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“Do you think she misses her home?”

“It would seem so. But I think she fears most what is going to happen to her.”

“Because she does not please the King, you mean?”

Lady Margaret looked at me quizzically, and she said, with a lift of her lips: “The King looks elsewhere.”

“What will become of the Queen, think you?”

“Ah, that is what we are all wondering. Oh, Katherine, it is not all pleasure and honor to be royal.”

“No,” I said.

“How old are you, Katherine?”

I told her.

“You seem younger,” she said. “I know how you lived in your early days, and then you were with the Dowager Duchess. It is only recently that you have come into royal circles, is it not?”

I nodded.

“Think of me, the daughter of a Queen. It sets one apart. People are inclined to think it is a glorious position to hold, but it does not always work out that way, Katherine. Terrible things can happen to some of us.”

I knew that she had spent a time in the Tower and I wondered whether I should refer to it.

She went on: “One is moved this way and that. It all depends on how one is being used. I often think how much happier some of us might have been if we had not had royal connections. One should consider a great deal, Katherine, before one moves close to the throne.”

“But if one is born there, one can do nothing about it.”

“No, they are caught in it from the moment they are born. The fortunate ones are those who have a choice. You have seen ambitious men … and women … move too near the throne and what can happen to them. There was your own cousin.”

The vision of Anne came to me then. I saw her beautiful head bent over the block, awaiting the fall of the axe. But it was not an axe, of course; it was a sword sent specially from France for the purpose. How like her to die in elegant style.

“She might have married Northumberland,” Lady Margaret was saying. “He adored her, and she loved him. But fate had a different destiny for her.” She looked at me steadily. “I would be very wary before I sought favors of the King. For me there has been no choice. When the Ladies Mary and Elizabeth were declared illegitimate—that was when Jane Seymour became Queen—I was in line to the throne. There were no male heirs for the King, and I was the daughter of his eldest sister, you see. My mother was a very forceful lady; my father was a very ambitious man. They quarreled and there was much ill-will between them. My mother fled from Scotland, bringing me with her, and I was brought up in the palace of Greenwich.”

“Greenwich is beautiful,” I said. “I love Greenwich.”

“I, too,” she said. “The Lady Mary was there. She is close to my age. In truth I am a few months older. We spent our early years together and friendship grew between us. But in time I was taken away. Oh, the wars and the troubles and the effect they have on our lives! I have told you once, Katherine Howard, and I will tell you again. It is not good to be too close to royalty.”

“I have often wondered about the Lady Mary,” I said. “How strange life must be for her. She was once adored as the King’s daughter and then she became of no importance at all.”

“Yes, yes. Again and again I tell you. It is not good to be too close to royalty.” She was looking at me very intently. “It is dazzling, but it is dangerous, to get too close. Many have found that. Remember the Cardinal? Who will forget him? He was my godfather. He went too far … you will learn that I speak truth.”

I believed that to be true for some; but there were others. I was thinking of my own family, which had survived its disgrace at Bosworth Field. But on the other hand I was aware now that my uncle, the Duke, was always on the alert lest he should make a false move.

“Do not deceive yourself,” went on Lady Margaret. She was studying me intently. “Do you know, you remind me of your uncle, Thomas … my Thomas. Not that your looks resemble his … except perhaps your expression at times. Well, you are a Howard, as he was.”

I saw tears in her eyes and she put an arm round me.

“Oh, I am foolish,” she added. “It was just that memories came back. They put us in the Tower … just because we became betrothed … secretly.”

“I am sorry,” I told her. “How you must have suffered.”

She withdrew herself, perhaps remembering that she was the King’s niece and I the humblest member of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. But her lover had been my kinsman, and that brought us close.

“I loved him,” she said. “But I was royal, you see. I could be Queen of England, and so a match would be made for me. I was not allowed to choose. Your cousin, Queen Anne, had been my friend—even though the Lady Mary and I had been as sisters, and you can guess there had been enmity between Mary and Anne Boleyn. It was natural enough. Mary was devoted to her mother, and to see her replaced and so cruelly set aside was too much to be lightly borne. I am saying too much. Thomas Howard and I were sent to the Tower, just because we loved each other and had betrothed ourselves … and he was not the match they wanted for me.”

“How sad for you. I can never pass the Tower without shuddering.”

“As well you might. You should bear that in mind.”

“You feel badly because you were there once. Was it a long duration?”

She shook her head. “I fell ill of a fever and they thought I might die, so they took me away and I was sent, still a prisoner, to Syon House. I remember at length being released. It was an October day, just over two years after they had beheaded the Queen. Two days before my release, Thomas died.”

“What a sad story!”

“I tell you because … oh, Katherine, do you know why I tell you?”

“You are telling me because you think I ought to know how easily one can make a mistake at Court.”

I thought: I, too, am betrothed, as she was … or almost. Does she know? But I shall marry Thomas and we shall go to Hollingbourne. Did not my grandmother say that this would be?

She was watching me closely. Then she said suddenly: “And now I am restored to favor—lady-in-waiting to the Queen … the King’s niece … accepted at Court.”

“But you still remember my Uncle Thomas.”

She nodded. “But ’tis over, is it not?”

“The Queen appears to be a very gentle lady.”

“I believe her to be.”

“Lady Margaret, she is very much afraid now, is she not?”

“She has not found favor with the King. I suppose it is not easy to choose a wife … or a husband … on the account one receives from other people. They praised her too much, and, alas, she is not the King’s idea of a beauty.”

“I thought she had a very kind face.”

“The King looks for more than kindness. She is not graceful, and he looks for grace, it seems. She is too learned. Some men do not like learned women.”

“That seems strange. Would they not wish to talk of interesting matters with their wives?”

“You do not know men, Katherine Howard.”

Did I not? There was Derham. I had regarded myself as married to him once. Thomas Culpepper, to whom I was almost betrothed. I knew there were such men as Manox, too.

“If you did,” she went on, “you would understand that they like to be the masters. Superior in matters of the mind. Clever women disturb them. There are those who say that Queen Anne Boleyn was too clever for her own safety.”

“None would find me too clever, I’ll warrant.”

She laughed with me, which I realized meant she agreed.

“And the Queen,” I said. “She is too clever?”

“Chiefly she lacks the kind of beauty which is to the King’s taste.”

“Lady Margaret, what will happen to her?”

“I believe there will be a divorce.”

“Can that be?”