‘If she can be saved then we could rule together. She could be my sister at my side, the first of my subjects, the girl who is to come after me.’

‘Please God.’

‘Amen,’ she said quietly. ‘I miss her. I want her safe with me. Amen.’

* * *

I sent a message to tell my father that I would come to visit him, and that I would bring our dinner. As I tapped on the door I saw that he was working late, the illuminated printing room was bright at the rear of the dark shop. The light poured into the shop when he opened the press room door and came out, holding his candle high.

‘Hannah! Mi querida!’

In a moment he had the bolt shot aside and I tumbled in, setting down my basket of food to hug him and then kneeling before him for his blessing.

‘I brought you dinner from the palace,’ I said.

He chuckled. ‘A treat! I shall eat like a queen.’

‘She eats very badly,’ I said. ‘She’s not a good doer at all. You should eat like a councillor if you want to grow fat.’

He pushed the door shut behind me, turned his head and shouted towards the print room. ‘Daniel! She is here!’

‘Is Daniel here?’ I asked nervously.

‘He came to help me set some text for a medical book, and when I said that you were coming, he stayed on,’ my father said happily.

‘There isn’t enough for him,’ I said ungraciously. I had not forgotten that we had parted on a quarrel.

My father smiled at my petulance but said nothing as the door of the print room opened and Daniel came out, wearing an apron over his black breeches, the front bib stained with black ink, his hands dirty.

‘Good evening,’ I said, unsmiling.

‘Good evening,’ he replied.

‘Now!’ my father said in pleasurable anticipation of his dinner. He drew three high stools up to the counter as Daniel went out to the yard to wash his hands. I unpacked the basket. A venison pasty, a loaf of manchet bread still warm from the oven, a couple of slices of beef carved from the spit and wrapped in muslin, and half a dozen slender roasted chops of lamb. Two bottles of good red wine had gone into my basket from the queen’s own cellar. I had brought no vegetables; but from the sweet kitchen I had stolen a bowl of syllabub. We put the syllabub with cream to one side to eat later, and spread the rest of the feast on the table. My father opened the wine as I fetched three tankards from the cupboard under the counter and a couple of horn-handled knives.

‘So, what news?’ my father asked as we started to eat.

‘I am to go to Princess Elizabeth. She is said to be sick. The queen wants me to be her companion.’

Daniel looked up, but said nothing.

‘Where is she?’ my father asked.