The elephant tapestry became an ally of mine, for I loved to examine its beautiful intricacies as the long hours went slowly forward. Our first day in the Great Chamber set the pattern for many to follow. At first I could hardly bear to admit to myself that life at court was boring, but so it was. It was tiring too, as we were constantly on our feet, always smiling, curtseying to the king and the other men who came and went. Sometimes they lingered, staring at Katherine in open admiration, but often they scarcely seemed to see us at all.

“We’re not just sheep for sale,” I would mutter under my breath if a gentleman paused by the tapestry for a long, leering look. But Katherine would shush me and smile ever more beatifically.

When we were off duty, though, in the afternoons when the king was in council or out riding, the palace became a delightful place. There was the best of everything for us: fine beef, hot water brought at once whenever we wanted to wash, plenty of firewood to keep our rooms cosy, and huge squashy floor cushions upon which we could loll and gossip with the other maids and ladies-in-waiting. We drank amber wine from delicate glass goblets and never gave a thought to how much anything cost.

“Look!” I said to Katherine. “The countess says we may borrow any of these books we like!”

“Oh, don’t waste your time with books” came her dismissive answer. “I’m off to learn that new Italian song. There’s no time for sitting around reading, you know.” But in fact she spent the afternoon flirting with the singing man and not really learning the tune at all.

Even better than the palace’s luxuries, though, was a long-anticipated treat from home. At my urgent written requests sent back to Stoneton, my father had agreed that Henny could come down to the court to be my own tiring woman. Although we were servants ourselves, each maid of honour was in turn allowed to have up to three lesser personal servants. So I was half sick with excitement to see Henny again.

When finally the group of riders from Stoneton clattered into the palace courtyard, I could hardly restrain myself from leaping into Henny’s arms. I could tell that she, too, wanted to give me a hug. Instead, though, she disguised her spontaneous lurch towards me as a comical pretence at having lost the use of her legs through sitting too long. Once we were back in my room, away from the eyes of the snooty serving men, we did have hours of chat and some happy tears.

I have to admit, though, that a certain awkwardness quickly descended upon our relationship. When we were in company, Henny’s accent to me sounded uncouth and uneducated, and I found her dresses embarrassingly out-of-date. I was grateful to Katherine for getting her own French tiring woman, Hortense, to take Henny in hand, forcing her to lace more tightly and to wear the white Dutch cap that all the older ladies wore to cover their offensively grey hair.

One day Master Barsby found me mooning about at the window of the Great Chamber, watching Henny in the courtyard below as she went to fetch firewood for our rooms. I noticed that she completely failed to bow, as she should have done, to the Lord Chamberlain when he went by. She looked just as if she were crossing our courtyard at Stoneton, pattens on her feet, skirt hoicked up, and her red meaty forearms showing. It made me tap my fingernails on the pane with annoyance.

“Having difficulty reconciling court and home?” he asked softly, as if he’d read my mind. “It happens to nearly everyone.”

I did not wish to answer. “How long have you been at court?” I said, countering one question with another. Although I found him dangerously perceptive, Master Barsby did seem to be both knowledgeable and kind. It was a combination that I had already learned to be uncommon in the palace.

“Since I was twelve,” he said, moving to stand elbow to elbow with me in the window bay. “I was sent here as a boy. I know all the wicked ways of the courtiers, but I can never really be one of them.”

“Why not, Master Barsby?” I asked, turning to look at him. To me he seemed to be truly an integral part of the place, especially now, in his dark blue doublet, tossing his hair out of his blue eyes and smiling a little as he looked down at me. He was just a head taller than I was and pleasantly broadshouldered and narrow-hipped. His doublet lacing was all awry, as usual, and I had to restrain myself from absently reaching out to put it right for him.

“I was born on the wrong side of the blanket,” he said, ruefully rubbing the back of his head. “In short, I’m a bastard. My father may be an earl, but he never married my mother. And he has no need to make me his heir because he has my half-brothers from his countess for that. Unlike you, I have no real home to go back to.”

At this I noticed that he gave a heavy sigh. It was the first time he had seemed anything less than urbane and charming, and I found myself touching his sleeve in sympathy.

I already knew that many courtiers did pine for their homes. Indeed, only the other day I had come across the Countess of Malpas with pink rims around her blue eyes and her hair all undone. “What’s the matter, my lady?” I’d said. “Have we displeased the king?” It was almost shocking to see her sad, as she was usually so relentlessly cheerful.

“Oh no, oh no,” she said distractedly, pushing back her blonde hair. “It’s just that I miss my littlest boy so much. He’s at home in the country.” She had no fewer than ten children, I knew, and her oldest son was with us at court. “As I had so many other children for the succession, I thought I would keep my last baby just for myself,” she’d explained. “But I have hardly seen him since I was called into waiting.” I remembered her words as I heard Master Barsby confess that his situation was almost worse. He had no one missing him, no one to miss.

“So . . .” I said slowly, “even though you’ve been at court for years, you don’t really live here?”

Ned smiled but shifted his weight from foot to foot. This was getting to be the most serious conversation that we’d ever had. But he didn’t make a joke of it as I’d thought he might.

“Well,” he said slowly, rubbing his head again. I’d observed that he often did that when he was thinking. It left his hair standing up in spikes so that he looked like a little boy. “No one really lives here. It’s not a home. It’s a place of work. I may look like I’m at home here, but that’s because of my job. You know that the king’s page spends a lot of time in the king’s company. I see much more of him than you maids of honour.”

This was certainly true. And we’d heard gossip that when the door to his private apartments was safely closed, the king would burp and swear and drink and tease or wrestle with his gentlemen, getting to know them almost as if they were his friends, not his servants.

“Unlike you lot, though”— and here Ned swung his thumb towards the place by the tapestry where we maids of honour usually stood —“I can’t get any higher. You can marry well and climb the ladder. But I can never inherit my father’s estate or hope to become a groom or a gentleman of the bedchamber.”

“So you’re not really a courtier — is that what you’re saying?” I was a little shocked that he would admit to this, for being a part of the court seemed to me — in theory at least — to be the most desirable thing in England.

“Yes,” he said, nodding seriously. “But then who is really one of the courtiers, as you put it?”

I widened my eyes, about to protest, but then I remembered the sadness of the countess.

“This place plays tricks on your mind,” he said, as I reluctantly nodded back at him. “It all seems so wonderful, but it isn’t real. Don’t get drawn in too deeply, that’s my advice. Do you know what they say?”

I shook my head, dumbly. With sudden and surprising grace, Ned leaned forward and used a forefinger to lift a curl of my hair away from my cheek. He put his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath. His whispered words thrilled but also chilled me.

“They say you can never escape.”