‘No-one is threatening her,’ I said.

She gave a little snort of disbelief. ‘They have come to take her, haven’t they?’

‘Yes,’ I said unwillingly. ‘But they have no warrant, she is not under arrest.’

‘Then she shall not leave,’ she said angrily.

‘I’ll tell them she is too ill to travel,’ I said. ‘But the physicians will want to see her, whatever I say.’

She made a little irritable puffing noise and stepped closer to the bed to straighten the quilt. I glimpsed a quick bright glance from beneath Elizabeth’s swollen eyelids, as I bowed again and let myself out of the room.

* * *

Then we waited. Good God, how we waited. She was the absolute mistress of delay. When the physicians said she was well enough to leave she could not choose the gowns she would bring, then her ladies could not pack them in time for us to set off before dusk. Then everything had to be unpacked again since we were staying another day, and then Elizabeth was so exhausted she could see no-one at all the next day, and the merry dance of Elizabeth’s waiting began again.

During one of these mornings, when the big trunks were being laboriously loaded into the wagons, I went to the Lady Elizabeth to see if I could assist her. She was lying on a day bed, in an attitude of total exhaustion.

‘It is all packed,’ she said. ‘And I am so tired I do not know I can begin the journey.’

The swelling of her body had reduced but she was clearly still unwell. She would have looked better if she had not powdered her cheeks with rice powder and, I swear, darkened the shadows under her eyes. She looked like a sick woman enacting the part of a sick woman.

‘The queen is determined that you shall go to London,’ I warned her. ‘Her litter arrived for you yesterday, you can travel lying down if you will.’

She bit her lip. ‘Do you know if she will accuse me when we get there?’ she asked, her voice very low. ‘I am innocent of plotting against her, but there are many who would speak against me, slanderers and liars.’

‘She loves you,’ I reassured her. ‘I think she would take you back into her favour and into her heart even now, if you would just accept her faith.’

Elizabeth looked into my eyes, that straight honest Tudor look, like her father, like her sister. ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ she asked. ‘Are you a holy fool or a trickster, Hannah Green?’

‘I am neither,’ I said, meeting her gaze. ‘I was begged for a fool by Robert Dudley, against my wishes. I never wanted to be a fool. I have a gift of Sight which comes to me unbidden, and sometimes shows me things that I cannot even understand. And most of the time it doesn’t come at all.’

‘You saw an angel behind Robert Dudley,’ she reminded me.