A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments - again! I have now returned from a weekend in London - and thus am in a position to put up the next chapter, wherein the great conspire-a-thon begins in earnest...

CHAPTER EIGHT

Plans and Conspiracies

The smirk is still rather unbecomingly obvious upon Norfolk's face as he leads a small delegation of Councillors to the Queen's Privy Chamber. Wiltshire is with him, of course, as is Rochford - for they are his relatives and he has no alternative but to include them as Councillors under his Protectorship - but also Lord High Chancellor Audley, who can be guaranteed to do what they want of him in the name of subservience to the throne, and that vile rat Richard Rich - for they need a legal mind that is not Cromwell's.

She is seated with her chaplain in the midst of an apparent study of the scriptures when they are shown in, and she rises with all the dignity at her command, "My Lords - why have you come?"

Norfolk bows, as do his companions, though his deference is light at best, "Majesty, forgive our intrusion. I regret that I bring you grave tidings pertaining to his Majesty the King."

Anne seems to become very still. Even he can see it, "Tell on, your Grace."

"I fear that, two days past, his Majesty was out hunting with his hosts when his horse was brought down accidentally. As a consequence of the fall, he was mortally injured - and did not recover his senses before he was called to God. If you wish it, I shall summon your ladies to attend to you?"

He is not sure what she shall do now. Shall she fall down weeping? Refuse to believe him? Fall into hysterics?

To his surprise, she does none of those things, but instead remains calm, "Thank you, your Grace, for imparting such grave tidings so kindly. I should be grateful if you could excuse me - I require privacy: to pray for my late Husband's poor soul and to change my gown for mourning garments. When I have done so, I shall call you again." She indicates her Chaplain, who is standing nearby and looking as though the world has come to an end.

Bemused, Norfolk bows again, for he has no alternative other than to comply. Regardless of his supremacy, she is - despite all - a crowned Queen, and thus he must obey her command. For now, at least. He backs away deferentially, as do his companions, and departs.

Anne knows better than to assume he has truly gone, and calmly goes down on her knees as her frightened Chaplain fumbles through his books for the appropriate prayers. They remain in their contemplations for nearly ten minutes, before she feels safe to rise, then turns as the curtains part, and Cromwell emerges into the chamber, "Norfolk has moved quickly." She observes.

"Perhaps." Cromwell agrees, "But not quickly enough - for we have what he lacks; a proclamation, and a Princess to be proclaimed. He shall shortly dispatch a party of men to Hatfield to summon the new Queen to Court - and may even go to her himself - but there shall be naught but the Lady Mary."

"And what if he ties himself to her?" Anne asks, worriedly.

"At this time, that would be unlikely." Cromwell muses, pacing back and forth, "While she female, she is of age, and is - as you know - headstrong and proud. She would never permit him to rule in her stead, and thus his protectorship would be difficult, and short. No - if he can have the control of a child barely walking, then he shall have ten years or more to set himself up in law as the ruler of the Realm - and ensure his supremacy even beyond the Queen's coming of age. For all his pride and nobility, he is acquisitive and jealous; and his greatest wish now shall be to grasp the power that shall lie behind a throne upon which sits a mere babe."

"Woe be unto the realm whose king is a child." Anne mutters, softly, then turns to him, "Audley was with him - and Rich."

He nods, "I was looking through a small hole in the curtain. Audley's loyalty does not surprise me - his interests have always lain in the lap of the most powerful man in the realm. Rich, again, is looking to benefit. I would do no differently were I in his position. They need a lawyer - and he is a lawyer. His advantage over me is his status as a Knight and a Gentleman - though his presence in Parliament shall also be useful for whomever gains his loyalty when all is done."

She snorts, "If either man thinks that they shall gain from this, then they are mistaken. My father has worked hard to grasp what he has, harder even than my uncle, and the two of them shall share it with none. Neither man shall last long should they outlive their usefulness."

Cromwell shakes his head, "Audley shall not do so - his understanding of the operations of government is unparalleled by any other than mine; they shall need him in order to hold all together. Rich, on the other hand, is but one lawyer amongst many. He is talented, but his reputation for untrustworthiness is a hurdle that I do not think him able to overcome. Should they find a man of whom they can be more certain, he shall be discarded."

