“No, she speaks of that quite willingly. They had everything they needed about her beliefs. Enough to find her guilty ten times over God forgive them, God help us, they wanted to know about you. They racked her to make her name you.”

We are both silent and, though I am ashamed, I have to ask my next question. “Do you know what she said? Did she name us as heretics? Did she name me? Did she speak of my books? She must have done. Nobody could stand that. She must have done.”

Nan’s smile contrasts with her red eyes. It is the old smile of gritty courage that all women show who have gone through hard nights and come out without betrayal. “No. She can’t have done. For see? They released us. We were there when the constable came from London and said what they were doing. They took him in to the king, but the door between the council chamber and the privy chamber was open a crack and we could hear His Majesty bellow at them. Then they came out and questioned us some more. They must have hoped that she would betray us or we would betray her—that at least one of us would name you. But she stayed silent, and we said nothing and then they released us. They have dismembered her, God be with her. They have torn her apart like a boned chicken, but she has not said your name.”

I give one sob, like a cough, and then I am quiet. “We have to send her a doctor,” I say. “And food and drink and some comfort. We have to get her released.”

“We can’t,” Nan says with a long shuddering sigh. “I thought of this. But she has gone through all this to deny her sisterhood with us. We can’t incriminate ourselves. We have to leave her alone.”

“She will be in agony!”

“Let it be worthwhile.”

“For God’s sake, Nan! Is the Privy Council going to release her?”

“I don’t know. I think—”

There is a gentle tap on the bedroom door. Catherine Brandon exclaims in irritation and opens it a crack. We hear her say, “Yes, what is it?” and then reluctantly hold it wider. “It’s Doctor Wendy,” she says. “He insists.”

The plump form of the doctor appears in the doorway. “What now?” I demand. “Is the king ill?”

He waits till Catherine closes the door, then he bows over my hand. “I have to speak to you in confidence,” he says.

“Doctor Wendy, this is not the time. I am distressed—”

“It’s urgent.”

I nod to Catherine and Nan to step back to the doorway. “You can speak.”

He draws a paper from the inside of his jacket. “There is worse than you know,” he says. “Worse than these ladies know. The king told me himself, just now. I am so sorry. So sorry to have to tell you. He has issued a warrant for your arrest. This is a copy.”