‘I go in there, put new candles in the holders, lay out fresh linen on the coffer, then change the flowers and place fresh herbs and petals about the room. I feed the Queen’s dog, Rig, if he is there, but he was not that night. I do not touch her majesty’s bed or clothes, of course, that is for her chamberers. Mary Odell, I think it was, that day.’

I nodded. ‘You put the linen on the chest. You know valuables are kept within?’

‘I swear, sir, I did not touch it. I never do. I believe it is locked.’

‘Have you ever tried the lock to find out?’

‘Never,’ he answered. ‘I am loyal to her majesty – ’ His voice rose in fear.

I made my tone friendlier. ‘Did you notice anything unusual in the room that evening? About the chest, perhaps?’

‘No, sir. It was dusk by then. I carried a lamp.’ He frowned. ‘But if anything had been amiss with the chest I think I would have seen. I placed the linen there every night that week.’

‘Have you ever seen the stolen ring?’

‘No. I am told the Queen wears it on her finger sometimes, but I always have to bow low each time she passes, so I have never seen it.’

‘Very well.’ I believed him, but Garet Lynley, I was sure, was frightened of something more than just my interrogation. ‘Where are you from, boy?’ I asked lightly. ‘You have a northern cast of tongue.’

The question seemed to disturb him greatly; his eyes swivelled as he answered me. ‘Lancashire, sir. My mother was once a maid-in-waiting in Catherine of Aragon’s household. It was through her that my family were granted their lands. She knew the present Queen’s mother, old Lady Parr.’

‘And that was how you got this post? Through your family’s connection with the Queen’s mother?’

‘Yes, sir. She wrote to Lord Parr as to whether there might be a place for me.’ His breath was coming noticeably fast now.

‘Are both your parents still alive?’

‘Not my father, sir.’ The boy hesitated. ‘He was imprisoned in the Tower after the Northern Rebellion ten years ago, and died there.’

I considered carefully. A boy whose mother had served Catherine of Aragon and whose father had taken part in the Northern Rebellion. ‘Your family history, then, might make people wonder about your religious sympathies,’ I said slowly.

Garet’s collapse was sudden, and total. Almost falling off his chair, he knelt on the floor, wringing his hands. ‘It is not true! I swear I am no papist, I loyally follow the King’s dispensations. I keep telling people, if only they would leave me alone – ’

‘Get up,’ I said gently. I felt sorry to have unmanned him so. ‘Take your chair again. Now, listen, I am not here to harm you. What people?’

He shook his head desperately. Tears were coursing down his cheeks now.