I laugh at her, and at myself. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Tell her that men are not so different in Cleves but that this woman of Cleves is clearly a fool and I shall be guided by her in future even if she is only fourteen, whatever her grandmother calls her.’

KATHERINE, DARTFORD,

2 JANUARY 1540

Utter terror! Oh, God! Horror beyond my worst fears! I shall die of this, I shall. My uncle has come here, all the way from Greenwich, specially to see me, and summoned me to him. What on God’s earth can he want with me? I am certain that my conversation with the king has come to his ears and he thinks the worst of it and will send me home to my grandmother for unmaidenly behaviour. I shall die. If he sends me to Lambeth I shall die of the humiliation. But if he sends me back to Horsham I shall be glad to die of boredom. I shall fling myself into the whatever it is called, the river there—the River Horsh, the River Sham—the duckpond if needs be, and drown, and they will be sorry when I am drowned and lost to all of them.

It must have been like this for my cousin Queen Anne when she knew she was to appear before him accused of adultery and knew he would not take her side. She must have been scared out of her wits, sick with terror, but I swear no worse than I am now. I could die of terror. I may just die of terror before I even see him.

I am to see him in my Lady Rochford’s own room, the disgrace is obviously so bad that it has to be kept among us Howards, and when I go in, she is in the window-seat, so I suppose it is her who has told him all about it. When she smiles at me I scowl at her for a tale-bearing old tabby and I make a horrid face at her to let her know who I thank for my doom.

‘Lord uncle, I beg of you not to send me to Horsham,’ I say, the moment I am through the door.

He looks at me with a scowl. ‘And good day to you, my niece,’ he says icily.

I drop into a curtsey, I could almost fall to my knees. ‘Please, my lord, don’t send me back to Lambeth either,’ I say. ‘I beg of you. The Lady Anne is not displeased with me, she laughed when I told her . . .’ I break off. I realise, too late, that to tell my uncle that I have told the king’s betrothed wife that although he is fat and old he is also unspeakably vain, is perhaps not the cleverest thing to say. ‘I didn’t tell her anything,’ I correct myself. ‘But she is pleased with me and she says she will take my advice even though my grandmother thinks I am a dolt.’