I am a different woman in my heart. I have seen the North rise and fall for me, I have seen my men swinging as picked-off bones on the gibbets at the village crossroads. I have accepted a man in marriage and learned of his arrest. And I have waited and waited for Bothwell, certain that he would come to me. He does not come. He cannot come. I have realized that he will never come to me again, even if I order him not to. Even if I send to tell him I never want to see him again, even though he would understand the prohibition is an invitation, he cannot come.

Courage! I bend my head and blow out the little flame. I have nothing to lose by trying, and everything to gain. As soon as I am free again I shall have everything restored to me, my health, my beauty, my fortune, my optimism, Bothwell himself. I check that the sheets are knotted around my waist, I hand the end to John my steward, I smile at Mary Seton and give her my hand to kiss. I will not wait for her, this time; I will not take a maid. I shall start running the moment that my feet touch the ground.

“I will send for you when I am in France,” I say to her.

Her face is pale and strained, tears in her eyes. “God speed,” she says. “Bonne chance!”

She swings open the lattice window and John winds the rope of sheets around the strong wooden post of the bed, and braces himself to take my weight.

I nod my thanks to him and step up to the windowsill, bend my head to get out of the window, and at that very moment there is a hammering on my door and Ralph Sadler’s gruff voice hollering, “Open up! In the name of the queen! Open up!”

“Go!” John urges me. “I have you! Jump.”

I look down. Below me at the foot of the wall I see a gleam of metal; there are soldiers waiting. Hurrying from the main house come a dozen men with torches.

“Open up!”

I meet Mary Seton’s appalled gaze and I shrug. I try to smile, but I feel my lip tremble. “Mon dieu,” I say. “What a noise! Not tonight, then.”

“Open in the name of the queen, or I will break down this door!” Sadler bellows like a bull.

I nod to John. “I think you had better let him in,” I say.

I put out my hand to Mary and let her help me down from the window. “Quickly,” I say. “Untie the rope. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

She fumbles as he hammers with the hilt of his sword. John throws open the door and Sadler falls inwards. Behind him is Bess, white-faced, her hand tugging at his sleeve, holding back his sword arm.