‘I heard she passed with blisters on her belly,’ Yellow Taffeta whispers. ‘Do you think she was a victim of the witch?’

Fair Hair shakes her blonde curls. ‘Those ghastly poppets!’

‘I know she was a murderess,’ Mush Face answers, looking at the deer heart. Her eyes run over the other foods. She has a look as she does. It’s a look I know but never would expect to see on one of the Queen’s ladies: hunger. Suddenly Mush Face’s head comes up. ‘Poppets,’ she stares at Fair Hair. ‘You said poppets.’

Fair Hair looks blankly back at Mush Face.

‘I thought only one had been found.’

But Fair Hair’s eyes have gone to a figure darkening the doorway. Black Fingers. Who nearly killed me twice. Who tortured Ruth to death. The mustard seed catches in my throat, and I feel great thumps of blood under my stitches.

I catch a movement in front of the coffin. A kerchief flutters from Fair Hair’s hand to the floor. Swift as a kite, Black Fingers cuts across the room to pick it up. He’s only feet away from me.

If Black Fingers is startled to find me alive, he hides it well. He can’t hurt me in front of all these folk, I remind the mustard seeds. Still, I measure in my mind how many steps it would take to reach the door, an old habit from my year at the Daffreys’.

Black Fingers offers the kerchief to Fair Hair. ‘Milady.’ Close as they are, I see Fair Hair pass him something small and square as she takes the kerchief from him. A slip of paper. All at once I recall seeing them leaving the same closet after Corliss’s Eating. The herb dispensary, it was. Mayhap they’re lovers. A dangerous game, to be sure, if he’s the Queen’s favourite.

A choked burble draws all of our attention. It’s the Painted Pig, recovered from her faint the day before, and bobbing towards the coffin in a great ruff. Black Fingers leaves Fair Hair with a light nod and crosses to the Painted Pig, offering his arm.

I can see the Painted Pig hesitate before resting her arm upon his. I also see that while she may look recovered from afar, it’s only with the help of much face paint. She’s been weeping, which ought to soften me towards her but doesn’t.

‘Tilly was in the household of Lady Katryna when I was her lady of the privy chamber,’ she says noisily to Black Fingers. Then, as if to answer why she should know the affairs of servants, ‘It was a small household.’ The Painted Pig steals a look at the Willow Tree. ‘He looms like a hangman, does he not?’