It is a lazy morning in Anne’s apartments. It’s too cold and damp to ride or walk out, so we settle for lounging around on cushions before the fire, chatting idly and listening to Mark Smeaton pick away at his lute. It’s only Mary Howard, Ann and I in attendance at the moment – the other ladies are all at breakfast or with their husbands.

The Queen has been much more mellow in these few weeks since Christmas. The atmosphere has been almost relaxed, and the King has taken to spending more time with his wife. It’s like being back in the happy days when they were courting and everything was rosy between them.

Right on cue, the King arrives with a group of gentlemen. He strides into the room with no formal announcement – we make to get to our feet to greet him properly, but he stays us with his hand. We make do with smiles and a chorus of ‘Good morning, Your Majesty.’

‘Good morning, ladies!’

At the sound of his voice, Anne looks up from her book – she has been curled up in the window seat all morning; wrapped in furs, feet tucked underneath her, alternately gazing dreamily out at the frost-covered gardens and engrossing herself in a book of poetry.

‘Henry!’ she exclaims in delight, beckoning him over.

The King waves his hand at his gentlemen, bidding them be at ease, and goes to join Anne in poring over the poetry.

Will Brereton and Harry Norris flop down on the cushions beside us.

The four of them pass a pleasant half-hour in gossip and flirting. I smile and observe, keen not to draw attention to myself - Brereton and Norris have never had a good word for me. Or, really, any words for me. As time goes on, more ladies and gentleman return from the morning meal, drawn to their sovereigns as moths to a flame.

The room is abuzz with lively chatter when a steward throws open the chamber door announcing ‘a message for the King!’ as a travel-stained messenger stumbles in, looking as though he might faint of exhaustion at any moment. The poor man sways slightly on his feet in the middle of the room as Henry looks at him expectantly.

‘Well, man?’ he calls with impatience, ‘out with it! What’s the message?’

‘Your Majesties, Her Royal Highness, the Dowager Princess of Wales, Katharine of Aragon, passed to God yesterday afternoon in her chambers at Kimbolton Castle.’

I sit bolt upright on my cushion, feeling as though the floor has dropped out from beneath me. I’m stricken in a moment of dizzying grief and loss. To know that such a soul has passed from this world...  

There is absolute silence in the room for a moment. All eyes are on the King as he absorbs the news – how will he react? I see the messenger almost flinching in fear, with no idea what to expect.

The corners of Henry’s mouth turn up, then his face splits in an enormous grin as he lets out a great bellow of laughter. ‘God be praised!’ he exclaims, ‘we are free from all threat of war!’

Anne’s warm, bubbling laughter mingles with his as he seizes her hands. ‘And I have still better news for you, my love.’ She is all but dancing with mirth, ‘I am with child again! I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you.’

‘Oh, Anne!’ he scoops her up and whirls her around until she laughs and shrieks, protesting that he’ll agitate the baby. Setting her on her feet, Henry steadies Anne and kisses her belly. ‘God smiles on me at last!’ he proclaims to the room. ‘Peace in my court, peace in the Kingdom, and a piece in my wife’s belly!’

Everyone erupts into sycophantic laughter and applause. I manage a mirthless chuckle, but in reality I fear I might vomit, I feel so bereft. All I want is to go to the chapel and pray for Katharine’s soul.

The Queen calls my name, snapping me from my reverie. ‘Mistress Seymour! Fetch a purse of gold from my chamber, will you? This messenger has earned his reward.’

‘Yes, Madam.’ I answer mechanically and bob a quick curtsey as I hurry to obey. I have just enough time to wipe a quick tear from my cheek before returning with more money than passes through some villages in a year.

I hand the purse to Anne, who presents it to the messenger with a flourish.

Henry puts his arm around Anne’s waist, ‘to Mass, my dear!’

I look up in surprise at this first hint of decorum.

Anne looks confused, until he clarifies: ‘we must thank God for freeing us from our shackles to Spain!’

A great cheer goes up from the room.

He bends and whispers in Anne’s ear. She giggles and nods.

The King strides to the door, signalling his gentlemen to follow him. ‘I shall see you in thirty minutes, sweetheart. Not a second longer!’

The messenger follows Henry and the gentlemen from the room. As he is leaving, I see him slide a letter from his sleeve and surreptitiously hand it to the King. I wonder what it could possibly contain, and why the messenger could not produce it in front of Anne.

As the hangers-on clear the room, Anne claps her hands and gestures to Mary, Ann and I: ‘hurry, ladies! We haven’t much time. You must help me dress appropriately.’

Somehow, I know that she isn’t going to don mourning, nor will I be allowed to. I am not quite stupid enough to even suggest it.

