She turned towards the window and looked out at the river. ‘I keep a fleet of ships ready for the king to come to me,’ she said. ‘And horses and lodgings all along the road from Dover to London. They are all waiting for him. They spend their lives, they earn their livings in waiting for him. A small army of men does nothing but wait for him. I, the Queen of England, his own wife, waits for him. Why does he not come?’

There was no answer that I could give her. There was no answer that anyone could give her. When she asked the Spanish ambassador he bowed low and murmured that the king had to be with his army—she must understand the need of that—the French were still threatening his lands. It satisfied her for a day, but the next day, when she looked for him, the Spanish ambassador had gone.

‘Where is he?’ the queen asked. I was holding her hood, waiting for her maid to finish arranging her hair. Her beautiful chestnut hair had gone grey and thin now, when it was brushed out it looked sparse and dry. The lines on her face and the weariness in her eyes made her seem far older than her forty-two years.

‘Where is who, Your Grace?’ I asked.

‘The Spanish ambassador, Count Feria?’

I stepped forward and handed her hood to her maid, wishing that I could think of something clever to divert her. I glanced at Jane Dormer who was close friends with the Spanish count and saw a swift look of consternation cross her face. There would be no help from her. I gritted my teeth and told her the truth. ‘I believe he has gone to see the princess.’

The queen turned around to look at me, her eyes shocked. ‘Why? Hannah? Why would he do that?’

I shook my head. ‘How would I know, Your Grace? Does he not go to present his compliments to the princess now and then?’

‘No. He does not. For most of his time in England she has been under house arrest, a suspected traitor, and he himself urged me to execute her. Why would he go to pay his compliments now?’

None of us answered. She took the hood from the waiting woman’s hands and put it on, meeting her own honest eyes in the mirror. ‘The king will have ordered him to go. I know Feria, he is not a man to plot wilfully. The king will have ordered him to go.’

She was silent for a moment, thinking what she should do. I kept my gaze down, I could not bear to look up and see her, facing the knowledge that her own husband was sending messages to her heir, to her rival, to his mistress.

When she turned back to us her expression was calm. ‘Hannah, a word with you, please,’ she said, extending her hand.

I went to her side and she took my arm and leaned on me slightly as we walked from the room to her presence chamber. ‘I want you to go to Elizabeth,’ she said quietly, as they opened the doors. There was hardly anyone outside waiting to see her. They were all at Hatfield. ‘Just go as if for a visit. Tell her you have recently come back from Calais and wanted to see how she did. Can you do that?’