“Lady Frances, rise. How is your mother?” said Queen Anna, in an accent from the Continent, laced with Scots. Frankie’s mother was Keeper of the Queen’s Jewels but not among the first tier of ladies-in-waiting, who were all from the Essex camp. The Court of Queen Anna welcomed those who found no favor with the King.

“In good health, ma’am, thank you,” said Frankie, at ease in a situation that was making me sweat.

“And this is Mistress Turner?”

I was so shocked to be mentioned by name that I might have toppled sideways had Robert Carr not put a steadying hand to my elbow.

“It is, ma’am.”

“Rise, Mistress Turner.”

I did, shamed as I heard my knees crack. The Queen ignored it; we are of an age. “Your yellow starch has become quite the fashion.”

I bobbed a curtsy like a dumb kitchen wench. I could find no words. Frankie rescued me.

“Mistress Turner is as modest as she is talented, ma’am.”

“Come,” the Queen said to us, as if Carr were not there. He remained doubled over in a deep bow as I took the bag from his grasp. I passed the obeisant throng, pretending it was me to whom they paid homage. I enjoyed every moment, who would not? When again would I have a great crowd of people at my feet?

We followed the Queen into her privy apartments. That she had noticed my designs was even more wonderful to me than the King’s attentions, for she is admired and copied, whereas the King is prone to eccentric dressing and would never take advice from a woman.

The room into which we were led also faced the river and was filled with light and reflection, even on this wet day. Ladies-in-waiting of different ranks were gathered. Some I knew, for I had fashioned them or George had purged them, but most I did not. Their eyes, guarded and expressionless, watched us as we entered.

“Let me try on something yellow,” Queen Anna said, as if it were forbidden, like tobacco, although I knew she was not timorous. Frankie had spent hours telling me of the wondrous masques the Queen commissioned every year, with women appearing on stage, moving scenery and outlandish, often military, costumes. The King railed against women adopting men’s dress but the Queen clearly enjoyed being armed and victorious.