I heard Gardiner say, ‘Look at that woman, shamelessly pushing her way past the men, thrusting out her claws at the food. Did this city not have sufficient demonstration at Smithfield that women must keep their place?’
Paget said, ‘We can show them again if need be.’ They made no attempt to lower their voices, quite happy to be overheard. Gardiner continued frowning at the beggar crowd; that glowering disposition seemed to be how this man of God turned his face to the world. Paget, though, seemed only half-interested in the scene. As I passed them I heard him say, ‘Thomas Seymour is back from the wars.’
‘That man of proud conceit,’ Gardiner replied contemptuously.
Paget smiled, a thin line of white teeth in his thick beard. ‘He will get himself in trouble before he’s done.’
I walked on. I remembered the ladies talking about Thomas Seymour in the Queen’s Privy Chamber. Brother of the leading reformist councillor, Edward Seymour, now Lord Hertford, Catherine Parr would have married him after her second husband died, had not the King intervened. I knew the Queen and Seymour had been carefully kept apart since, with Seymour often sent on naval or diplomatic missions. I had had dealings with him before, not pleasant ones. Paget was right, he was a foolish and dangerous man, a drag on his ambitious brother. I wondered what the Queen would be feeling about his return.
Again I passed into the King’s Guard Chamber, up the stairs, and through to the Presence Chamber. The magnificence everywhere still astounded me whenever I paused to let it. The intricacy, colour and variety of the decoration struck me afresh; the eye would rest for a moment on some design on a pillar, drawn to the intricate detail of the vine leaves painted on it, only to be at once distracted by a tapestry of a classical scene hung on a nearby wall, a riot of colour. My gaze was drawn again to the portrait of the King and his family; there was Mary, and behind her Jane Fool. I passed through, attracting no notice; a hunchback lawyer from the Queen’s Learned Council, come no doubt to discuss a matter connected with her lands.
The guard checked me through into the Queen’s Privy Chamber. Again a group of ladies sat sewing in the window. Once more Edward Seymour’s wife, Lady Hertford, gave me a haughty look. The Duchess of Suffolk’s spaniel saw me and gave a little bark. The Duchess scolded it. ‘Quiet, foolish Gardiner! ’Tis only the strange-looking lawyer come again.’
The inner door opened, and Lord Parr beckoned me in.
LORD PARR WENT to stand beside the Queen. She sat in her chair cushioned with crimson velvet, under her cloth of estate. Today she wore a dress in royal purple, with a low-cut bodice, the forepart decorated with hundreds of tiny Tudor roses. She was laughing at the antics of the third person in the room: dressed all in white, Jane Fool was executing a clumsy dance in front of her, waving a white wand. I exchanged a quick glance with Lord Parr. Jane ignored us, continuing with her steps, kicking up her legs. It amazed me that intelligent adults, let alone the highest in the land, could laugh at such a scene, but then it struck me that amid the formality of the court, with the endless careful watching of words and gestures, the antics of a fool could provide a welcome relief.
The Queen glanced at us and nodded to Jane. ‘Enough for now, my dear. I have business with my uncle and this gentleman.’
‘This gentleman,’ Jane mimicked, giving me an exaggerated bow. ‘This hunchback gentleman frightened me, he would have had Ducky taken away.’
I said nothing; I knew licence to insult and mock was part of a fool’s role. Nonetheless the Queen frowned. ‘That is enough, Jane.’
‘May I not finish my dance?’ The little woman pouted. ‘One minute more, I beg your majesty.’
‘Very well, but just a minute,’ the Queen replied impatiently. Jane Fool continued the dance and then, with a skilled athleticism I would not have expected, bent over and performed a handstand, her dress falling down to reveal a linen undergarment and fat little legs. I frowned. Surely this was going too far.
I became conscious that someone else had entered the room through an inner door. I turned and found myself looking at the magnificently dressed figure of the Lady Elizabeth, the King’s second daughter. Lord Parr bowed deeply to her and I followed suit. I had met Elizabeth the year before, in the company of the Queen, to whom she was close. She had grown since then; almost thirteen, she was tall and the outline of budding breasts could be seen under the bodice of her dress. It was a splendid concoction; crimson, decorated with flowers, the forepart and under-sleeves gold and white. A jewelled French hood was set on her light auburn hair.
Elizabeth’s long, clever face had matured, too; despite her pale colouring I saw in her features a resemblance to her disgraced, long-dead mother, Anne Boleyn. She had acquired, too, an adult’s poise, no longer displaying the gawkishness of a girl. She stood looking at Jane’s antics with haughty disapproval.