The girl who saved the day by greeting him so politely, little Katherine Howard, is one of my new maids-in-waiting. I call her to me in the bustle of departing this morning, and I thank her, as best I can manage in English, for her help.

She dips a little curtsy, and speaks to me in a rattle of English.

“She says that she is delighted to serve you,” my translator, Lotte, tells me. “And that she has not been to court before, so she did not recognize the king either.”

“Why then did she speak to a stranger who had come without invitation?” I ask, puzzled. “Surely, she should have ignored him? Such a rude man, pushing his way in?”

Lotte turns this into English, and I see the girl look at me as if there is more that divides us than language, as if we are in different worlds, as if I come from the snows and fly on white wings.

“Was?” I ask in German. I spread out my hands to her and raise my eyebrows. “What?”

She steps a little closer, she whispers in Lotte’s ear without ever taking her eyes from my face. She is such a pretty little thing, like a doll, and so earnest that I cannot help smiling.

Lotte turns to me, she is near to laughing. “She says that of course she knew it was the king. Who else would be able to get into the chamber past the guards? Who else is so tall and fat? But the game of the court is to pretend not to know him, and to address him only because he is such a handsome stranger. She says she may be only fourteen, and her grandmother says she is a dolt; but already she knows that every man in England loves to be admired, indeed, the older they are the vainer they get, and, surely, men are not so different in Cleves?”

I laugh at her, and at myself. “No,” I say. “Tell her that men are not so different in Cleves, but that this woman of Cleves is clearly a fool and I shall be guided by her in future even if she is only fourteen, whatever her grandmother calls her.”

Utter terror! Oh, God! Horror beyond my worst fears! I shall die of this, I shall. My uncle has come here, all the way from Greenwich, specially to see me, and has summoned me to him. What on God’s earth can he want with me? I am certain that my conversation with the king has come to his ears and he thinks the worst of it and will send me home to my grandmother for unmaidenly behavior. I shall die. If he sends me to Lambeth, I shall die of the humiliation. But if he sends me back to Horsham, I shall be glad to die of boredom. I shall fling myself into the whatever it is called, the river there – the River Horsh, the River Sham – the duckpond if needs be, and drown, and they will be sorry when I am drowned and lost to all of them.

It must have been like this for my cousin Queen Anne when she knew she was to appear before him accused of adultery and knew he would not take her side. She must have been scared out of her wits, sick with terror, but I swear no worse than I am now. I could die of terror. I may just die of terror before I even see him.

I am to see him in my Lady Rochford’s own room; the disgrace is obviously so bad that it has to be kept among us Howards, and when I go in, she is in the window seat, so I suppose it is her who has told him all about it. When she smiles at me, I scowl at her for a tale-bearing old tabby and I make a horrid face at her to let her know whom I thank for my doom.

“Lord uncle, I beg of you not to send me to Horsham,” I say, the moment I am through the door.

He looks at me with a scowl. “And good day to you, my niece,” he says icily.

I drop into a curtsy, I could almost fall to my knees. “Please, my lord, don’t send me back to Lambeth either,” I say. “I beg of you. The Lady Anne is not displeased with me, she laughed when I told her-” I break off. I realize, too late, that to tell my uncle that I have told the king’s betrothed wife that although he is fat and old he is also unspeakably vain, is perhaps not the cleverest thing to say. “I didn’t tell her anything,” I correct myself. “But she is pleased with me, and she says she will take my advice even though my grandmother thinks I am a dolt.”

His sardonic bark of laughter warns me that he agrees with my grandmother’s verdict.

“Well, not my advice, exactly, sir; but she is pleased with me, and so is the king, for he sent me a gold brooch. Oh, please, uncle, if you let me stay I will never speak out again, I won’t even breathe! Please, I beg of you. I am utterly innocent of everything!”

He laughs again.

“I am,” I say. “Please, uncle, don’t turn your face from me, please trust me. I shall be a good girl, I shall make you proud of me, I shall try to be a perfect-”

“Oh, hush, I am pleased with you,” he says.

“I will do anything-”

“I said, I am pleased with you.”

I look up. “You are?”

“You seem to have behaved delightfully. The king danced with you?”

“Yes.”

“And talked with you?”

“Yes.”

“And seemed much taken with you?”

I have to think for a minute. I would not have called him exactly “taken.” He was not like a young man whose eyes drift down from my face to peek at my breasts while he is talking to me, or who blushes when I smile at him. And besides, the king almost fell back into me when Lady Anne rebuffed him. He was still shocked. He would have spoken to anyone to hide his hurt and embarrassment.

“He did talk to me,” I repeat helplessly.

“I am very pleased that he honored you with his attention,” my uncle says. He is speaking slowly as if he is a schoolmaster, and I should be understanding something.

“Oh.”

“Very pleased.”

I glance across at Lady Rochford to see if this is making any sense for her. She gives me a slight smile and a nod.

“He sent me a brooch,” I remind him.

He looks at me sharply. “Valuable?”

I make a little face. “Nothing to the sables that he sent Lady Anne.”

“I should hope not. But it was of gold?”

“Yes, and pretty.”

He turns to Lady Rochford. “Is it?”

“Yes,” she says. They exchange a small smile, as if they understand each other well.

“Should His Majesty honor you by speaking with you again, you will endeavor to be very charming and pleasing.”

“Yes, my lord uncle.”

“From such little attentions do great favors flow. The king is not pleased with the Lady Anne.”

“He sent her sables,” I remind him. “Very good ones.”

“I know. But that is not the point.”

It seems the point to me, but very cleverly I don’t correct him but stand still and wait.

“He will see you daily,” my uncle says. “And you may continue to please him. Then perhaps he will send you sables. Do you understand?”

This, about the sables, I do understand. “Yes.”

“So if you want presents, and my approval, you will do your best to behave charmingly and pleasantly to the king. Lady Rochford here will advise you.”

She nods at me.

“Lady Rochford is a most skilled and wise courtier,” my uncle goes on. “There can be few people who have seen more of the king throughout his life. Lady Rochford will tell you how you are to go on. It is our hope and our intention that the king will favor you, that he will, in short, fall in love with you.”

“Me?”

They both nod. Are they quite mad? He is an old old man; he must have given up all thoughts of love years ago. He has a daughter, Princess Mary, far older than me, nearly old enough to be my mother. He is ugly, his teeth are rotten, and his limp makes him waddle like a fat old goose. A man like this must have put all thoughts of love out of his head years ago. He might think of me as a granddaughter but not in any other way.

“But he is marrying Lady Anne,” I point out.

“Even so.”

“He is too old to fall in love.”