The first we knew of the disaster was the appearance of one of the Yeomen of the Guard, with the news that the queen would not need anyone to dress her that evening.

This was unprecedented. We were all gathered in the countess’s chamber, waiting for the call to come on duty. Some of the girls were doing embroidery, Anne was strumming a lute, and I was tracing out a family tree for the countess herself. She was in a tetchy mood, which made me think that news had come from home of some achievement of her little son’s that made her miss him more than usual.

The yeoman stood red-faced and bowing in our midst. The end of his tall halberd knocked against the table where I worked and joggled my inkwell.

“Nonsense!” said the countess sharply. “Of course the queen will need dressing. And what are you doing here?” She meant that the message should not have been sent by a yeoman, his status being too low. “I don’t want your clumsy and vulgar weaponry in my chamber,” she added with a lofty wave of the hand.

“Forgive me, my lady,” the man said, bowing low and looking so uncomfortable that I almost felt sorry for him. Indeed, there was a giggle from somewhere in the room, which made him blush even more. “I am only doing what I was told. I was commanded by the Lord Chamberlain to say that the queen’s cousin is required. No one else. Just the queen’s cousin.”

There was a long drawn-out pause while everyone took in the tidings. The girl who had giggled turned it into a cough. This sounded like trouble, even danger. And I had no wish to be singled out or drawn into it. For a long while, my brain stubbornly refused to believe that by “the queen’s cousin” he meant me.

I had no choice, though, but to go. Shrugging my shoulders at the countess, Anne, and the rest, to show them that I knew no more than they did, I reluctantly led the way down the stairs and into the courtyard. My steps were slow and heavy, and I could sense the poorly concealed impatience of the guard, compelled by etiquette to follow on behind me. His weapons and trimmings clanked slightly as he walked, something that I only noticed because the palace seemed strangely silent.

In the queen’s chambers, I found Katherine as bemused as I was. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, as if disappointed.

“Well, who were you expecting?” When we were entirely alone, she did not insist upon “Your Majesty,” though she was pretty keen on the full works if anyone else, even a page, were present.

“This is the time the king always sends me a message to see how I am,” she explained, as if it were obvious. Once again I marvelled at his attentiveness to her — he’d never sent a message to Queen Anne to ask about her health when they were parted in the afternoons by his need to do business and meet his councillors.

“Katherine, what’s going on?” I asked her. “That yeoman said that you would not be dressing tonight. Are you not going to dine?”

“I don’t know,” she said with unusual solemnity. “Something seems odd this afternoon. The palace is very quiet, isn’t it? Where can everyone be?”

We had no answers. As one, we turned away from each other to look out at the trees in the park. I sat down on the ledge of one window, Katherine on the other, and we remained there quietly for some time. One of the trees, the nearest to our window, seemed diseased and drooping, and I was surprised the royal gardeners had not felled it.

It felt like hours later, but it was hardly fully dark, when the same yeoman came back again, this time his face looking as if he were positively in pain. He had brought with him the archbishop. The sight of this stooped old dignitary in a private chamber rather than a public place seemed to signal sickness or death or something else very bad indeed.

But it appeared that I was not to stay and hear what he had to say. The clanking yeoman marched me out of the room, brooking no delay, and escorted me back to the Great Chamber.

There I found all the rest of the queen’s household gathered together, not just the ladies but the gentlemen too. By now little Anne Sweet was openly weeping, and the countess, looking harassed, was doing her best to comfort her.

“What news from the queen?” she asked me over the top of Anne’s head. I noticed the creases round her eyes, which were normally hidden by the vivacity of her face.

“Nothing! She doesn’t know what’s going on either.” At my answer, half a dozen voices piped up with further questions.

“Shush! Shush at once, you lot.” I had never heard the countess’s voice sound so harsh.

She had spotted that over near the door to the king’s private apartments, the Lord Chamberlain was trying to call us to order. There were so many of us present that he’d had to stand on one of the benches, looking more than a little ridiculous. But no one thought, even for one moment, of laughing. Our hum of talk had been loud and shrill with nerves, yet we fell silent as soon as he opened his mouth.

“The queen will no longer require your services,” he said into the silence.

“But why?” asked the Countess of Malpas on behalf of us all.

“The king has discovered that the queen has committed a dreadful crime,” he said haltingly, obviously choosing his words with great care. “She will not come abroad from her apartments for some time to come.”

A great buzz of consternation broke out from among the courtiers.

“The king, however, will still command you!” shouted the Lord Chamberlain over the din. Again we settled down, anxious to hear what he had to say. His next words came unnaturally loud, as if he had still been expecting to have to fight to be heard.

“His Majesty was at Mass when he learned this terrible news, and he remains in the chapel, praying for his wife. You will henceforth take your orders from him, through me. And none of you will speak of or to the former queen. She is under house arrest.”

We stood in stunned silence, without a single sound except for Anne’s snuffling.

Then we all heard a noise that none of us will ever forget as long as we live. We heard a terrible, unearthly shriek and the patter of running feet in the gallery adjoining the chamber where we stood.

“Henry! Henry!” It was hard to believe it was Katherine, this voice of uncontrollable, wild despair.

Instantly, there was a bark from the leader of the guards, and we heard men springing into action. There was the horrible clash of steel.

“How did she escape?” someone called out in anger. Then there was a different man’s voice saying, “Come, madam, come, madam.”

They must have been taking her back to her chambers. The footsteps receded in that direction, as did the sound of Katherine’s sobs.