"Could you trust him?" Anne asks.

"Unless his acts bring him to a deadly precipice, and drive him to think differently - no."

She turns to him, "Understand me well, Mr Cromwell. I work with you out of pragmatism - and for the sake of my daughter; for I know that, unless I do so, I shall be destroyed. Do not mistake that for trust: if you play me false, I shall see to it that my fall is your fall."

He eyes her gravely. Does she think he is ignorant of her view of him? Perhaps she recognises that he, too, has turned to her as an ally to preserve his own life. Even were he to flee the Court now, Norfolk would have him hunted down and attainted - a base-born man who has risen so high? He is an affront to all that the Duke believes. An example would be made of him to ensure that no-one ever presumes that they can stand above a nobleman again.

"Majesty. I have already reached the precipice of which I have spoken. If I am to survive - as are you - then I, too, shall make an alliance with one who despises me. The new Queen of England must be served well by a council that recognises her right to rule, and teaches her to do so. If we do not work together, then she shall see none of that - but instead shall be taught that she is naught but a figure in a dress who glitters in jewels, but wields nothing."

"Then we shall work together." Anne says, quietly, "For I think as you do."

Wiltshire paces back and forth in Norfolk's apartments, his expression dangerous, "How long does she need to say bloody prayers? If all is not to collapse, we must act now!"

Sitting with paper and quill at the ready, Rich watches the noblemen as they share dark sentiments over the Queen's apparent intransigence. To his mind, they have been away from her presence for less than a half-hour - it shall take far, far longer than that to establish the legal frame upon which the new reign shall hang.

"Gentlemen," Thomas Audley is also seated, and looking nervous, "her Majesty has received grievous news - she must have time to mourn, and to prepare herself for the reign to come. If we cannot be in her presence, we can at least lay the foundations for the Protectorship until Queen Elizabeth comes of age."

So it is not to be Queen Mary, then, Rich muses to himself. Given that he is Elizabeth's great-uncle, the opportunity for Norfolk to control the child would be far too tempting. No - regardless of whether England would want the child of their beloved Katherine to resume her place in the succession, Thomas Howard shall want to hold the reins of power - and a child to whom he is related is certain to ensure that he can do so. That the Duke shall be Protector is inevitable; no one can challenge him, as he is the foremost Peer of England, and the most highly ranked man anywhere near the throne. Who would eschew an opportunity such as that?

"At least that low-born bastard Cromwell is gone." Rochford advises, cheerfully, and in complete ignorance of any apparent former friendship, "Now those who are fit to rule the Kingdom are free to do so again."

Norfolk nods, approvingly, while Wiltshire smirks. Watching them, Rich allows himself a sense of relief that he has found himself secure in the favour of the new government of England. They shall need his legal skill, and his control of Parliament, to keep themselves afloat against those who might attempt to topple them - though who could do it, he does not know. Queen Anne? God, no. The woman is as good as banished. She shall remain awhile for the sake of appearances, before declaring that she wishes to retire from court to mourn her late husband. Then it shall be farewell, and good riddance to the whore.

With little else to do, he sets down a list of legal documents that he must draft. The proclamation, of course - setting out Elizabeth as Queen and Norfolk as protector. A bill to secure her coronation, the creation of a regency council, and a formal legal basis upon which Norfolk shall stand - particularly once the girl comes of age and starts to demand power for herself. No - that shall never be allowed to happen. The Duke would rather crawl across broken glass than permit that.

Regarding his list with a critical eye, Rich fights with himself not to grin widely. How long has he wanted prominence such as this? Always in the shadow of that Putney nobody, chasing along behind for the crumbs of the King's favour while Cromwell enjoyed the feast. No longer, it seems. Now he is at last to receive the recognition of his talents that he has craved from the moment Audley introduced him to the Court. The loss of the King might be a calamity for some - but for him, it is a golden opportunity that he intends to grasp.

There is a knock upon the door, and a nervous steward in the Queen's livery enters at Norfolk's barked order, "Forgive me, your Grace; her Majesty begs your indulgence - she has been overcome with emotion, and requires additional time to recover herself. She asks that you attend her after the midday meal."

