A terrible thought seized him—what if the princess found the secret pin and opened the locket? She might think the photographs were some sort of magic. It would be dangerous for him and dangerous for the princess. The witch talk might start up again. He could just imagine Princess Mary brewing that cauldron of lies. It was witch rumors that had cost Anne Boleyn her head, with a bit of help from the king. Nicholas had made Rosemary promise to take the pictures out of the locket before she left that last time, in case they were discovered. She had agreed and told him that he too must destroy the other pictures she had brought to show him of their daughter, even though he kept them safe in his locked box where he stored precious metals for his work. However, he couldn’t destroy them—it would be too hard. And when Rosemary left and did not come back, he was glad he had not destroyed the pictures. But why had she never come back, and how had she managed to leave the locket behind? She wore the locket always. How long had it been since she’d left? Seven years? Eight? Rose must be nearing thirteen, for she was a couple of years older than Elizabeth. Princess Elizabeth was not yet three when her mother was beheaded. And now she was almost a young woman herself. But the witch talk had started when she was just months old.

Nicholas Oliver had tried to reconstruct the timeline of the events before Rosemary had left for good. Anne Boleyn had been crowned queen in May of 1533. The baby princess had been born in September of 1533. The former queen, Catherine of Aragon, had already been banished to an obscure palace. She was to be moved again, and this time her daughter, Princess Mary, had been attending her. But unbeknownst to either of them, Mary was to be dropped off at Hatfield to help tend the newborn Princess Elizabeth. The humiliations devised by Anne Boleyn were unending.

Rosemary had served in the royal household for some time. Perhaps five years. She had begun in the confectionery making sweetmeats—candied fruits, decorative treats and delicacies. It was a small kitchen that was one of several connected with the main kitchen. Her handiwork was exquisite, and she soon was moved to the wardrobe, where she worked on the delicate stitching required for Anne Boleyn’s extravagant gowns. Queen Anne insisted that stitchers for the drab previous queen had no idea how to work a fine fabric with gold thread. “It looks as if it’s been gnawed by a goat,” she had declared. And thus Rosemary was sent for.

“She’s quite impossible!” Rosemary had fumed once to Nicholas. “But hey, I’m a Realtor. I deal with impossible clients all the time.”