There are quiet murmurs that the rebellion in the North was led by brave men, courageous men who thought that they could fight for their God against the king. But the older men of the little town point out that they are all dead now, and the king’s progress to the North this year is to march over their graves and insult their widows.

I don’t interfere with anything that anyone says, if there is anything spoken in my hearing which could amount to treason I go quickly away, and make sure that I tell one of my ladies or one of my household that something was said, but I did not understand it. I hide in my stupidity, I think it will be my salvation. I put on my dull, uncomprehending face and trust that my reputation for ugliness and stolidity will save me. In general, people say nothing before me but treat me with a sort of puzzled kindness, as if I have survived some terrible illness and should still be treated with care. In a way, I have. I am the first woman to survive marriage with the king. That is a more remarkable feat than surviving the plague. The plague will go through a town and in the worst summer, in the poorest areas, perhaps one in ten women will die. But of the king’s four wives only one has emerged with her health intact: me.

Dr Harst’s spy reports that the king’s spirits are much improved and his temper lifted by his travels north. The man was not ordered to go with the court but has stayed behind to clean the king’s rooms in the general sweetening of Hampton Court Palace. So I cannot know how their progress is going. I had a brief letter from Lady Rochford and she told me that the king’s health is better and that he and Katherine are merry. If that poor child does not conceive a baby soon, I do not think she will be merry for much longer.

I write also to the Princess Mary. She is much relieved that the question of her marriage to a French prince has been utterly put to one side as Spain and France are to go to war and King Henry will side with Spain. His great fear is of an invasion from France and some of the hated taxation is being well spent on forts all along the south coast. From Princess Mary’s point of view, only one thing matters: if her father is aligned with Spain then she will not be married off to a French prince. She is such a passionate daughter of her Spanish mother that I think she would rather live and die a virgin than be married to a Frenchman. She hopes the king will allow me to visit her before autumn. When he returns from his progress I shall write to the king and ask him if I may invite the Princess Mary to stay with me. I should like to spend time with her. She laughs at me and calls us the royal spinsters, and so we are. Two women who are of no use. Nobody knows whether I am a duchess or a queen or a nothing. Nobody knows if she is a princess or a bastard. The royal spinsters. I wonder what will become of us?