For a moment, Rich wonders if the Duke intends to strike the messenger; and it looks to all as though he is contemplating doing exactly that. Instead, he restrains himself, and nods, "Very well. I shall present myself to her at one hour after noon."

"Yes, your Grace." Relieved not to have been slapped, the youth retreats.

"Rochford," Norfolk turns suddenly, "Take a detachment of the palace guard - under the authority of the Lord Protector - fetch the Princess Elizabeth from Hatfield. If we are to proceed, she must be secure, and under our protection."

Or control. Rich thinks to himself.

"Sir Richard." Startled, he looks up to see Norfolk's attention is now upon him, "If you are ready to commence drafting, I should be grateful if the necessary documents are in my possession by the end of the day."

"Of course, your Grace." Flustered, he fumbles his papers together and hastens from the chamber.

Halfway down the corridor, he checks inside his wallet for the list, and curses under his breath as he finds it to be gone: it must have fallen out. While he can remember what he has to do, there are additional comments that he shall not recall unless he retrieves it. Damnation - now he shall look an inept fool in front of those he means to impress. Annoyed, he turns and makes his way back to the chamber that he has just left.

"Of course, I shall be at your side to guide your steps, your Grace." Audley is saying, obsequiously, "I can control Parliament for you - and lawyers are ten-a-penny, are they not?"

"No - we need him. At least, at first." Wiltshire disagrees, "A man so unworthy of trust as that weasel should not be permitted to gain power. We do not want to raise up another Cromwell, do we?"

Shaken by their unguarded opinions of him, Rich wonders whether to confront them - but fear stays his hand, as it frequently does. Instead, he listens a little longer - in hopes that Norfolk shall rebuke them.

"I agree. We shall use him to prepare the legal papers that shall confirm my protectorship - and then we shall move against Cromwell - whether he is within these walls or not. A charge of misappropriation of the King's power shall be simple enough to evidence - and it shall be such a shock to all when the Solicitor General is implicated as his accomplice. The two of them can ride together on hurdles to Tyburn where only one shall escape the misfortune of watching the other die first."

"Make him watch - he is a coward, and the crowd shall delight if he cries, faints or pisses himself." Wiltshire sounds cruelly amused at the thought.

Standing without, Rich is not sure which is the worst of it - the casual dismissal of his worth, the fate they have planned for him, the scorn in which he is held or the humiliating collapse of those grand dreams of advancement that had brought him to their table.

His misery slowly turning to bitterness, he slinks away. If they wish to destroy him in gratitude for his aid, they shall not have it - but to whom can he turn if he is not to be destroyed? It is a certainty that they shall find a means to do so whether he serves them or not - and so he must fall in with another faction. Assuming that any other faction shall have him.

Something upon which, it seems, he is no longer able to rely.

Seated at a writing desk in his chambers, Suffolk sits back in his chair and reviews the fair copy of his correspondence. What he has written is truly treasonous in the eyes of the law as it stands; but, as the King himself has proved on numerous occasions, the law can be changed to serve the requirements of the state. There is little point in forging an alliance with the Seymours, as they have little hope now of advancing their cause at Court. Even if that woman were to be permitted to remain, she would never agree to the presence of Miss Jane amongst her ladies. Not even her father could force her to do that.

Norfolk is unlikely even to have told Mary that she has been orphaned - she is of little worth to the Duke and he has probably given no thought to her future at all. To England, however, she is the true heir to the throne - the daughter of the King's first, and only, wife. Besides, she is of age: a far better prospect for the realm than a mere child. It is not treason to want the best for one's Kingdom, is it?

No - the progeny of a false marriage, and her whore of a mother, shall not be permitted to stain the succession with their blood. While he pities the child - for she is not to blame for the acts of the wanton who bore her - his desire to keep an unworthy commoner from a throne that she does not deserve is stronger than his pity. If there is no King, and no man to replace him at any part of the succession, then they must look to the elder daughter, not the babe.

Most gracious Lady Mary,

I beg you to forgive my failure to impart the news within this letter in person - but it is not possible to do so.

It is with the greatest regret, and most heartfelt sorrow, that I must advise you that your noble, high and mighty father, King Henry the Eighth, was called to God upon the seventeenth day of March. As your friend and loyal subject, I humbly set myself before you as your servant in all matters pertaining to the succession, and offer my voice to speak for you at Court.

