‘Morning, my lady. Thomas Shelton at your service,’ he said.

Shelton? I stared at him in surprise.

‘Are you acquainted with Mistress Mary Shelton?’ I asked.

‘I’m her brother,’ he said, grinning.

I stared at him. ‘What are you doing working here?’

‘I need to eat! I am my father’s youngest son and have no estate to look forward to. There is no dishonour in earning your living.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Mary asked me to tell you that Lord Thomas Howard asked that a book of poems be brought to him in the Tower. I was able to help. And I am willing to act as a go-between, if you want to pass a message to him. No one notices me. I come and go at will.’

‘You would do that for me?’ My heart was thumping. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr Shelton!’

As I ran upstairs, I thought quickly. I would send Tom some verses, anonymously, so that, if he was caught with them, he could say he had written them himself. In poetry, I could express myself with more feeling than in a letter.

I sat down, trying to calm myself, and took up my pen, while Mr Shelton waited below, tidying the garden. The words flowed from me.

Now may I mourn as one of late

Driven by force from my delight,

And cannot see my lonely mate

To whom forever my heart is plight.

Alas! That ever prison strong

Should such two lovers separate,

Yet though our bodies suffereth wrong,

Our hearts should be of one estate.

I will not swerve, I you assure,

For gold nor yet for worldly fear,

But like as iron I will endure,

Such faithful love to you I bear.

On wings, I sped downstairs and gave the folded paper to Mr Shelton. Only when he had gone did I wonder he had sprung a trap on me. But why would anyone want to do that? I decided I would trust him.

By evening, I had a reply from Tom. I unfolded it with shaking hands and devoured his words. He had written in like vein.

With sorrowful sighs and wounds smart

My heart is pierced suddenly.

To mourn of right it is my part.

To weep, to fail full grievously.

The bitter tears doth me constrain,

Although that I would it eschew,

To wit, the reproach of them that doth disdain

Faithful lovers that be so true.

The one of us from the other they do absent,

Which unto us is a deadly wound,

Seeing we love in this intent:

In God’s laws for to be bound.

He still loved me – and he still regarded us as bound to each other! His love had survived all the obstacles placed in its way. Not even imprisonment in the Tower, or the threat of death, had shaken it. My heart was on wings.