‘He hurts her?’ he asks, shocked.

‘No,’ I say. ‘She is crying with lust. Night after night she labours over him to give him pleasure, and all she can do for herself is to wind herself up tighter and tighter, like a bowstring ready to snap.’

Culpepper’s face is a picture, if I were not doing my work for my lord duke I would not be able to contain my laughter. ‘She cries with lust?’

‘She could scream with it,’ I say. ‘Some nights I give her a sleeping powder, other nights she takes mulled wine and spices. But even so, some nights she cannot sleep for hours. She paces round the chamber pulling at the ribbons of her nightgown, saying that she is burning up.’

‘She always comes out after the king is asleep?’

‘If you were to come back in an hour she would be coming out then,’ I whisper.

He hesitates for a moment. ‘I dare not,’ he says.

‘You could see her,’ I tempt him. ‘When she comes from his bed with her desire unslaked, longing for you.’

His face is a portrait of hunger.

‘She wants you,’ I remind him. ‘I stroke her hair and she drops back her head and whispers, “Oh, Thomas”.’

‘She whispers my name?’

‘She is mad for you.’

‘If I were to be caught with her it would be her death, and mine,’ he says.

‘You could just come and talk to her,’ I say. ‘Soothe her. It would be a service to the king to keep her steady. How long can she go on like this? The king pulling her about every night, stripping her naked, running his eyes and then his hands all over her, touching every inch of her, and yet never giving her a moment of peace? She is wound up tight, I tell you, Master Culpepper, tight like a lute string overstrung.’

His throat contracts as he swallows at the picture. ‘If I could just talk to her . . .’

‘Come back in an hour and I will let you in,’ I say. I am almost as breathless as him, as excited by my words as he is. ‘You can talk to her in her privy chamber, the king will be asleep in the bedroom. I can be here with the two of you, all the time. What complaint could anyone make if I am there, with the two of you, all the time?’

Oddly, he is not reassured by my friendship; he pulls back and stares at me suspiciously. ‘Why would you so serve me?’ he demands. ‘What benefit for you?’

‘I serve the queen,’ I say quickly. ‘I always serve the queen. She wants your friendship, she wants to see you. All I do is make that safe for her.’

He must be mad with love if he thinks that anyone could make their meeting safe. ‘In an hour,’ he says.

* * *

I wait by the fire as it dies down. I am doing my duty for the duke but I find my mind straying all the time to my husband George, and to Anne. He used to wait for her to come from the king’s bed, just as I am waiting now, just as Culpepper will wait for the queen. I shake my head, I have sworn not to think of them any more, I have sworn to put the thought of them away from me. I drove myself quite mad thinking about them before, now they are gone, I need not torment myself about them any more.