A/N: Thank you again for all your comments and support - I'm glad that you're pleased for George, Robin4; it seemed only fair to rehabilitate George as much as Jane, as they were both casualties of history in one way or another (though George was hardly Mr Spotless given his awful reputation as a womaniser). That's the pleasure of AU! Also thank you for your observations, Starfire201 - I really appreciate them.

The dust is continuing to settle - but one protagonist has decided to take an astonishingly shocking step; one that Anne couldn't possibly see coming...

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A Rude Awakening

"Thank you, Gentlemen." Anne rises from the Council table, as her councillors rise and bow, "Today has been a most useful meeting. If you could continue with your investigation into charitable institutions, Mr Rich, I would be pleased to receive your report as soon as it is ready."

"Yes, Majesty." While it is not - technically - his responsibility to undertake such work these days, Rich is one of the most remarkably organised men in her government, and there is no one other than Mr Cromwell himself who is more fitted to the task. Both men are particularly noted for their capacity for sheer hard work - and she knew even when Henry was still alive that the two of them were highly regarded for that, even if not for anything else.

As the assembled councillors depart, however, one remains, and Anne looks up to see her brother standing nearby, and looking unusually pensive.

"Yes, George." She says, briskly, "How can I be of assistance?"

"Er…Anne…sorry, your Majesty…" he fumbles for words, "I…"

She regards him, surprised at such shyness from a man rarely backwards in coming forwards, "I take it that you shall arrive at your intended point at some time today?" He sided with Norfolk against her, so she has no wish to make things easy for him.

He shuffles and looks embarrassed, "I have reached an uncomfortable conclusion." He says, after a while, "In standing alongside my father, I made an incorrect choice for the welfare of the realm."

"Did you come to that conclusion before, or after, your allies were banished?"

Rochford's face reddens further still, which is answer enough.

Anne regards him. A part of her truly wants to accept that he is looking to join her as a loyal ally - but, after all that has occurred, can she do so? All of her councillors are still working to earn her trust - even those who declared their loyalty from the beginning, and have proved themselves over and over again to be dedicated to the realm. Her brother, on the other hand, stood against her - alongside a father who had abandoned her in favour of political power. Does he truly believe that she can ignore that?

No - he does not. He is looking at the floor now, "I think that, in the absence of our father, I am seeing things more clearly. He has become blinded by the desire for ascendancy - and I have become the same. He saw your rise in the King's favour as his primary route to that very goal; but then, when his Majesty died, he assumed that he would benefit even further as Norfolk assumed the protectorship. We did not anticipate that you would act as you did - but, as I think on it, I know that he would have done all that he could to retain it even after her Majesty had come of age."

"I know that." She agrees, "Do you think that I would do likewise?"

He shakes his head.

"And in that, my brother, you would be wrong." She says, quietly, "Each and every day, I must remind myself that it is my daughter who is Queen, and not I. The lustre of a crown is most seductive, I fear, and even a mother's love must speak loudly in order to quell that siren's call. I have taken steps to lay down in law that Elizabeth shall assume her rightful place as Queen when she comes of age, for fear that I, too, might be unwilling to relinquish the power that comes with a throne."

"Is that why you have given Parliament more power?"

"Partially, I think." She admits, "I know that his late Majesty viewed the men of Parliament as a tiresome hindrance at times - but what use is it to us if we have men who come from the shires, but do not look to them for aid and advice? If I am making decisions that impact upon her Majesty's subjects, then is it not appropriate that those who represent them are consulted? They shall not command me, or her Majesty; instead they shall give me their opinions and advice."

Rochford smiles, "No man would do such a thing."

"Indeed they would not. But I am no man. It is my hope that, in granting this concession, I shall prevent - or at least delay - a more determined assault upon my prerogatives as Regent, or those of Elizabeth as Queen. We cannot ignore them - so is it not better to make use of their abilities?"

"They shall demand more in time. You know that."

She nods, "Yes, I imagine that they shall - men, after all, are never satisfied with the power that they have. Are they?"

He snorts with mild amusement, "That, I fear, is true."

Anne sighs, "Believe me, George - I truly wish that I could believe that you are intent upon granting me your loyalty; but after all that has happened, it is hard."

