KATHERINE, GREENWICH PALACE,

7 JANUARY 1540

The king was already gone before we arrived in the chamber on the day after the wedding, so I missed seeing the King of England in his nightshirt on his wedding morning, though I had set my heart on it. The maids of work went in with her ale, and wood for her fire, and water to wash in, and we waited until we were called to help her dress. She was sitting up in bed with her nightcap on and a neat plait down her back, not a hair out of place. She didn’t look like a girl who has made merry all night, I must say. She looked exactly the same as when we put her to bed last night, quite calm and pretty in that cow-like way, and pleasant enough with everyone, not asking for any special favours and not complaining of anything. I was by the bed and since nobody was taking any notice of me I twitched up the sheet and had a quick look.

I didn’t see a thing. Exactly so. Not one solitary thing. Speaking as a girl who has had to smuggle a sheet down to the pump and wash it quickly and sleep on it damp more than once, I know when a man and a maid have used a bed for more than sleeping. Not this bed. I would put my precious reputation on the fact that the king did not have her and she did not bleed. I would put the Howard fortune on a bet that they slept just as we left them, when we put them to bed, side by side like a pair of little dolls. The bottom sheet was not even rumpled, never mind soiled. I would bet Westminster Abbey that nothing has happened between them.

I knew who would want to know at once, Lady Nosy-Parker of course. I made a curtsey and went from the room as if I were running an errand and found her, just coming from her own chamber. As soon as she saw my face she snatched my hands and drew me back into her room.

‘I bet you a fortune that he has not had her,’ I say triumphantly, without a word of explanation.

One thing that I like about Lady Rochford is that she always knows what I am talking about. I never have to explain anything to her.

‘The sheets,’ I say. ‘Not a mark on them, they’re not even creased.’

‘Nobody has changed them?’

I shake my head. ‘I was first in, after the maids.’

She reaches in the cupboard by the bed and brings out a sovereign and gives it to me. ‘That’s very good,’ she says. ‘You and I, between us, should always be the first to know everything.’

I smile, but I am thinking about some ribbons I shall buy with the sovereign to trim my new gown and perhaps some new gloves.

‘Don’t tell anyone else,’ she cautions me.