“I . . . I was afraid he might take you away. And . . . and I couldn’t really think how to tell you exactly. I tried ever so many times to write you a letter.”

“Take me away? Away to where?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know.” There was so much she was not saying. Would this be considered lying?

“Was his name Nicholas Oliver?”

“Indeed it was, Rose. How did you know?”

“When I first met Prince Edward—I mean King Edward—I asked him about my pendant that Elizabeth wore. You see, I saw one of the young women at Greenwich, Lady Margaret, wearing a pin that was similar. I asked Edward who made such lovely jewelry, and he told me that a certain Nicholas Oliver did. So if you saw him, he must live close to Hatfield. Oh . . . oh . . .” Rose began to sputter. “Wowzer!”

And now Franny giggled for the first time. Sometimes the words that Rose came out with were quite amazing.

“Yes, Franny, this is a genuine wowzer, gee-whiz, OMG moment.” Then Rose’s expression changed suddenly. Her forehead crinkled. Her voice became cold. “But why didn’t you tell me? We’re supposed to be friends. Friends tell each other the truth. And you are the one who told me to look for my father and not . . . not . . . just think about the locket.”

“Are you angry, Rose? Please, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry, but I’m confused.” She paused. “And yes, to be honest, a little bit angry.”

“I was fearful you’d leave with him. It was selfish of me, I know.”

“But where to?” Rose asked her again.

“I don’t know, Rose.” She cast her eyes down. She was afraid to look Rose in the face.

She’s holding back something, Rose thought. She isn’t exactly lying, but she’s not telling me the whole truth.

“I just want to find him, Franny. That’s all. I told you that my mother died. I don’t really have anyone else.”

“I’m sorry, Rose.”

“Don’t be sorry. Help me find him.”

“I will! I will! I promise.” And now Rose believed her. They were best friends, but in that moment, as they peered into each other’s eyes, they each sensed that the other had an even deeper secret that she dared not reveal.

“I can’t believe it. My dad, my very own dad, might be near.”

“Dad?” Franny asked. “Is that the same as father?”

“Yes, yes. Do you know where he lives?”

“Andrew, the horse master’s son, told me. The goldsmith had come to Hatfield with some jewelry to be delivered to the royal court. That’s when I first saw him. So I asked Andrew and he said that he thought Nicholas Oliver lived over near Stow-on-the-Wold.”

“Never heard of it. Where’s that?”

“About a day’s ride from Hatfield.”

“So you’re saying I could ride there?”