“Oh, just . . . just that I think that sounds awful, vile.”

“Well, so does Princess Elizabeth. I heard her fuming to Kat last night about it. She says if she dies a queen, she wants no part of her to be removed.”

“So where will they bury all these parts of the king?”

“His body will be buried in St George’s Chapel in Windsor and the other parts at the chapel of the Palace of Westminster.”

Rose clamped her eyes shut. She could not help but think of her own mother, the snippets of that phone call she had overheard—engulfed in flames . . . died instantly . . . no remains. But here there were remains and they were scattering them all over the countryside.

“I don’t blame Princess Elizabeth one bit. It’s absolutely savage.”

“Hush, Rose,” Franny hissed.

“Our turn now,” Sara said. The three girls joined a line of servant mourners who were filing toward the coffin. When they arrived, they were to fall to their knees and pray for the soul of their king. Rose tried to keep her eyes down, or at least not look at the dreadful box that held Henry VIII’s heart and guts. This was not difficult, as the effigy was so lifelike. She had not realized the detail. She had seen the crown, but beneath the crown was a black nightcap set with a dozen or more precious stones.

“The nightcap of forever sleep,” Sara whispered.

The wax hands of the effigy were gloved, and rings adorned the fingers.

Two days later, Kat Ashley entered the wardrobe chamber of Princess Elizabeth, where Sara and Rose were arranging the mourning clothes.

“The king has been buried at Windsor,” she announced. The king, minus a few parts, thought Rose. The thought still gave her the creeps. “The chief steward, Master Barrett, has informed me just now that Elizabeth is to proceed to Hatfield directly following the coronation.”

“But the coronation? Is it not to be in four days?” Sara asked.

“Yes, Sara, do you have some objection?”

“May we attend?” Sara asked. “We so want to see the young king crowned.”

“Nonsense. King Edward will arrive tomorrow from Windsor and shall enter the gates of London. He will then proceed from the Tower of Westminster in a grand procession so that his people may see him and celebrate.”

“But we are his people,” Sara whined.

“You are in service to the royal princess and must prepare for her return to Hatfield when she leaves the coronation.”

A perplexed look crossed Kat Ashley’s face. She did not answer. Turning her back, she walked out of the room.

It was nearly midnight when Rose and Sara finished the packing. They both went down to the servants’ kitchen. On her way, Rose tapped on the door of Franny’s tiny little chamber, hardly bigger than a chicken coop.

“What are you doing up so late?” Franny rubbed her eyes and yawned.