I took from my bag the finest ruff I had ever fashioned. Her ladies came to unpin her own and replaced it with mine. They tucked the matching cuffs into her sleeves and a long mirror was brought. Only one kept her distance. I knew her to be Lucy Russell, Countess of Bedford, the Queen’s favorite and influential in all matters; her parents, staunch Protestants, were the guardians of Prince Henry and brought him up in their household. Frankie was afraid of her, for she was clever in everything from poetry to politics, and an open adversary of the Howards and their allies. Although possessing taste, she was restrained in fashion and stood aloof from our experiment with yellow.

The Queen looked at herself a long while, without expression. If she disliked my yellow starch the news would ripple through the Court and out to the far edges of the country in days; George and I might not survive it. He had stressed this to me when Frankie first suggested the meeting; “Nothing ventured…” I had replied, but was now regretting my lack of caution. Never had a face said so little as the Queen’s at that moment. Beyond the doors I could hear chatting and laughter; how I wished to be back out there.

“They are brave,” she said, finally, “but I am not so brave.”

I felt heavy in every part. To agree was insolence; to contradict, also. Frankie was very still beside me. The Queen turned from the mirror and looked at us. Was I meant to apologize? Doubt froze me.

“And so I will require more from you than your starch.” She smiled. It was as if a shutter had been thrown open to flood the room with sunlight. Frankie let out her breath. The ladies-in-waiting began talking at once, especially those already in yellow. I was still cold from dread and thought it would take me a week to recover.

The Queen led me to a mound of lumpy sacks in one corner. She spoke quietly, so that only I could hear. “I would welcome your talents, Mistress Turner, to turn these clothes belonging to the late Queen into something more of the moment. I know you do not sew yourself,” she added, even in her majesty not wishing to cause offense, “but a change is needed. I am always in a crowd,” she said, her voice intimate, “and I must stand out.”

Although not long immersed in Court intrigue, I understood her words. For the first time in her long marriage, the King was raising a favorite above her. She needed to recapture his love or, at least, his respect. She faced the same difficulty as Frankie: engaging the attention of a husband who was not interested in her.