I think it can only be William Cecil or Robert Dudley; no one else has what Lady Bess calls “credit,” as if we were all misers, hoarding our reputations. I cannot bring myself to speak of courtship and secret promises to William Cecil. He is so old and so very respectable, he talks to me like a fond uncle. I would sooner confess to my real uncle Grey than tell William Cecil. Besides, he has asked me already and I have lied to him, barefaced, throughout this long pregnancy, and he will not forget that. But Robert Dudley has always been kind to me. He befriended Ned, he acknowledges my importance as the heir to the throne. He has recovered his reputation after murdering his wife; his credit at the court is the best in the land. He owns dozens of houses that the queen has given him—surely he can tuck me away in one of them? I decide that I will tell him in the morning, and I lie down again and try to sleep.

I turn around, and then around again. It’s pointless lying in my bed. I heave myself like a beached whale to one side and then to another, but I cannot get comfortable with the baby pressing down on my heart so I can barely breathe, and leaning on my belly so I have to get up again to piss in the night pot. My mind is racing and there is a thudding in my ears as if I am in danger. I will never sleep until I have confessed to Robert Dudley and he has promised me a sanctuary. He sleeps late, I am sure. I think that I will go to him at once, and tell him at once, and throw my fortune into his hands and my fate to his mercy.

My determination takes me to his door, and I tap on it quietly. It opens quickly, as if someone was alert on the other side, and Robert’s manservant, Tamworth, looks out into the gallery.

“Lady Katherine!” he exclaims softly, and he steps out and takes my hand and draws me inside. “Don’t wait there, someone might see you.”