“Why does Henry Norris partner the queen at dance, again?” she complained. “I have danced with him once, but he has now thrice danced with the queen, and that after having twice danced with Lady Lisle. And now, look,” she said. “Thomas Seymour is besotted with young Lady Latimer though she be twice married herself.”

“Mayhap they prefer to dance with married women who see them as friends and not as men in desperate need of wives, as some are wont to see them,” Nan Zouche replied tartly. Madge turned up her lip, but I agreed. Anne’s cousin Madge had been the favorite of many men but the wife of none, and others, of course, had taken note. Men were reluctant to take to wife a woman who had already been taken to bed many times over.

Though the evening was led by a song that the king had composed in honor of Anne, ’twas clear early on that Mistress Jane Seymour, Sir John’s daughter, was the night’s real presentation.

Jane had served in Anne’s household off and on, of course, as had most every girl and woman of gentle birth. So she was not a stranger to us, but she had spoken rarely, offered few opinions, had not played cards or enjoyed the lighthearted banter about learning or religion or anything else so often discussed in Anne’s rooms. I’d oft thought it was not so much that she was unwilling as unable. So ’twas hard to know wherein Henry found her charm, unless it be in her constant downcast gaze or prudently folded hands. His eye and his conversation were oft drawn in her direction. And when they didn’t turn there naturally, her brother Edward or Sir Nicolas Carewe gently steered her back into his path. Soon enough she guided herself there.

“I like not the looks of that,” I told Anne, remembering Will’s warning.

Anne made no comment, of course. But I knew she was paying attention and recognized a new level of danger. Mistress Seymour had, of the king’s accord, rejoined Anne’s ladies. In early October, one night after we’d returned to court, I was halfway through reassembling the queen’s gowns and putting away her Scriptures and prayer books when Jane Rochford entered the room.

“My lady,” Jane said. “I have some information for you.” She looked in my direction and then back at Anne.

“That will be all for this evening, Meg,” Anne said, not unkindly, but it was a definite dismissal. I curtseyed coolly and took my leave.

Within the hour Anne sent her lady maid to recall me back to her chambers. When I arrived I was shocked to find her dressed plainly, in garb of lower quality than even her lady maid would wear.

“What is this?” I asked. She’d already dismissed the rest of her maids and her rooms were eerily empty.

“Sit with me.” She indicated the gilded chairs near the fireplace, which was already roaring on this cold autumn night. I did as I was bade.

“Jane had approached me with…. concern…. over my lack of a child.”

“Jane has concern for you?” I asked with incredulity. “As of which date? I remember not.”

Anne smiled wanly. “’Tis hard to believe, but then recall to mind that as my fortunes go, so do George’s, and therefore Jane’s. She asked me if there were a problem with my, ah, ability to hold on to a child. I replied that I knew not, but that sometimes, well, the king were tired and had trouble doing the man’s part in the matter, which is understandable, for certes, when you consider his responsibilitie to the kingdom.” She looked down at her rough boots at that and didn’t look me in the eye. No woman wanted to divulge difficulties with her husband’s manliness. But this was not a problem to remain between man and wife. It was a crisis for the realm.

“And how does Jane Rochford propose she help in this delicate matter?”

“She knows a woman…. an herbalist…. in nearby Aldwych. She mixes draughts and ointments and concoctions that can assist a man in this matter, and some which, when the mother drinks of them, help her retain a child.”

“A witch?!”

Anne shook her head. “No, ’tis not a witch. ’Tis an herbalist. But many confuse the two just as you do. Which is why I am thusly garbed to ride out and fetch these potions. I cannot risk sending someone for them and mayhap gossiping that I frequent a witch. Jane Rochford says she is too frightened to go herself.”

I took her hands in my own. “No, dearest, you cannot go. There must be another way. And your bleeding has not started this month, so it may be that you are already with child. Can you risk that with a nighttime ride into Aldwych? Can you risk being seen visiting a woman who some may, mistakenly, claim as a witch? Surely there is no one in the land who will not know your face.”

She stood up and raised her voice. “Can I risk losing another child when the king visits me irregularly and even then may not be able to consummate? Can I risk having the stone-stupid Jane Seymour insinuate herself into my bed and onto my throne?”

