“Look at the bright side, Mistress Nan,” Constance consoled her when Nan passed on the queen’s latest demand. “At least you have new clothes, even if they are not of your own choosing.”

IN THE UNFAMILIAR vastness of Lord Cromwell’s house in Austin Friars, near the north wall of London, young Wat Hungerford found it difficult to settle down for the night. He was twelve years old and had been issued Cromwell livery only a week earlier. Before that he had always lived at Farleigh Castle in rural Wiltshire, his father’s country seat.

Using the excuse of a trip to the privy, Wat left the bed he shared with two other boys and set about exploring his new home. With the help of a full moon and the occasional rush light in a wall sconce, he poked into unused chambers and storage rooms and discovered a half-hidden stairway that took him to the kitchens. At length he made his way into the wing that contained his master’s private chambers.

Thomas Cromwell was Henry VIII’s Lord Privy Seal and the most powerful man in England after the king. He had been the one responsible for obtaining the king’s divorce from Anne Boleyn and had masterminded the dissolution of the monasteries, with the claim that they were breeding grounds for sin and corruption.

Wat’s father, Lord Hungerford of Heytesbury, had told Wat over and over that a place in Lord Cromwell’s household was a grand opportunity for advancement. He’d ordered Wat to make himself indispensable to his new master. Exactly how he was supposed to do that, Wat did not know, but it seemed to him that it would be an advantage to know the lay of the land. At home he’d had a dozen hiding places and knew all the best listening posts.

Wat entered Lord Cromwell’s private study cautiously. It was past midnight. He did not expect to encounter anyone, so long as he stayed indoors where there were no guards. He had been a casualty in an ongoing war between his father and his stepmother—subject to blows from one and slaps from the other—and had learned at a young age to keep to the shadows.

The faint rustle of rushes was the only warning he had that someone was approaching. Wat ducked behind the nearest arras. The heavy wall hanging concealed him completely, but when two men entered, one carrying a lantern, he found he could see into the room through a worn patch in the weave.

With a start, Wat recognized the man with the light as Lord Cromwell himself. The boy wondered why he was skulking about in his own house. The answer was not long in coming. Cromwell did not want anyone to know about this meeting.

A thrill of excitement made Wat shiver in anticipation. He had heard that his new master employed spies and secret agents to do his bidding. There were even rumors to the effect that if evidence of misconduct was lacking at some of the wealthier religious houses, Lord Cromwell contrived to make sure that something untoward would still be found on the premises. Barely able to contain his curiosity, Wat held himself as silent and still as a little mouse and listened hard.

At first he could not make out what the two men were saying. They kept their voices low until Lord Cromwell raised his in a show of temper.

“You are a thief and a heretic.”

“My lord, you wrong me,” the other man protested.

“You stole silver and gold plate from the church of St. Gregory in Canterbury when you were a canon there. Cups and chalices meant for holy use. I could have you arrested for that crime at any time.”

A sharply indrawn breath was followed by a lengthy silence. Wat risked peering around the edge of the arras for a better look, but there was not enough light to make out the stranger’s features. All he could discern was that the fellow was tall and dressed like a priest.

“What is it you want of me, my lord?” The stranger’s voice sounded subdued, almost subservient.

“I have a task in mind,” Cromwell said. “One you are well suited to perform, since you seem to revel in conspiracy for its own sake.”

“I am determined to advance myself. Is that so unusual?”

Cromwell gave a short bark of laughter. “You are an unscrupulous, irresponsible rogue, completely unsuited to being a clergyman.”

“And yet that is what I became. Younger sons have little choice.”

“Especially younger sons who are the black sheep of otherwise respectable families. Do not try to work your smooth-tongued charm on me. Save it for the purpose I have devised.”

To Wat’s frustration, Cromwell lowered his voice again. The boy caught only a few words of the ensuing dialogue, although those he did overhear intrigued him. Lord Cromwell said, “Calais,” and later, “the lord deputy’s wife.”

After some little while, filled with more mumbling, the stranger said, “It will be as you wish, my lord,” and took his leave. Wat thought he detected a note of sarcasm in the words, but if Lord Cromwell noticed, he did not comment. A few moments later, Cromwell also left. The study became noticeably darker.

Wat stepped out from behind the arras. The movement stirred dust in the air and he sneezed. Horrified, he froze. Had Cromwell heard? Would he return to investigate?

When nothing happened for several minutes, Wat thought he was safe. Belatedly, he realized the enormity of what he had done. He had witnessed Lord Cromwell coercing a priest into entering his employ. Whatever the man was to do, it involved Calais, the last English outpost on the Continent. Even though Wat had not understood most of what he had overheard, he knew too much. If he’d been caught …

Wat did not want to think about that. He took deep breaths to steady himself, then crept out of the study and back to his own bed. Best to forget what he’d heard, he decided. Just as he always put what he knew about his own father out of his mind.

*  *  *

AT COURT, NAN’S days passed with mind-numbing sameness until, at last, the queen’s labor began. Her women rejoiced, but when it continued throughout the following day and the next night and into the day after that, worry replaced elation. No one dared voice the thoughts that were on all their minds—what if the queen should die? What if the child were stillborn?

“Where is the king?” Nan asked Anne Parr. “Does he know what is happening?”

“No doubt he does, and no doubt that is why he is at his hunting lodge at Esher and not here. He is close enough that he can reach Hampton Court quickly when he needs to, but far enough away that he does not have to see”—she broke off as another agonized scream rent the air—“or hear the queen’s suffering.” She lowered her voice. “The king has an aversion to illness of any kind. He will never go near anyone who is sick.”

