* * *

In the morning I go to find my lord duke. The court is preparing to go hunting and the queen is being lifted into the saddle by one of the king’s friends. The king himself, hauled to the back of his hunter, is in a merry mood, laughing at Culpepper’s new bridle of red leather, and calling up his hounds. The duke is not riding today, he stands at the doorway, watching the horses and the hounds in the cool of the morning. I pause beside him as I go to my horse.

‘It is done,’ I say. ‘Last night.’

He nods as if I am telling him of the cost of the blacksmith. ‘Culpepper?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Will she have him again?’

‘As often as she can. She is besotted.’

‘Keep her discreet,’ he says. ‘And tell me the moment she is with child.’

I nod. ‘And my own affair?’ I ask boldly.

‘Your affair?’ he repeats, pretending he has forgotten.

‘My marriage,’ I say. ‘I . . . I need to be married.’

He raises his eyebrow. ‘Better to be married than to burn, my dear Lady Rochford?’ he asks. ‘But your marriage to George did not prevent you from burning up.’

‘That was not my fault,’ I say quickly. ‘It was her.’

He smiles, he does not have to ask whose shadow fell on my marriage and set the fire that burned us all up.

‘What news of my new marriage?’ I press him.

‘I am exchanging letters now,’ he says. ‘When you tell me that the queen is with child, I shall confirm it.’

‘And the nobleman?’ I ask urgently. ‘Who is he?’

‘Monsignor le Compte?’ he asks. ‘Wait and see, my dear Lady Rochford. But believe me, he is wealthy, and he is young, handsome and—let me think—no more than three, perhaps four, steps from the throne of France. Will that satisfy you?’

‘Completely.’ I can hardly speak for excitement. ‘I shall not fail you, my lord.’

ANNE, RICHMOND PALACE,

JUNE 1541

I have a letter from the Lord Chamberlain to invite me to go on progress with the court this summer. The king is to go to his northern lands, which were so recently in revolt against him for his attack on the old religion. He is going to punish and reward, he has sent the hangman ahead of him and he will follow safely behind. I sit for a long time with this letter in my hand.

I am trying to weigh up the dangers. If I am at court with the king and he enjoys my company and I am high in his favour then I secure my safety for perhaps another year. But equally, the hard-faced men of his court will see that he likes me again and they will put their minds to how to keep me from him. Katherine’s uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, will be anxious to keep his niece in high favour, and he will not like any comparison that is made between her and me. He will have kept the documents that prove that I was part of a Papist plot to destroy the king. He may have created evidence of worse: adultery or witchcraft, heresy or treason. Who knows what solemnly sworn statements he gathered when they thought they would put me to death? He will not have thrown them away when the king decided to divorce me. He will have kept them. He will keep them forever in case one day he wants to destroy me.