Thank God, thank God! I sank to my knees.

Sir William looked at me with compassion. ‘You will be relieved to know that Lord Thomas has been spared too. You will both remain in the Tower at the King’s pleasure.’

Hope sprang in me. It was very rare for my uncle to reprieve a traitor who had been sentenced to death. He was just punishing us for our presumption! He might even let us marry after we had learned our lesson.

Well, I would be patient. I would live in hope.

I needed that patience. I was not allowed visitors. I was constrained to live modestly, given that the King was paying for my upkeep in the Tower. I pretended that I no longer cherished feelings for Tom. I was determined to be the model prisoner, so that my uncle would relent and let me out the sooner.

When winter drew in, it was hard to stay positive, for it was cold in the Queen’s lodgings, despite the fires I was permitted, and the nights were long. Often, I lay awake, feeling despondent. Would my imprisonment never end? And then, on the last day of that terrible year, a package was brought to me. I unwrapped it eagerly to find lengths of costly silver and crimson silk fringe. Then a chair of crimson velvet with a fringe of Venice silk was carried in. All were gifts from my uncle. The message could not have been clearer. He had thawed towards me. I was well on the way to being forgiven. My spirits soared. I could look forward to the new year of 1537 with hope, for freedom was in my sights.

It was a blessing that I was now allowed writing materials in the Tower, for I found solace and release in composing poetry. I wondered if Tom was able to enjoy the same privilege. I did not even know where he was, although it was a comfort to know that he was not far away. My constant prayer was that he was being held in agreeable conditions; surely his family would have ensured that? If only I could have seen him. I longed for him so much it was painful.

Surely my parents had heard of my plight by now, even in Perthshire, where mother was living with Harry Stewart? And Father was at the English court; he must be aware of my sad situation. I had been hoping and praying that one or the other of them would have interceded for me. But I knew in my heart I could hope for little from Father. He would do nothing to antagonise King Henry, his benefactor.

My lodgings overlooked a walled garden in which I was permitted to take the air. One winter’s day, I was padding around, my hands in my muffler, when the door in the wall was unlocked and a porter came in with a wheelbarrow. He doffed his hat to me.