He pauses, worried over his next paragraph. If that is seen, then Norfolk shall do all in his might to bring him down.

I fear that, in response to this great calamity, certain Lords of the Council seek to deprive you of your rights as the first true heir of the Kingdom, and instead look to your half-sister in your stead. In this direst hour of England's need, I consider it to be God's will that he has called the King home at a time when the child born of his invalid marriage is too young to accede the throne - but the child born of his first, true marriage is of an age where she may take her place at the forefront of her Kingdom, and lead England both to a future of peace and prosperity, and to the true Church, and the true faith.

Thus I beseech you to instruct me as to your intentions and requirements, so that I might represent you before those who would rob you of your rights and just inheritances: the throne of England, France and Ireland. And you shall truly be worthy of that great title Fidei Defensor, for you shall defend us from heresy, and restore us to the light of Christ's holy Church.

In the name of our late, liege lord and King, and of our beloved, late Queen Katherine, I swear my fealty to you as your true subject - and look to better days to come, when I shall bow before you as my Queen.

No - it would not do for Norfolk to see that.

Regardless of the machinations of Cranmer, or Cromwell, or those thrice cursed Boleyns, Henry never truly looked to reformers to show him the way. No - perhaps his one fault in the matter was his refusal to accept the ascendancy of any man over him. He was God's anointed Prince - King of England, and no Pope could command him. Now, however, with Mary upon the throne, wanton England shall return to her true father, and cease her sinful wanderings. Henry would never have wanted his Kingdom to be governed by heretics.

He does not seal it with his own signet - but instead a small button that bears a cross pommy - and sets it carefully aside in a locked coffer. The means to deliver it to the Lady shall be convoluted - and require the assistance of several pairs of hands to reach her. The first of those pairs of hands shall not approach him until the later hours of the night - after which, he shall be obliged to sit quietly, say nothing, and hope that she replies.

Queen Anne emerges from her dressing chamber: clad now in the deepest black, accompanied by a cadre of her ladies in similar attire. Cromwell has withdrawn, for her ladies do not know of their alliance. What they do not know, they cannot tell.

Gathering up her small bible, she hears the clock chime a single chime. She has not eaten; having no appetite, but Norfolk insists upon meeting her, so she shall do as asked. The meeting, however, shall be upon her terms, not his.

She knows better than to stake her claim at this point - for it can be too easily countered. No - her role now must be to play the stricken widow, willing to place herself in the safety of male guidance. Norfolk shall demand it of her, and so she shall grant him the deference he expects. For a while, at least.

Drawing herself up, she turns to Margery, "Shall we?"

If he is to meet her, then it shall be in the Presence Chamber of the King. While to her it is a statement of things to come, she has no doubt that all about her shall see it as a grief-stricken gesture of love to her lost husband. Or at least, that is how she shall explain it if they do not.

She moves through the corridors and halls with that briskness that marked her travels in brighter colours than the widows weeds that adorn her now. People bow deeply as she passes, but their faces betray shock - it seems that very few know that her husband is dead.

The throne of the King is before her on its raised dais, but she knows better than to seat herself in it, for it is not hers to claim. Instead, she turns to one of the stewards, "Matthew, I should be grateful if you could fetch a chair, and set it upon the floor ahead of the throne."

The young man bows, and brings across a richly upholstered seat for her, with a matching footstool. Arranging her ladies in a rank behind her, three to the left, three to the right, she sits and waits for her uncle to find her. He is not long about it.

"Why are you here, Majesty?" he asks, barely keeping hold of his temper. He has been to her presence chamber, only to find her gone.

"Where else would I be, your Grace?" she asks tremulously, "I am widowed - if I cannot be united with my beloved husband in the hereafter, then I sit in the closest proximity that is available to me."

Norfolk scowls, but does not argue. Better to let the woman cling to her fantasies if she wishes, "I have dispatched your brother to Hatfield to escort Queen Elizabeth to her Palace, Majesty." He advises, "They shall be here two days' hence, to allow for the slow pace of her baggage train."

