“At once. I will stay at Monk’s Place tonight and put all in order, then leave first thing in the morning.”
“I have recompenses for your time which I will ensure are sent on to you. In the meantime, I wish you a safe and quick journey. I do hope we shall see you at court again before long.”
Thomasin concealed her smile as she curtseyed again. “And I bid you farewell, Rafe Danvers.”
Those chestnut eyes looked as if they had much to say. Perhaps Rafe was recalling their last quarrel, the bitter way things had ended between them, but he was not one to open up, especially not before Sir Thomas.
“God speed you on your journey,” was all that he would offer her.
Thomasin climbed into the barge, feeling its solid wooden slats moving gently to the rhythm of the Thames. Ahead, around the twisty part of the river, lay London, with its spires and streets, past the Tower and the quays, where she would alight for Monk’s Place. As the oarsmen pulled away, the current assisting them, she turned to watch as Greenwich Palace receded. A month ago, she had gone there unwillingly, her heart full of trepidation, but fortunately, it had ended with much celebration. Leaving Anne, Henry, Sir Thomas and Rafe behind, she hoped she would not be returning any time soon.
THIRTY-ONE
Monk’s Place was exactly as Thomasin had left it. Her carriage was standing in the drive, the grey façade rising up to greet her, keeping its secrets locked within. Williams was at the door to assist her at once, and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen told her that Cook had been working hard to make her feel welcome.
