I feel the heat rush to my head and for a moment I see nothing, in the intensity of my rage. “No man has ever questioned my honor. Never before. No man has ever questioned the honor of my family. Not in five hundred years of loyal service.”

“This is to waste time,” young Devereux says abruptly. “You will be questioned on oath in London. How soon can she be ready to come?”

“I will ask Bess,” I say. I cannot speak to them; my tongue is dry in my mouth. Perhaps Bess will know how we can delay them. My anger and my shame are too much for me to say a word. “Please, enter. Rest. I will inquire.”

TUTBURY CASTLE: MARY

OCTOBER, 1569

I hear the rattle of mounted men and I rush to the window, my heart pounding. I expect to see Norfolk in the courtyard or the Northern lords with their army, or even—my heart leaps up at the thought—what if it is Bothwell, escaped from prison, with a hard-riding group of borderers, come to rescue me?

“Who is that?” I ask urgently. The countess’s steward is beside me in my dining hall, both of us looking out the window at the two travel-stained men and their army of four dozen soldiers.

“That’s the Earl of Huntingdon, Henry Hastings,” he says. His gaze slides away from me. “I will be needed by my lady.”

He bows and steps to the door.

“Hastings?” I demand, my voice sharp with fear. “Henry Hastings? What would he come here for?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace.” The man bows and backs towards the door. “I will come back to you as soon as I know. But I must go now.”

I wave my hand. “Go,” I say, “but come back at once. And find my lord Shrewsbury and tell him that I want to see him. Tell him I want to see him urgently. Ask him to come to me immediately.”

Mary Seton comes to my side, Agnes behind her. “Who are these lords?” she asks, looking down at the courtyard and then at my white face.

“That one is what they call the Protestant heir,” I say through cold lips. “He is of the Pole family, the Plantagenet line, the queen’s own cousin.”

“Has he come to set you free?” she asks doubtfully. “Is he with the uprising?”

“Hardly,” I say bitterly. “If I were dead he would be a step closer to the throne. He would be heir to the throne of England. I must know what he is here for. It will not be good news for me. Go and see what you can find out, Mary. Listen in the stable and see what you can hear.”

As soon as she is gone I go to my desk and write a note.