"Thank you, your Grace." Anne allows herself to sound grateful. At least he shall not hold that over her, though it shall be a struggle to deal with his temper once he discovers that she is gone, "I look forward to welcoming her Majesty to her new home. To have her here shall be a great consolation to me."

"I have tasked the Solicitor General with the preparation of her proclamation, and all legal papers that shall support her claim to the Throne."

And yours. Anne thinks to herself, cynically, but smiles gratefully and vacantly: the very image of a grieving woman relieved that a man has come to her aid, "When shall she be proclaimed?"

"Upon the morrow, if that is your wish? Her accession is automatic, of course - but the sooner the proclamation is made, the sooner her rule shall be accepted."

"Then that is my wish."

"The papers shall be delivered to you this evening." Norfolk's tone is infuriatingly smug, "The Solicitor General is drafting them as we speak."

"I look forward to receiving them."

Smiling in his triumph, Norfolk bows, and departs with a degree of deference that he seems quite sure he shall not have to adopt for much longer.

"Thank you ladies." She turns to her women, "Please return to my apartments. Lady Rochford, I should be grateful if you could accompany me. I wish to walk awhile."

They leave the palace and make their way out into the gardens, making their way between low hedges that ensure none can come to close to them unseen.

"My daughter is at Eltham, Jane." She says, quietly, "Mr Cromwell's Secretary has brought her safely from Hatfield, and she is now secure in a manor house in the park. I should like you to go there to ensure that she is well."

"Do you not trust Mr Cromwell's word, Majesty?"

"Not remotely." She smiles, "And he knows it. I have no doubt that she is where he says she is. I just wish for you to give her this." She retrieves a small, silk kerchief edged with the finest flanders lace, "A token for her from her loving mother."

Jane bobs a curtsey, "I shall report to you of her condition, Majesty."

"Thank you." She watches as the one member of her Court whom she feels safe to trust hastens away. Suddenly infinitely tired, she seeks a bench and sinks down upon it.

"Why, Henry?" She asks the empty air, "Why did you have to do this to us? I could have conceived again - I could have borne you the son you desired. Why could you not let me do it? Oh God - now what is there for me but endless battles for the sake of our child?" She hates him…and yet she loves him…

Fighting down a new bout of tears, she looks up to see her father at the far end of the garden. He has not yet seen her, though it appears that he is seeking her: and she waits, frozen to the spot, until he moves out of sight behind a high hedge. Then she slips quietly away, returning to the Palace by another route. She is too tired to endure another confrontation; that can be dealt with another day.

Cromwell peruses the last of the documents that he has been drafting. Most are now fair copies upon vellum, courtesy of Sadleir, but he wishes for the proclamation to be absolutely correct - particularly in relation to the future governance of the Realm. He has no more wish for Norfolk to be protector than the Queen; but if they are to prevent it, the legal structure must be as strong as it can be. Crowned she may be - but what is that against a determined man who can demand that his very maleness is a greater claim to govern? No - it must be confirmed in law, and even that may not be sufficient.

The sound of footsteps approaching startles him and he looks up to see that The Solicitor General has come in search of him, "Thank Christ," Rich says breathlessly, "I thought you to have left."

"Sir Richard?"

"Norfolk plots to claim the Protectorship."

"And you think I do not know that?"

"I…" Rich's voice trails off, and he looks a little helpless. It could not be clearer that he was hoping his tidings would be helpful.

"I take it that he did not accept your fealty, Sir Richard?" Cromwell has no intention of making this easy for his colleague.

"He did, Mr Secretary - and I departed to commence work upon the documents that shall confirm his protectorship; only to find that I had dropped a vital paper."

Cromwell nods. He can guess what is coming next.

"When I returned, I overheard Audley, Wiltshire and Norfolk discussing my fate. I am useful only to secure their positions - after which I am to be arrested as a co-conspirator upon trumped up charges, and slaughtered like a pig at Tyburn." His voice betrays his hurt bitterness.

"Co-conspirator?" Cromwell asks, "I take it that I am the other?" He resumes his perusal of the proclamation.

"Yes, Mr Secretary." Rich shuffles, uncomfortably.

"And you have come to me in hopes of saving your sorry, worthless hide?" He does not look up from his papers.

