There had been rumours that Queen Mary was pregnant again and for a little while it seemed England might yet have a Catholic heir. I saw how that infuriated Robert and I enjoyed his displeasure, knowing it was prompted by fear and thwarted ambition. But there was no child. Instead the rumours changed to ones of the Queen’s ill health. Robert, I knew, was waiting for her to die but in death as well as in life, Mary was stubborn. She would not end her life to suit Robert Dudley.

I wanted her to live forever.

Meanwhile, whilst Robert simmered, I was frequently left at Throcking to kick my heels in idleness. I had no household to run and precious little business to deal with although Robert did allow me to conduct the smaller matters of his Norfolk estates in his absence. I think it made him feel generous to concede to me a little of the running of my inheritance. No doubt he felt I should be grateful, and I was. The business gave me the opportunity to take a little, just a very little, of the income each time, small enough that Robert would not notice, monies that could get lost in the larger whole, but for me added up to freedom.

Throcking was a beautiful place, but so lonely. There was no society beyond Mr Hyde’s household. It felt like a closed world. The house too should have been delightful, a manor of mellow brick with a pretty little moat. But in the summer the moat stagnated and smelled and the water was dark and impenetrable. I was as much a prisoner as the Princess Elizabeth in my own way.

I well remember that day in November when we heard the news of Queen Mary’s death. How could I ever forget? The house was still asleep when there was a clatter of hooves over the bridge and Mr Hyde’s voice rose above the hubbub, shouting for the grooms. We tumbled from our beds; I grabbed my shawl over my nightgown for the autumn air was chill and laden with the scent of wood smoke and cold ash, the fire dead in the grate and too early for a maid to have come in to build it anew. I winced as my feet touched the cold floor.

I ran to the window. The first light of a grey dawn was creeping across the flat lands about Throcking, a mist floating above the moat, and below in the courtyard I could see William Hyde and Robert and a whole army of men in the Dudley livery. Steam rose from the sweating horses, urgency in every breath.

“The Queen is dead!” I heard the words pass from man to man, running like lightning through the crowd of servants now thronging the courtyard.

My heart gave a strange, sickening lurch and I thought I might fall. I opened the casement to call down to Robert, to ask if it were true, but then I saw that he was leaving already. They were leading out another horse for him, a showy white stallion that disliked the morning chill as much as I did and was sidestepping and trying to rear. Robert brought him under control with a ruthless hand, turning once more for the bridge over the moat.