We help Anne into a dazzling, summer-sun gown, embroidered and trimmed in silver and pearls, with matching sleeves, slippers and hood.

She nods in dismissal, ‘go and dress yourselves quickly – yellow, if you have it. Your most cheerful gowns if not.’

I don’t dare to disobey outright, but before I squeeze into the butter-yellow dress I haven’t worn in months, I tie a black ribbon around my leg as a garter, safely hidden beneath the gown. I will make some small gesture of defiance and respect if it kills me. And it might, if I were caught.

We are ready just in time, and are making the final adjustments to Anne’s costume and jewellery when the King arrives back at Anne’s apartments, heralded by a fanfare of trumpets. I feel sick with the gaudiness of it all. Even in death, they cannot accord Katharine the slightest shred of honour or dignity.

Henry, too, is dressed head-to-toe in yellow, with a white feather in his cap. At the signal, we all process to a thanksgiving Mass in grand style, accompanied by musicians and fools. Throughout the ceremony, I pray ceaselessly for the repose and salvation of Katharine’s gentle soul, ignoring the blasphemous words praising God for taking her unto Himself at last. I see images of the true Queen in my mind’s eye: sewing altar cloths and shirts for the poor, smiling gently at her husband as he whirled other women around the dance floor, the stricken look on her face when she realised he had ridden off for the final time without so much as a goodbye note after more than 20 years of marriage. I try to block the image of her shrivelled and wasted away in Kimbolton Castle.

I bite the inside of my lip, furiously working to keep the tears from my eyes. The physical pain gives me something to concentrate on.

Katharine was the sort of lady that all queens – indeed, all women – should model themselves on. Pious, charitable, loving, and above all, principled. She held to her beliefs until the – very – bitter end, and never ceased fighting for what was good and right as long as she had breath.

Pressing my lips together and wriggling my nose to stop any tears spilling out, I suddenly become aware of Anne watching me. She meets my eyes, parodying my face in cruel exaggeration before collapsing into irreverent giggles.

That woman is no queen.

The festival atmosphere continued throughout the day and well into the night. The King called a spontaneous feast, sparking frenzy in the royal kitchens as the stewards sent to every butcher in a 30-mile radius in a bid to procure enough meat for the celebration.

Stood with Ann in the Great Hall, Jane felt sick to her stomach; she was dressed in her gayest gown, a cup of wine in her hand, a false smile pasted to her face. A courtier’s smile, it curved the lips without reaching the eyes.

In the midst of the revelry, Henry summoned his infant daughter Elizabeth from the nursery. Bleary-eyed and uncomprehending, she clung to her father’s neck as he paraded her from lady to lady around the room to be cooed over and showered with compliments. Her curly red hair stood out in a cloud around her little face, screwed up with the effort of making sense of the chaos.

Jane looked at the child with distaste – this little scrap of humanity that single-handedly displaced the Princess Mary from her rightful inheritance. Chapuys’ words echoed in her head, longing to spill out of her mouth: ‘His Little Bastard’. She swallowed them as the King swept up in front of her and Ann.

‘Ladies,’ he nodded.

‘Your Majesty,’ they bobbed little curtseys in unison.

‘I’d like to introduce you to my dearest daughter, the Princess Elizabeth.’

‘My lady Princess,’ Jane smiled, chucking her under the chin, trying to see her as an innocent child, rather than a piece of Anne. ‘You are going to have a baby brother soon. Will that please you?’

Elizabeth gave an impish grin and nodded vigorously.

‘And you, Mistress Seymour?’ the King quizzed, ‘will it make you happy?’

‘Your Majesty knows that your happiness is my happiness. I rejoice for England, and for your personal delight. We have all prayed so long for this day.’ She dropped her eyes to the floor to conceal any shadow of deceit.

‘And delighted I am! I shall dance with every maid present tonight, if it please them. Will you save a dance for me, my lady?’

The thought of dancing with Henry while Katharine was being prepared for the tomb made Jane’s blood run cold. ‘I do beg your pardon, Sire, but I must decline.’

His face fell, ‘and may I ask why?’

‘I have a slight ankle injury – I was out walking with Ann the other day and slipped on the ice. I’m so clumsy.’ She gave an appealing smile.

Ann chimed in, ‘she almost pulled me to the ground with her!’

‘Ah, you silly thing! I pray you shall be recovered soon, Mistress Seymour.’ He turned to Ann, ‘perhaps you would be so kind as to take your sister’s dance?’

‘Certainly, if it would please you, Sire. But I shall be a poor partner compared to Jane.’

