“Many,” Catherine Brandon, the greatest reformer of my ladies, explains. “And many of them have the ear of the king. They are growing in strength again. They were set back when the king sided with Archbishop Cranmer, but Stephen Gardiner has regained the king’s ear and his influence is growing all the time. Naming Princess Mary with her title will please Rome, and we are extending friendship to Spain, honoring their ambassador. Many of the king’s advisors have been bribed by Rome to try to persuade him to return the ownership of the English Church to Rome—back to where we were before—telling him that we will be in accord with all the other great countries. And then, in the towns and villages, there are thousands of people who understand nothing of this but just want to see the shrines restored at the roadsides and the icons and statues back in the churches. Poor fools, they understand nothing and don’t want to have to think for themselves. They want the monks and nuns to come back to look after them and tell them what to think.”

“Well, I don’t want anyone to know what I think,” I say bluntly. “So keep my books in my rooms and locked in the chest, Catherine, and you keep the key.”

She laughs and shows me the key on the chain at her belt.

“We’re not all as carefree as you,” I say, as she whistles for her little dog, named after the bishop.

“Puppy Gardiner is a fool who comes for a whistle and sits at a command,” she says.

“Well, don’t call him or command him by name in my rooms,” I say. “I don’t need enemies, certainly not Stephen Gardiner. The king already favors him. You will have to rename your dog if my lord bishop continues to rise.”

“I’m afraid he’s unstoppable,” she says frankly. “He and the traditionalists are overwhelming us. I hear that Thomas Wriothesley is not satisfied by being the king’s Secretary and Lord Privy Seal, but is to be Lord Chancellor too.”

“Did your husband tell you?”

She nods. “He said that Wriothesley is the most ambitious man in the king’s rooms since Cromwell. He said he is a dangerous man—just like Cromwell.”

“Does Charles not advise the king in favor of reform?”

She smiles at me. “Not he! You don’t stay a favorite for thirty years by telling the king what you think.”

“So why does your husband not try to contain you,” I ask curiously, “as you name your spaniel for a bishop in order to tease him?”

She laughs. “Because you don’t survive four wives by trying to contain them!” she says merrily. “I am his fourth and he lets me think what I like, and do what I like, as long as it does not disturb him.”

“He knows that you read and think? He allows it?”