I straightened up.

‘Blushing now,’ Will observed. ‘Soon be out of breeches with the blood flowing this fast, my little maid.’

‘You are sure he is alive? I thought he was dead. They told me he was dead.’

‘He should be dead, God knows. He’s seen his father and his brother and his poor sister-in-law all taken out and executed underneath his window and yet he’s still there,’ Will said. ‘Perhaps his hair is white with shock but his head’s still on his shoulders.’

‘He’s alive?’ I could still hardly believe it. ‘You’re sure?’

‘For the moment.’

‘Could I visit him without trouble?’

He laughed. ‘The Dudleys always bring trouble,’ he said.

‘I mean without being suspected.’

He shook his head. ‘This is a court gone dark,’ he said sadly. ‘Nobody can do anything without being suspected. That is why I sleep. I cannot be accused of plotting in my sleep. I have an innocent sleep. I take care not to dream.’

‘I just want to see him,’ I said. I could not keep the longing from my voice. ‘Just to see him and know that he is alive and will stay alive.’

‘He is like any man,’ Will said fairly. ‘Mortal. I can assure you that he is alive today. But I can’t tell you for how long. That will have to satisfy you.’

SPRING 1554

In the days that followed I went between the queen’s apartments and Lady Elizabeth’s, but in neither place could I be comfortable. The queen was tight-lipped and determined. She knew that Elizabeth must die for treason, and yet she could not bear to send the girl to the Tower. The council examined the princess and were certain that she had known everything of the plot, that she had masterminded one half of it, that she would have held Ashridge to the north for the rebels while they took London from the south, and that—and this was the worst—that she had summoned help from France for the rebellion. It was thanks to the loyalty of London that the queen was on the throne and the princess under arrest and not the other way around.

Though everyone urged it on her, the queen was reluctant to try Elizabeth with a charge of treason, because of the uproar it would create in the country. She had been dismayed by the numbers who had come out for Elizabeth’s rebellion, no-one could predict how many might come out to save her life. A further thirty men were marched home to Kent to be hanged in their own towns and villages but there could be no doubt that there would be hundreds ready to take their place if they thought that the Protestant princess was to be sent to the scaffold.

And worse than that: Queen Mary could not force her own determination. She had hoped that Elizabeth would come to court a penitent, and they could have reconciled. She had hoped that Elizabeth would have learned that Mary was stronger than her, that she could command the city even if Elizabeth could summon half of Kent. But Elizabeth would not confess, would not beg her sister for mercy. Prideful and unyielding, she continued to swear that she was innocent of anything, and Mary could not bear to see her with the lies on her lips. Hour after hour the queen knelt before her prie-dieu, her chin on her hands, her eyes fixed on the crucifix, praying for guidance as to what she should do with her treacherous sister.