Why the king is angry, and what she has done, I don’t know until after dinner when I go up to the table to take her a handkerchief that she had embroidered to give to the king. It is a new fashion and very elegant. She certainly can sew. If a man prized a wife for her sewing she would be his very favourite. But she never even gives it to him, for as I come up he suddenly turns to her and says: ‘We shall have a merry court for Easter.’

She would have been better advised to say, ‘yes’, and leave it at that. But she says, ‘I am glad. I wish for the Lady Elizabeth and the Princess Mary to come to court.’

He looks furious, and I see her hands grip together on the table before her. ‘Not the Lady Elizabeth,’ he says gruffly. ‘You should not wish for her company nor she for yours.’

This is too fast for her and I see her puzzled little frown, but she understands well enough that he is saying, ‘no’.

‘Princess Mary,’ she says quietly. ‘She is my stepdaughter.’

I can hardly breathe, I am so amazed at her daring to reply. Fancy having him snarl at you like that and then standing your ground!

‘I cannot think why you should want to summon a determined Papist to court,’ he says icily. ‘She is no friend of your faith.’

The queen understands the tone well enough even if she does not quite comprehend the words.

‘I her stepmother am,’ she says simply. ‘I guide her.’

He gives a sharp bark of laughter and I am afraid of him, even if she is not. ‘She is all but your own age,’ he says unkindly. ‘I don’t think she will want any mothering from the likes of you. She was mothered by one of the greatest princesses of Christendom, and when I parted them they defied me rather than huddle together for love. D’you think she will need a girl her own age to take care of her? When she and her mother let death part them rather than deny their faith? D’you think she’ll want a mother now who can’t even speak English? She can talk to you in Latin or Greek or Spanish or French or English, but not German. And what do you have? Oh, yes, only High German.’

I know I should say something to distract his temper, but he is so spiteful and so sharp that he frightens me. I can’t say anything, I stand there like a fool and wonder how she can find the strength not to faint in her chair.

She is flushed scarlet with embarrassment, from the neck of her gown to her heavy hood, I can see the blush under her muslin shift and under the collar of gold and her neckpiece. It is painful to see her embarrassment before his anger and I wait for her to burst into tears and run from the room. But she does not.