I am sorry to my heart for my mistress Queen Anne. I would have liked to stay as her maid and to see her become happy. But what cannot be, cannot be, and I would be foolish indeed to mourn over my own good fortune. She is like those poor men executed so that I can have their lands, or the poor nuns thrown from their homes so that we can all be richer. Such people have to suffer for our benefit. I have learned that this is the way of the world. And it’s not my fault that the world is a hard place for others. I hope she finds happiness as I will do. Perhaps she will go home to her brother in wherever-it-is. Poor dear. Perhaps she will marry the man that she was betrothed to marry. My uncle tells me that she was very wrong to come to England when she knew she was bound to marry another man. This was a very shocking thing to do and I am surprised at her. She always seemed such a well-behaved young woman, I cannot believe that she would do such a naughty thing. Of course when my uncle speaks of a prior betrothal I cannot help but think of my poor, dear Francis Dereham. I have never mentioned the promises we exchanged, and really, I think it best that I just forget all about it, and pretend that it never happened. It is not always easy to be a young woman in this world that is full of temptation for sure, and I do not criticise Queen Anne for being betrothed to another and then marrying the king. I wouldn’t do it myself, of course, but since Francis Dereham and I were not properly married, nor even properly betrothed, I do not consider it. I didn’t have a proper gown, so clearly it wasn’t a proper wedding or binding vows. All we did was the daydreaming of little children and a few innocent kisses. No more than that, really. But she could do worse, if she is sent home, than to marry her first love. I myself shall always think of Francis with affection. One’s first love is always very sweet, probably sweeter than a very old husband. When I am queen I shall do something very kind for Francis.

ANNE, WESTMINSTER PALACE,

10 JUNE 1540

Dear God, save me, dear God, save me, every one of my friends or allies is in the Tower and I do not doubt but they will soon come for me. Thomas Cromwell, the man given the credit for bringing me to England, is arrested, charged with treason. Treason! He has been the king’s servant, he has been his dog. He is no more capable of treason than one of the king’s greyhounds. Clearly, the man is no traitor. Clearly, he has been arrested to punish him for making my marriage. If this charge brings him to the block and the executioner’s axe, then there can be little doubt that I will follow.