Rich swallows: there is no point in denying it. Not if he is to succeed in keeping all that he has won, "Yes, Mr Secretary."

Cromwell's eyes flick back up to him again, "If you think that I shall grant you my trust, then you are as much a fool as I would be to do so. This is a business arrangement; nothing more, nothing less."

"I am content with that, Mr Secretary. Your life depends upon it, as does mine. If we are to survive, we must do so together. Therefore I shall offer my services to her Majesty the Queen. I should advise you to do likewise - for there is no other."

Cromwell shakes his head, tutting softly, "Dear, dear, Mr Rich - do you truly think that I have not come to the same conclusion? I learned of the death of the King more than four days ago - as did her Majesty. All that we have done in the intervening time has been in preparation for this moment."

"And the new Queen?"

"Safely housed nearby. Norfolk knows nothing of her whereabouts - and, I am afraid, neither shall you."

Rich sighs: he has no right to expect such valuable knowledge, but to be denied it rankles nonetheless.

Cromwell hears the slight sound, and understands it, "Trust must be earned, Sir Richard. I shall endeavour to earn the Queen's, and I expect you to do likewise. If we cannot trust one another, then we are all lost. I imagine to be trusted shall be something of a novelty for you."

It is not a question. His expression sullen, Rich acquiesces, "I shall endeavour to earn both your trust and that of her Majesty." He does not deserve any better - he knows it. Cromwell is concentrating upon his papers again, and Rich appreciates that even now the Secretary is not entirely convinced that he is not being primed for information that can be granted to Norfolk. He wrings his hands, briefly - an awkward habit when stressed that he has never been able to eradicate - and tries again, "Mr Secretary; I am well aware that I have no man's trust - and it is only now that I find myself left stranded upon a sandbank by the receding tide; but I give you my word - such as it is - that I have not come here at the behest of Norfolk, or of Wiltshire. Men such as you and I must fight now for our futures; nay, our very lives. Knight I may be, and a Gentleman, but I have no higher rank, and thus Norfolk dismisses me as he dismisses you. God knows that I do not deserve trust - not yet: but the sincerity of the men who laughed amongst themselves as they discussed sending me to a brutal and bloody death is sufficient warning to me that I must seek other friends to avoid that fate. If we do not best him, he shall act against us - and we shall die." He pauses, "And…and…I am afraid to die." His voice wavers slightly - an honest waver, for he is truly afraid.

Cromwell raises his head again. Yes, he can see it in the fading light as the evening draws in. Rich is no longer flushed with exertion, but is instead pale - and his hands are trembling. The man is indeed fearful for his life - which is no surprise if he has overheard honestly spoken words that have discussed his condemnation. There is no deception in his behaviour, and thus the Secretary relents, "Draw up a chair, Mr Rich. I had hoped to discuss these papers with you - but for your reputation and the fear that you might betray me. Since it is unlikely that you shall do so now, I should be pleased if you could cast your learned eye upon these copies of the bills and the Proclamation that shall secure the Queen Elizabeth - and the Dowager Queen Anne as her Regent."

"Who shall be Protector, then?" Rich asks, fetching over a chair as bid.

"That, Mr Rich, remains to be seen."

He stares, "No one is to be named? Does her Majesty mean to keep all of the Council in suspense until she names one?"

It is no surprise to Cromwell that Rich has not divined his meaning. The very thought that a Queen could be a Regent in the absence of a lawful King would not have occurred to him - as it did not occur to the Secretary himself until her Majesty suggested it, "The less that the Council know of her Majesty's will, the less likely they are to be prepared to overturn it. His Majesty died without making any amendments to his will for the succession, so Elizabeth shall be Queen. That much we do know; but anything further must remain as quiet as can be achieved - or we shall still yet find ourselves side by side upon sheep hurdles, making our final journey to the noose."

Rich swallows, nervously. To think that, a mere four days ago, they were preparing the ground to send the Dowager Queen to the block.

Lady Rochford's face as she enters the Queen's presence is remarkably cheerful, but she waits until Anne summons her before approaching, "I have given your gift, Majesty. It was received with joy and gratitude. The recipient is well, and is quartered more than appropriately for their state. The attendants are somewhat bemused - but I have advised that you shall explain all in due time." She curtseys, deeply, as Anne smiles.

