‘Hannah, are you better now?’ The words were kind but her eyes were dead, she was trapped in her own world of grief. One of her ladies bent and straightened the train behind her but she did not turn her head, it was as if she did not feel it.

‘I am better, but I have been much distressed by a letter which came to me this day,’ I said. The strain on my white face supported my story. ‘My father is ill, near to death, and I would like to go to him.’

‘Is he in London?’

‘In Calais, Your Grace. He has a shop in Calais, and lives with my betrothed and his family.’

She nodded. ‘You can go to him, of course. And come back when he is well again, Hannah. You can go to the Household Exchequer and get your wages to date, you will need money.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ I felt my throat tighten at the thought of her kindness to me when I was running from her. But then I remembered the cinders which were always warm at Smithfield and the woman with the bloody hands in St Paul’s, and I kept my eyes down, and held my peace.

She reached out to me and I knelt and kissed her fingers. For the last time, her gentle touch came on my head. ‘God bless you, Hannah, and keep you safe,’ she said warmly, not knowing that it was her own trusted cardinal and his inquiry which was making me tremble as I knelt before her.

The queen stepped back and I rose to my feet. ‘Come back to me soon,’ she commanded.

‘As soon as I can.’

‘When will you set out?’ she asked.

‘At dawn tomorrow,’ I said.

‘Then God speed and safe return,’ she said with all her old sweetness. She gave me a weary little smile as she went to the double doors and they threw them open for her, and then she went out, her head high, her face drained, her eyes dark with sadness, to face the court which no longer respected her though they would bow as she walked in and eat well and drink deep at her cost.

I did not wait for dawn. As soon as I heard the court settle to their dinner, I put on my dark green livery, my new riding boots, my cape and my cap. I took my little knapsack from my box and put in it the missal the queen had once given me, and the wages I had from the Exchequer, in their little purse. I owned nothing else, not even after three years of service at court—I had not lined my pockets as I could have done.

I crept down the side stairs and hesitated at the entrance to the great hall. I could hear the familiar sound of the household at dinner, the buzz of conversation and the occasional shout of laughter, the higher voices of the women seated at the far end of the hall, the scrape of knife on trencher, the clink of bottle on cup. They were the sounds of my life for the past three years, I could not believe that this was no longer my home, my haven. I could not believe that this was increasingly the most dangerous place for me to be.