Again, I recalled Will’s warning. He was not a man given to intemperate speculation, so the risk to Anne was real.

“Then I shall go in your stead,” I said. “Tell me where to go.”

She shook her head. “No.”

I reached over and took off her humble cloak. “Yes, lady. We made a vow, in Hever garden, friends to the end, never leaving one another’s side, loyalty firmly pledged, come what may. I shall serve you in this matter.”

“I do not deserve your friendship, Meg,” she said.

“No, you do not. But alas, there it lies,” I teased her as she let me unbutton her. I noticed a twitch near her left eye and her hands trembled. I believe it was the first time I had actually seen anxiety overcome her to any degree.

I helped her undress and then I put the servant’s clothing on myself. It was a harsh fabric and irritated my skin. I suspected fleas nested in the cloak as I felt the pinprick of bites on my arms and the nape of my neck and Anne scratched an irritation on her own collarbone.

“Roger, the husband to your maid Edithe, and one lady from Hever will ride with you to the street of the physic but not beyond, and wait for you there. I trust them to ride, but not, mayhap, to keep a secret if pressed by someone highborn,” Anne said. I recalled how Simon had intimidated Edithe and agreed with her. “I told Jane Rochford that I would ride a lowly steed so as not to call attention to myself.” Anne handed me a pouch of coins. “For the draughts and poultice.”

I pulled the cloak around me as I slunk down the hall. I passed by several who knew me and none looked my way nor nodded; rather, they kept a distance. Fear of the fleas, I suspected, glad that I went unrecognized.

I pulled the hood even closer as I crept through the servants’ quarters, where no guards were posted, and out toward the stable. A light rain fell but the tight wool kept me dry. I arrived at the stable and, as Anne had promised, Roger and a lady servant were there. Roger caught my eye, recognized me, but said nothing. He called for three horses to be brought. When my steed was brought I sent him back. “I prefer that mount,” I said, pointing out my own horse. If I were going to be riding through the night into London, I did not want to be bedeviled by a horse I was unfamiliar with. As my horse was not caparisoned with royal garb it should not matter.

We rode out of the stables and through the courtyards; through the gate, which Roger had arranged with the gate servant to be opened; and into the city. It was not so far up the beat-dirt roads to Aldwych, where my lady said the physic practiced. “Remain here,” I said to Roger and the lady, and they idled in the dark outside of an alehouse, holding my steed, whilst I made my way up the dark street. I arrived at the small building with stars painted across the door and knocked.

The door was opened not by a haggard old crone, as I’d expected, but by a beautiful young woman. “How can I help you?” she asked, her accent indicating that she were not lowborn.

“I’ve come for some potions to help my mistress hold her baby,” I said. “And, mayhap, give her husband…. strength to make another child…. if he needs it.”

She nodded warily, looked behind me, then indicated I could come in. I was as wary, or perhaps more wary, than she, but there was no turning back now. “Sit here,” she told me. She went into another room and I could hear bottles clanking. There were physic jars on a small shelf in the next room. Several of them looked suspiciously like Simon’s sleeping draughts. I wondered where Jane Roch-ford had got her herbalist information. The maiden came back into the room and handed me two pouches. I paid her and, before I left, tied the pouches inside of my kirtle as Anne had told me to do.

I walked back up the street. I knew the woman wasn’t a witch, but I prayed as I left because I felt unclean after the visit, filled with foreboding of some kind. Should I simply throw the potions away and tell Anne I was unable to get them? And yet, mayhap, like burn ointment or herbs to ward off a fever, they could help.

Roger led us back to the castle, and just afore we reached the gates to enter I heard a swoosh of air and then a scream. ’Twas Anne’s lady servant. Her horse had been shot with an arrow, and then, shockingly, one hit her clear through the temple. Her eyes registered surprise and then locked with mine in a mute cry for help.

“I come!” I reined in my horse to turn to help the woman but was prevented from doing so by the manservant.

“Go on, my lady, ride on!” Roger urged me forward as I saw a dark figure rearm a bow. Roger leaned over and slapped the side of my horse, which then took off and headed directly for the stable. Roger galloped alongside me to urge my horse on. We left the serving woman in the street, though Roger said he would send a guard to assist her after I was safely inside. I knew he said it to comfort me and force me forward. There was no assistance that could be offered that would help.