"Thank you, Lady Rochford." At least that is good news, in the face of all the horrors that have piled upon her over the last few days. Elizabeth is indeed at Eltham, is in good health, and - most importantly - is safe from her uncle, "I have a mind to play chess awhile. Would you care to join me?"

The other ladies are still most bemused - and not a little jealous - at Jane Rochford's rather sudden rise to favour; but none comment as the Queen and her apparent new favourite draw up chairs at the chessboard. There is little that they can say that shall not be overheard, of course, so they say nothing now. The gossip that ripples outwards once free from her scrutiny is another matter.

One of the stewards is lighting candles in the growing dusk as an usher enters, "Majesty, Mr Secretary Cromwell is without, and seeks an audience."

Anne looks up from her pieces, "Thank you, Michael. Ladies, would you excuse us, please?" she catches Jane's hand as she also rises, and shakes her head, briefly. If nothing else, she needs a chaperone. Matters are too dangerous now to be without one.

Moving to a chair beside the fire, she nods to the usher, who opens the door. To her surprise, however, the Secretary is not alone, for he has the Solicitor General with him. God - what is this?

"Majesty." Cromwell bows deferentially, "Permit me to present you with fair copies of her Majesty's proclamation, the bill that shall authorise her immediate coronation, and a further bill that shall authorise your regency." He pauses, "Sir Richard has made amendments that shall strengthen both documents when they are set before Parliament following the proclamation of the Queen Elizabeth."

Her eyes flick across to the newest apparent member of her entirely secret council, who bows awkwardly, "And what drove you to my door, Sir Richard Rich?"

He does not attempt to make excuses, "The threat of being hanged, Majesty. That, and the drawing and quartering that would follow it."

"My goodness, Sir Richard. It seems remarkable to me that you have managed to offend someone so utterly in so short a space of time."

"I decided that it would be wise to be useful to another, rather than one who would send me to my death once I had outlasted such usefulness." He adds, a little bitterly.

Anne sighs. Her uncle has always been ambitious - after all, he sees such ambition as his right. That he is willing to use, and discard, men for his own purposes is also nothing new to her. Has he not used her? At least she knew it from the beginning. It seems, however, that Rich has discovered it by chance - and undoubtedly saved his own life in the process.

Or perhaps delayed his death. There is no guarantee that Norfolk shall not outflank them - their only weapon is the whereabouts of the new Queen. No matter how many cards he holds, Elizabeth is the triumph - and as long as she is protected from the grasping Duke, all remains safe.

"It cannot be much longer before his Grace discovers that the Queen is no longer at Hatfield, Majesty." Cromwell advises, gravely, "Once he discovers it, I have no doubt that he shall deduce in short order that you are responsible - and possibly that I have aided you."

"Then we must act quickly, Mr Secretary. It is too late, I think, to lay these documents before Parliament - but is it necessary to do so? Would I be correct in stating that my late Husband, when so minded, granted assent to Bills without recourse to the burghers of St Stephen's Chapel?"

Cromwell's eyes widen as he takes in her meaning, "Majesty - I cannot guarantee that your signature shall be accepted."

"Then I shall feign ignorance."

"Use the Seal." Rich says, suddenly, "The presence of the Great Seal is as good as the King's own hand - and is evidence of his official will. It might cause those who would gainsay your Majesty to baulk - and thereby grant us time to secure the consent of Parliament additional to that of the Queen."

"But Thomas Audley has it." Cromwell reminds Rich, "And he is hardly likely to hand it over, is he?"

Rich shrugs, "He keeps it in a closet with a lock that is the easiest to break in all of Christendom. I have been tasked with the drafting of the papers Norfolk requires, so I have no doubt that our Lord Chancellor is well settled with a game of dice and a long draught of ale."

Anne leans forward, "You can retrieve it?"

"Yes Majesty."

"Then do so. Do so and win my appreciation - and, in time, my trust." Her eyes are keen, her expression intent, "Mr Cromwell, fetch the means to create the disc, and some red wax."

She sits back in her chair, feeling truly alive for the first time in weeks as the two men depart upon their separate missions. Tonight it shall happen. Tonight, she shall act.

Tonight, she shall truly be a Queen.