‘I know!’ I say jubilantly. ‘And you needn’t pack my gowns either for I don’t care if I ever see them again, I shall order new. Where am I going?’

The door opens a little wider and there is my uncle himself, looking stern as he must, for this is obviously to be a very solemn scene.

‘Your Grace!’ I say. I can hardly stop myself giving him a wink. So we have got through, have we? Here we are again. Him, looking stern; and me, waiting for my orders. He will have some plan to have me back on the throne and forgiven within a month. I thought I was in grave trouble and that he had deserted me; but here he is, and wherever he goes, prosperity always follows. I take a good look at his face as I come up smiling out of my curtsey and I see he is looking terribly solemn, so I look serious too. I cast my eyes down and I look wonderfully penitent. I am quite pale from being indoors all the time and I really think that with my eyes down and my lips slightly pouting I must look utterly saintly.

‘Your Grace,’ I say in a soft, mournful tone.

‘I bring you news of your sentence,’ he says.

I wait.

‘The king’s parliament has consulted and has passed a Bill of Attainder against you.’

If I knew what this is, I would know better how to respond. As it is, I think it best just to widen my eyes and look agreeable. I suppose that a Bill of Attainder is some kind of official forgiveness.

‘The king has given his assent.’

Yes, yes, but so what? What does this mean for me?

‘You will be taken to the Tower and you will be executed in private on Tower Green as soon as may be. Your lands and goods are forfeit to the Crown.’

I really have no idea what he is talking about. Besides, thanks to his poor protection of my royal fortune, I now have no lands and goods to speak of anyway. I haven’t forgotten Thomas Seymour taking my own jewels away from me as if they were still belonging to his sister.

The duke looks a bit surprised at my silence. ‘Do you understand?’

I say nothing but still look saintly.

‘Katherine! Do you understand?’

‘I don’t know what attainted means,’ I confess. It sounds like a joint of meat that has gone off.

He looks at me as if I am a half-wit. ‘Attainder,’ he corrects me. ‘Not attainted. Attainder.’

I shrug. Who cares how it is said? Does it mean that I go back to court?

‘It means that parliament has sentenced you to death and the king has given his assent,’ he says quietly. ‘It is to be done without trial. You are to die, Katherine. You will be beheaded on the green in the Tower.’

‘Die?’

‘Yes.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

I look at him. He must have a plan. ‘What should I do?’ I ask him in a whisper.