“And the ruff?” Rose asked.

“Right here. Ties in the back.”

Rose’s heart fell when she saw it. It was rather small compared with the discards she had seen in the princess’s closet, with the layers upon layers of stiff ruffles. After she tied it on, she reached for the kerchief and began to wind it back on her head.

“Oh no!” Mrs. Dobkins said. “That won’t do at all.”

“It won’t?”

“No, Rose. This is court. And because you’ll be serving in the royal princess’s chamber, you must wear this.” She held up a French hood. Mrs. Dobkins began fastening it onto her own head. “Now mind you, dear, not a hair must be showing for servants who wear the French hood.”

“Is this for hygiene or something?” Rose asked.

“Hy-what?”

“Uh . . . nothing.”

“It’s just a rule. So mind it.”

“A lot of the women in the portrait paintings at Hatfield wear these hoods, don’t they?”

“Indeed, but much more ornate than ours. You saw the portrait of Elizabeth’s grandmother. She had a cloth with a gold crescent stitched to the top.”

“Oh yes.”

Mrs. Dobkins nodded. “Before my time.”

“Are there any paintings of Princess Elizabeth’s mother?”

Mrs. Dobkins looked up in horror. “Of course not, and don’t ever mention her. Never, Rose. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” But was it true? Had Anne Boleyn been a witch like Princess Mary had said? Of course she hadn’t! Rose knew there was no such thing as witches—except, of course, on Halloween. This reminded her that perhaps there would be some way of sneaking this ruff back to Gran’s house. Perhaps she could just add a few more layers of ruffles onto it. No more of this servants’ wear for her. She was determined to be a queen! A good queen. Not a Mean Queen.

A Prince

Chapter 17

Greenwich Palace

Dear Rose

This is my furst tri at scriving a reel leter. Be pashunt with me. Lukky you. Grenitch Palus is said to be so grand. But I shall tell you one secrit. In the park at Grenwitch I hurd the princess say that there be a tree with a holow trunk. It be an Ok tree and very anchunt. She and little Prints Edword sumtymes play in the holow.

Luv

Franny

This was at least the tenth time Rose had read Franny’s letter. There had hardly been time to write back, but now in this brief moment between preparing the royal princesses’ chambers and brushing out their clothes, she had a minute. So she sat down in the tiny bedroom in the chamber that she shared with Sara, and began to write. She had filched a quill pen and a bit of ink from one of the numerous kitchen pantries.

Dear Franny,