“Oh, hello there,” she said kindly as she looked up from the shoe.

“Hello,” Rose replied. “I’m sorry about your shoe.”

“Oh, don’t be. Comes with the job, you know.”

“The shoes or the bullying?”

“Bullying?” Jane tipped her head to one side. A look of confusion passed over her face.

“Teasing,” Rose said.

“But I’m a fool. Fools are born to be teased. And the shoes are part of my pay. I’ll get new ones—all paid for by the king. The only problem is . . .” She paused.

“What?”

“The cobbler who made these died. The feathers are ruined. I can get new feathers but not a new cobbler, and I fear these stains are forever.”

“Maybe not. May I take a look?”

“Sure, Rose.”

“You know my name, then?”

“I make it my business to know everyone’s name, everyone in the entire royal court. I’m a fool, but I’m not stupid, you know,” she said, handing over the shoes.

“I’m sure you’re not, Jane,” Rose replied firmly. As a matter of fact, Rose felt she had glimpsed something deep inside Jane’s very bald head that made her think once again that this so-called fool might be the brightest and the slyest person in the court. Cunning, Rose thought. One had to be cunning to survive in the court of Henry VIII.

Rose looked at the shoe. There were stains all over it. “What about the other one?”

“Not as bad. And egg isn’t as bad as dung.”

“Dung?”

“Cow dung, or sometimes horse or sheep dung.”

“They chase you with . . . with . . . poop?!”

“Poop!” Jane threw back her egg-stained head and laughed raucously. “That is completely delightful. I love that word. Let me think now. How might I work that into one of my performances . . . ?”

“You know, I might be able to help you with these stains,” Rose said, examining the shoe.

“Truly, miss?”

“Yes. Lend them to me for a little bit . . . well, actually, it might take a while.” Rose was thinking of the dry cleaner’s close to her gran’s house. Their now-unforgettable slogan We Mean Clean was too true! Yikes! thought Rose. The perfect place to deal with stains made by the cruel game of an up-and-coming Mean Queen, Bloody Mary.

“Oh, how wonderful! Take them away! And I’ll get the feathers!”

As Rose was leaving, she had a thought. She turned on the steps. “Jane? If I might call you that?”

“Certainly, Rose.” That one eye seemed to jitter a bit.

“You said you knew everyone in the court. But some are not always at court. Some artisans and craftsmen. Do you know a man by the name of Nicholas Oliver?”

“Of course! I know of him. The jeweler. Very favored he is by the king.”

Rose felt her heart race. “Do you know when he might be coming?”