Thomas leaves court without speaking to me again, and I don’t know if he goes directly to Portsmouth or travels to Suffolk to make arrangements for the wedding at Framlingham. I wait for someone to tell me that Thomas Seymour has caught himself an heiress and obliged the cause of reform by making an alliance between the Seymours and the Howards, which will make us all safer at court; to take the Howards from their alliance with Stephen Gardiner is to weaken his power. I wait for Anne Seymour to boast that the match is done and Tom Seymour wedded and bedded. But she says nothing, and I cannot ask. I so dread hearing that he is married that I don’t ask.

Catherine Brandon taps on the door to my room when I am changing my gown to go to dinner, and dismisses the maids with a swift wave of her hand. Nan raises her eyebrows to me in the mirror. She is always alert for Catherine to show any sign that she is taking advantage of her growing favor with the king.

“This is important,” Catherine says tersely.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Tom Howard, the duke’s second son, has been summoned before the Privy Council. They’re questioning him. About religion.”

I rise up a little from my seat and then I sit down again. “Religion,” I say flatly.

“It’s a full inquiry,” she says. “I was leaving the king’s rooms and the door to the Privy Council chamber stood open. I heard them say that Tom was being brought to answer charges, and that Bishop Bonner would report from the Howard lands in Essex and Suffolk. He’s been down there gathering evidence against Tom.”

“You’re sure it is Tom Howard?” I ask, suddenly fearful for the man I love.

“Yes, and they know he has listened to sermons and studied with us. Bishop Bonner has gone through all his books and papers at his home.”

“Edmund Bonner Bishop of London?” I name the man who interrogated Anne Askew, a powerful supporter of the old church, hand in glove with Bishop Gardiner, a dangerous man, a vindictive man, a driven man. My influence and power forced him to let Anne Askew go, but there are few who leave the bishop’s palace without pleading guilty to whatever crime he names. There are few who leave without bruises.

“Yes, him.”

“Did you hear what he had to report?”

“No,” she says. She claps her hands together in her frustration. “The king was watching me. I had to walk past the door; I couldn’t stop and listen. I only heard what I have told you. That’s all I know.”

“Someone will know,” I say. “Someone will tell us. Get Anne Seymour.”