“He must protect himself from contagion,” Nan said, defending His Grace, but at the same time could not help thinking him cowardly. He could scarcely catch what ailed the queen.

When more than fifty hours had passed and the queen’s labor was well into its third night, a royal visitor did arrive, but it was the king’s eldest daughter, not His Majesty. Even though she had never seen the Lady Mary Tudor before, Nan had no difficulty in recognizing her. Her clothes alone announced her status. Over the cloth-of-gold kirtle, the Lady Mary wore a violet velvet gown. Her headdress sparkled with precious gems. At her throat a jeweled M was set with rubies, diamonds, and a gigantic pearl.

At twenty-one, thin, and of middling stature, Mary Tudor was in no way beautiful, but she had a presence that was unmistakably royal. That did not surprise Nan. The Lady Mary had spent most of her life—until Mistress Anne Boleyn came along—being groomed to rule England.

Mary Zouche, who had once been a maid of honor to the Lady Mary’s mother, scrambled to her feet and sank into a curtsy. After the slightest hesitation, everyone else followed her lead. Mary Tudor was the king’s child, even if both she and her four-year-old half sister, Elizabeth, Anne Boleyn’s daughter, had been disinherited and declared illegitimate by their father. The king claimed his marriage to Queen Jane was the only one that was legal.

The Lady Mary stared at Mistress Zouche with large, pale hazel eyes. She seemed to be trying to place the maid of honor. After a moment, Nan realized that Mary Tudor’s intent gaze was actually a symptom of poor eyesight.

“Rise,” said the Lady Mary in a surprisingly deep voice. “All of you. Mistress Zouche, how does the queen fare?”

When Mary Tudor drew Mary Zouche aside to hear her answer, Nan’s attention wandered to the older woman who had accompanied the Lady Mary. The woman and Bess Jerningham were whispering together in a most familiar manner.

“Who is that?” Nan asked Anne Parr.

“Lady Kingston. She is Bess’s mother. When she was still Lady Jerningham, she was one of Catherine of Aragon’s ladies. This past year, she joined the Lady Mary’s household.” Now that she was looking for it, Nan saw the strong physical resemblance between the two women. Both had large brown eyes, wide mouths, and small, turned-up noses.

“My mother served Queen Catherine, too,” Anne added in a low voice. “Mother devoted her life to royal service. Although she sought rich marriages for my sister and brother, she trained me to follow in her footsteps.”

“Then you can find a wealthy and influential husband for yourself at court, as she must have done.”

Anne chuckled. “My father died when I was two, so I do not remember him, but as far as I can tell his most outstanding accomplishment was to take the part of one of the Merry Men when King Henry disguised himself as Robin Hood and crept into Queen Catherine’s bedchamber early one morning to demand that she rise and dance with him. Father had no title and no great wealth, either.”

Her interest caught, Nan studied her friend. “Did your mother succeed in making good matches for your siblings?”

Anne nodded. “She arranged for my sister, Kathryn, to marry old Lord Burgh’s son. After he died, Kathryn wed Lord Latimer. And our brother is married to the Earl of Essex’s only child. Will has every expectation that the king will grant him that title when his father-in-law dies. But what of you, Nan? Have you brothers and sisters?”

“Three of each, and none of them wed, although my oldest brother is betrothed to my stepfather’s daughter, Frances Plantagenet.”

Anne’s eyebrows lifted.

“My stepfather, Lord Lisle, is Arthur Plantagenet, a natural son of King Edward the Fourth. My stepfather has three daughters by his first wife—Frances, Elizabeth, and Bridget.”

“And your own sisters?”

“Philippa is the eldest, Catherine next, and we have a younger sister, Mary, who is being brought up in the household of a French gentlewoman of my mother’s acquaintance.”

“The same family you were sent to?”

“Kin to them.”

Nan’s French upbringing had not produced the rich results her mother had hoped for, since England and France were again at odds. It had been Nan’s charge to win and keep Queen Jane’s favor. She was to promote her siblings and find a rich, titled husband for herself. But what if the queen and her baby did not survive childbirth? Who would advance the Bassetts then? Who would be worth cultivating?

Nan’s gaze went to Mary Tudor. Would Catherine of Aragon’s daughter be reinstated as King Henry’s heir? If there was even the slightest possibility of that, then Nan would do well to meet the once and future princess and make a good impression on her.

It was not difficult for Nan to persuade Anne Parr to present her to Lady Kingston. As soon as Nan mentioned that she was Lady Lisle’s daughter, Lady Kingston embraced Nan like a long-lost cousin. Both Lady Kingston and her second husband, who was constable of the Tower of London, were among Honor Lisle’s correspondents. After a few minutes of conversation, Lady Kingston presented Nan to the Lady Mary.

Mary Tudor’s myopic hazel eyes fixed on Nan’s face in a most disconcerting fashion. Nan wondered what the other woman was thinking. Most likely, she was reviewing what she knew about Nan’s family. Would she hold it against Nan that Lady Lisle had been one of Anne Boleyn’s attendants during the visit Anne made to France before she became queen? Or would she remember hearing that Nan’s mother still clung to the old ways in religion? Doubtless, the Lady Mary knew both these things.

Another agonized scream from the queen’s bedchamber put an abrupt end to Nan’s hope of having a conversation with the king’s daughter. Turning to Lady Kingston, the Lady Mary ordered the older woman to investigate. Then she retreated to the far side of the privy chamber, well away from any member of Queen Jane’s household.