And she was back. Running across a courtyard between the east and west wings of Elsyng Palace, not far from Hatfield, as she carried a pile of black cloth. She knew exactly where she was going. She had picked up the fabric from the clothier and was delivering it to the tailors’ workshop. Fifteen stitchers were working away on mourning clothes and drapery for the royal escutcheons, coat of arms, seals, and various emblems that were hung in all royal residences because King Henry VIII lay dying in Whitehall Palace in London. Prince Edward was soon to arrive at Elsyng, where Princess Elizabeth was already in residence. The Earl of Hertford, Jane Seymour’s brother, was bringing the young prince. It was felt that he should be near his favorite sister, the one closest to his heart.

So, thought Rose, the bad news was that a king was about to die. But a new king, Prince Edward, who liked her quite a bit, would soon be crowned. That, she supposed, was good news. However, the best news was that Franny was coming with the retinue from Hatfield. She had been promoted to scullery maid. This meant she would now work in the same palaces as Rose did.

Once more it was as if Rose had never been gone. There was just one thing that troubled her. For the longest time, Rose had felt that Franny had something important to say to her but was never quite able to get it out. Rose didn’t want to pry. Everyone had secrets, no one more so than Rose! She sensed that Franny would tell her when she was ready. But right now she couldn’t wait to see her old friend again.

It wasn’t until she came into Elizabeth’s presence room that it really hit Rose how long she had been gone. Elizabeth had grown. She was as tall as Rose and her figure had become quite shapely. But then again, almost three years had passed in this century, although it had only been a couple of months that she had been in Indianapolis. It was now January 1547. She knew it because she had googled Henry VIII, and all his family for that matter. Indeed, everyone had changed quite a bit. Kat Ashley had certainly aged. Her face had grown drawn and wrinkled. Mrs. Dobkins’s hair had turned quite white.

Rose looked about slowly. Even Bettina, the woman with dwarfism, looked older, with more wrinkles and gray streaks in her hair. She too was dressed for mourning. Would anybody notice that Rose had not aged? Of course, she was quite tall for her age to begin with. Now Elizabeth, at fourteen, was almost two years older than her.

“Aah, here you are, Rose,” Sara said. “You put in the order for a second formal mourning dress.”

“Yes, Sara. And here’s the one for Mrs. Ashley.”