‘I am sure that you each have charms to offer,’ he smiled, inclining his head and whisking Elizabeth off to the next group.

‘Thanks for that,’ Ann nudged Jane. ‘Now I’ll have to answer Edward’s questions. He’s so jealous.’

‘Can you blame him?’

They were quiet a moment. Jane wondered how Cat was faring in the convent, and what had become of her bubbly little nephew-half-brothers.

‘So, that story about the ice – where did that come from?’ Ann tried to lighten the mood.

‘I just... I can’t bear the thought of making merry tonight. It seems so disrespectful.’

‘It is. But you must hide your distaste like everyone else.’

Jane glanced around the hall; it was filled with half-drunk nobility, stuffed to the seams in their gaudy finery, laughing and flirting the evening away.

‘They hide it well.’ She retorted, noticing the sulky tone in her own voice.

‘They must. We all must. Many of these people loved Queen Katharine as much as you, and more, but they have locked up their grief for now, saving it for a private moment. Our job is to keep them happy,’ Ann gestured towards the King and Queen, kissing and fussing over little Elizabeth as they handed her back to her nurse for the night. ‘And that means acting cheerful.’

‘I suppose so,’ Jane murmured. ‘It’s just so difficult remembering to pretend to be merry.’

‘Well, buck up and smile. I’ll stay here with you all night if I have to, and make sure you don’t forget. Acting is the greatest skill you can have in this court – think whatever you like, but make sure you do and say what’s expected.’

The musicians began an allemande and the King appeared at Ann’s side, ‘may I have this dance?’ he made a little bow and extended his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Mistress Seymour, I’ll see she doesn’t leave you alone for too long!’

With one arm around Ann’s waist, he swept her across the room and to the head of the line as the dance began.

Jane followed the couple with her eyes as they made their way in and out of the other dancers in intricate little patterns. She was concentrating so hard that she didn’t notice the Queen’s approach until she was right beside her.

‘Oh, cheer up, won’t you!’ Anne exclaimed. ‘Stop looking so miserable!’

‘Yes, Madam.’ Jane obediently pulled the corners of her mouth back into the false smile.

‘Well, that’s a little better. I suppose you don’t want to be here, given your childish attachment to that Spanish trout.’

‘I wish to be wherever my lady wishes me to be.’ Jane replied through gritted teeth.

‘Liar. Besides, I am only showing my proper respect. Yellow is the colour of mourning in Spain, don’t you know?’ Anne mocked as she glided away, laughing that warm, seductive laugh that had so entranced the King, leaving Jane to fume and fight back tears of impotent fury.

The dance ended and Ann reappeared at her side, chest heaving, a slight sheen on her forehead. ‘My God,’ she laughed breathlessly, ‘he is a demanding partner!’ She looked at Jane, taking in the clenched jaw and glistening eyes, ‘what happened? I thought you were resolved to be cheerful?’

‘I was.’

Jane recounted the story quietly, trying to keep the disdain from her voice in case anyone should overhear. Ann gave her arm a vicious little pinch, ‘ouch!’ she yelped, ‘what was that for?’

‘To help you keep your composure. I’m going to pinch you every time you let that smile slip from your face. Forget that spiteful witch and put on your best mask. We can talk about it another time.’

Ann is true to her word. I’m sure that my arm will be covered in little bruises when I finally get to undress. Elizabeth is bound to ask questions.

The night just drags on and on. Dance after dance after dance. I’m pleased with myself for the lie about my ankle – it came so smoothly, so effortlessly. Edward would be proud! It was just a small lie, the penance should not be much.

I’m so relieved when Henry takes his wife’s hand and leads her out for the final dance of the evening. It’s almost midnight – the relaxed and carefree fireside chatting of this morning feels like it was decades ago. The musicians strike up a galliard and the King whirls Anne across the floor – his energy seems boundless. They finish with a triumphant lift and turn; the music ends and Henry lowers his Queen slowly, never breaking eye contact. All is right with their world.

The court bursts into applause and the spell is broken. Seizing his wife’s hand, Henry kisses it and spins to face his audience. ‘A tourney!’ he cries. ‘Yes, we shall have a joust to celebrate this happy and auspicious time. In two weeks. I challenge you all, gentlemen! I shall take on all comers and best every one!’

A great cheer goes up with the announcement. Henry grins and bows, wrapping an arm around Anne to lead her from the hall. ‘I give you all good night!’ he calls.

‘Good night, Your Majesties,’ we all chorus after them.

Ann gives me a little nudge, ‘I guess the Queen won’t need you tonight! It’s been a long time since we’ve seen them so at ease.’

I can’t wait to get to my room and have some peace.