“Yes. I’d be happy to go with you.”

“But how could we get away? And would there be enough time?” Rose suddenly thought of her gran’s words: Some people can fall out of love as quickly as they fall in love. What if Nicholas Oliver had fallen out of love with her own mother? Would he accept her?

“There’s time, Rose. Princess Elizabeth is not to come back for another four days at the earliest. We go to Hatfield tomorrow and work hard. Get all the dusting up done, the wardrobe organized. There’s a rumor that the upstairs steward . . .”

“Master Stanhope.”

“Yes, Master Stanhope. The rumor is that he’s being promoted to King Edward’s household and is to become Groom of the Stool.”

“What’s that?” Rose asked.

Franny blushed. “You know.”

“Know what, Franny?”

“The stool, the garderobe where we go . . .”

“To the bathroom.”

“Oh yes, that’s what you call it, isn’t it—going to the bathroom. Well, the king has a special one. Very fancy, and the Groom of the Stool helps him with . . .”

“Pooping!” Rose burst into laughter.

“Yes, his bodily functions. And bathing as well.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“Only kings have them. Never queens.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Franny shrugged. “It just means that there’s a reordering of our household going on, and while the cat’s away, the mice will play. Speaking of cats, I saw that orange cat I spied when I first met you. The three-legged one.”

“September?”

“Is that what you call her?”

“Yes.” Rose chuckled. “She’s a dear old thing. A stray, I guess. Very shy but has developed a fondness for me. She’s very independent. Comes and goes as she pleases.”

Chapter 31

“Imagine That, September”

Franny had been right that the household staff was shifting, with several staff members being ordered to attend the new king. Thus there were fewer servants. But the workload had dwindled since there were no royals to serve at the moment.

September had deigned to join “the staff” and had distinguished herself as a superb mouser. Mrs. Belson, the cook, could not sing the cat’s praises enough. And while the human “cats” were away, certain mice did play. On this particular morning there was time at last for Rose and Franny to set out on their expedition to Stow-on-the-Wold. They left at dawn. It was the end of February, and it seemed as if there might be more than a hint of spring in the chill air. The trees were about to bud and had that slightly shy look, as if to say, “Dare I?” The leaves were still furled tight as babies’ fists, but eager to grasp at the sunlight as it spread across the land.

“Why did Andrew let you ride astride and me sidesaddle, Franny?”

“I ain’t a lady like you, Rose. And it’s easier for me with my leg.”