She nods, as if it is too terrible to say, and we sit in silence after that and then the door is opened and a manservant comes in, wearing the Dudley livery. “His Grace wishes to see you in the great hall,” he says.

Mary and I follow him down the stairs, he throws open the double doors, and we go into the brightly lit room. At once I am dazzled by candles and firelight; the room is crowded with the great men of the kingdom and their unending trains of hangers-on. There is a blaze of wealth from jewels on the hats, and the thick gold chains sprawling over a dozen broad chests, fat as pouter pigeons. I recognize half a dozen of them. My sister Katherine’s sickly husband is missing, but his father, William Herbert, is here; his brother-in-law, William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, is standing beside him. Francis Hastings and Henry FitzAlan are talking together in a huddle but fall silent when they see us. We walk into the sudden hush of the room and my father-in-law, John Dudley, nods at Mary as if to thank her for a service, and then, one after another, they all pull their hats from their heads and stand in silence. I look around, half expecting that the king has come in behind me, or perhaps Princess Mary. But then John Dudley himself, the Duke of Northumberland, greatest man in the council, sweeps off his pearl-encrusted hat and bows very low to me. “The king is dead,” he says. “God save his immortal soul. He named you as his heir. You are queen, God bless and keep Your Majesty.”

I look at him blank-faced, and I think, stupidly, that this must all be a dream: the evening sail on the river, the silent house at the end of the long journey, the cold hearth, and now these great men looking at me as if I should know what to do, while they pin a treasonous title on me.

“What?” is all I say. “What?”

“You are queen,” John Dudley repeats. He looks around the room. “God save the queen!”

“God save the queen!” they all bellow, their mouths wide open, their faces suddenly flushed, as if shouting all together can make a thing true.

“What?” I say again. I think I will wake up in a moment and this will seem ridiculous. I will be in my bed at Chelsea. Perhaps I will tell Guildford of my terrible dream and he will laugh.