She shakes her head. ‘He never says goodbye. When his favour has gone then he goes swiftly too. He never said goodbye to my mother either, he rode away from her and she had to send her servants after him to wish him Godspeed. He never told her that he would not return. He just rode out one day, and never came back. He never said goodbye to the Lady Anne. He rode away from the May Day tournament and sent his men to arrest her. Actually, he never even said goodbye to Queen Jane, who died in giving him his son. He knew she was fighting for her life but he did not go to her. He let her die alone. He is hard-hearted but he is not hard-faced; he cannot stand women crying, he cannot stand goodbyes. He finds it easier to turn his heart, and turn his face, and then he just leaves.’

I give a little shudder, and I go to the windows and check that they are tight shut, I have to stop myself from closing the shutters against the hard light. There is a cold wind coming off the river, I can almost feel it chilling me as I stand here. I want to go out to the presence chamber and surround myself with my silly girls, with a pageboy playing the lute, and the women laughing. I want the comfort of the queen’s rooms around me, even though I know that three other women have needed their comfort before, and they are all dead.

‘If he turn against me, as he turn against the Lady Anne, I would have no warning,’ I say quietly. ‘Nobody at this court is my friend, no-one even tell me that danger is coming.’

Princess Mary does not attempt to reassure me.

‘It could be, like for the Lady Anne, a sunny day, a tournament, and then the men at arms come and there is no escape?’

Her face is pale. She nods. ‘He sent the Duke of Norfolk against me to order my obedience. The good duke, who had known me from childhood and served my mother loyally, with love, said to my face that if he were my father he would swing me by the heels and split my head open against the wall,’ she says. ‘A man I had known from childhood, a man who knew me to be a Princess of the Blood, who had loved my mother as her most loyal servant. He came with my father’s goodwill, under his orders, and he was ready to take me to the Tower. The king sent his executioner against me and let him do what he would.’

I take a handful of priceless tapestry, as if the touch of it can comfort me. ‘But I am innocent of offence,’ I say. ‘I have done nothing,’

‘Neither had I,’ she replies. ‘Neither had my mother. Neither had Queen Jane. Perhaps even the Lady Anne was innocent too. We all saw the king’s love turn to spite.’