“You might as well go, and come back as quick as you can,” I say sulkily. “Nothing is going to change much within a month, I suppose. And people will only wonder if you refuse such a chance.”

“If you send for me, I’ll come back at once,” he promises. “For whatever reason. The moment you send for me I will come to you. Wherever I am. I have a new servant and he will carry messages for me, between you and me, without telling anyone. His name is Glynne, you will remember that? And trust him when he comes to you?”

“I’ll remember, but you will promise to go to the French coronation, and come straight home?” I ask him. “No running after the dowager queen like that puppy Henry Stuart, Margaret Douglas’s son.”

“I will,” he promises. “I won’t be long, a few weeks only.”

“All right then,” I say unhappily. “Go.”

He produces from behind his back a small scroll and a purse of gold. “This is for you,” he says sweetly. “My dear wife. For any expenses you have when I am away. And this is my will. I leave you a thousand pounds’ worth of land. A thousand!”

“Oh, don’t say it!” At once I am in floods of tears again thinking of Janey dying in the night, alone, without even saying good-bye to me. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to inherit anything from you. I just want to live with you, not die. Everyone that I love dies, and now you are going away!”

“Keep it safe anyway,” he says, pressing it into my hands, “and I will be back within the month to reclaim it from you.”

GREENWICH PALACE,

SUMMER 1561

The court hardly notices when Ned bids farewell to the queen, everyone is so busy with amusement. This is Elizabeth’s favorite time of year, and every day there are balls and hunts and picnics. We ride out of Greenwich Palace down to hunt the water meadows that run beside the river. We walk in the gardens in the evenings and watch the early swifts and swallows fly round and around the high turrets and swoop over the waters. They dip into their own reflections, making a little splash as they part from their mirrored selves.