She nods at me.

‘Lady Rochford is a most skilled and wise courtier,’ my uncle goes on. ‘There can be few people who have seen more of the king throughout his life. Lady Rochford will tell you how you are to go on. It is our hope and our intention that the king will favour you, that he will, in short, fall in love with you.’

‘Me?’

They both nod. Are they quite mad? He is an old old man, he must have given up all thoughts of love years ago. He has a daughter Princess Mary, far older than me, nearly old enough to be my mother. He is ugly, his teeth are rotten and his limp makes him waddle like a fat old goose. A man like this must have put all thoughts of love out of his head years ago. He might think of me as a granddaughter but not in any other way.

‘But he is marrying Lady Anne,’ I point out.

‘Even so.’

‘He is too old to fall in love.’

My uncle shoots such a scowl at me that I give a little squeak of terror.

‘Fool,’ he says shortly.

I hesitate for a moment. Can they really mean that they want this old king to be my lover? Should I say something about my virginity and my spotless reputation, which in Lambeth seemed to matter so very much?

‘My reputation?’ I whisper.

Again my uncle laughs. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he says.

I look towards Lady Rochford, who was supposed to be my chaperone in a lewd court and watch my behaviour and guard my precious honour.

‘I can explain it all to you later,’ she says.

I take it then that I should say nothing. ‘Yes, my lord,’ I say very sweetly.

‘You are a pretty girl,’ he says. ‘I have given Lady Rochford money for you to have a new gown.’

‘Oh, thank you!’

He smiles at my sudden enthusiasm. He turns to Lady Rochford. ‘And I will leave a manservant with you. He can serve you and run errands. It seems that it may become worth my while to keep a man with you. Who would have thought it? Anyway, keep me informed as to how things go on here.’

She rises from her seat and curtseys. He goes out without another word. The two of us are left alone.

‘What does he want?’ I ask, utterly bewildered.

She looks at me as if she were measuring me for a gown, she looks me up and down. ‘Never mind for now,’ she says kindly. ‘He is pleased with you, that’s the main thing.’

ANNE, BLACKHEATH,

3 JANUARY 1540