"I understand." He agrees, "Perhaps if I tell you that my conclusion was made final by the letter that I received from our father yesterday. He instructed me to do all that I could to drive your rule onto the rocks of perdition, but his advice was so confused, so contradictory, that I realised that he has become intent only upon removing you - and cares nothing for what might follow if he does."

"I take it that he is keen upon the Protectorship now that Norfolk has fallen." It is not a question.

"It would seem so."

"And he would be no more keen to relinquish it than Uncle Thomas would have been."

Rochford shakes his head, "Her Majesty is my niece; you are my sister. That our father has so utterly turned against you in favour of his own benefit is shocking - and I hope it is but an aberration brought upon him by anger. If that is so, then perhaps we might regain his loyalty when he has returned from his travels to the ports of England."

Such hopes. Her expression sad, Anne allows herself to accept his embrace, "He loved us both, once. And then we became naught but an adjunct to his ambition. I do not think that we shall regain it, George. We have defied him, and that, he does not forgive."

"Then give me the opportunity to serve her Majesty with loyalty, Sister. I do not ask for preferment, or for high office. I ask only that you allow me to stand beside you as the uncle of the Queen, and serve her diligently. There are still people who would do all that they could to unseat you, and her Majesty. I no longer wish to be one of them."

She says nothing, but nods. And hopes that doing so shall not be a disastrous mistake.

The hot weather has become tiresome, having lingered for nearly a week and a half. Sitting in a small court where fountains play, Mary fans herself and sits back under the shade of a large sycamore tree. Nearby, Pax is running about, chasing after a multitude of butterflies that adorn the roses and barking excitedly as they flit hither and thither. She wonders where he gets the energy in such enervating conditions.

Jane Seymour is embroidering alongside her, a carefully and expertly stitched panel depicting the martyrdom of St Cecilia that is almost complete. When those of the household who have been appointed by the Concubine are not present, they pray the rosary together, though no one has prevented them from celebrating mass. She has no doubt, however, that her activities are reported upon.

"My brother has received another communication, Majesty." There is no one in earshot, so Jane uses the title that Mary expects to hear. The laws of England, after all, do not supersede those of Ecclesiastical law - it is the words of men who have denied her her inheritance, not the reality and truth of her birth.

Mary nods, but gives no other indication of interest. There are people at the other side of the garden who - while they cannot hear - can still see, "When shall it be brought to me?"

"I hope to receive it later today. Should I do so, I shall pass it to you in your prayer book, for you did, after all, lend it to me, did you not?"

Mary does not raise her head, but Jane can see her smile.

It is not disloyalty to her father to lay plans to claim that which is hers by right. She is the only child of Henry's legitimate marriage to the Queen of England, and no pretence by any man can overturn that which was bound by God. Her mother fought it to the end, even though she lost, and so she shall do likewise. England should be given the Queen that is rightfully hers - and God would be upon her side. The Holy Father would certainly speak out in her favour, and he is God's representative upon Earth.

She has no argument with the babe Elizabeth - after all, she cannot help her parentage - and she would never punish a child for the actions of her mother; but as soon as she is crowned, Mary shall ensure that that woman shall pay for her treason upon a scaffold, while those who supported her shall suffer an equal fate. One cleansing outpouring of blood to save the realm - and bring her home to her true faith once more.

In spite of the necessity to act with such force, Mary shudders at the thought of it. She is not violent by nature - even though her temper can be a true tempest if fully unleashed - and would prefer to gain the loyalty of those who have turned against her. But how could they ever be trusted if they did not come to her at the outset? No - they must be removed, and all opportunities to plunge England into civil war removed with them. Best to start again with loyal servants who shall serve her absolutely.

It is hard to spend the rest of the day in calm contemplation, as she is all a-fever with curiosity over the letter that has come from Court. The Concubine might well have won over the Council, but she has the loyalty of one member, and thus is not blind to their activities. So far, they have bought the loyalty of Parliament with promises of power that she is convinced shall not be kept. Though that shall make things far easier for her, as her intention is to retain the counsel of loyal men that can be trusted both as loyal advisers and true Catholics. She sees no reason to give up the prerogatives of a Crown to commoners. Her father did not, and neither did her mother when he left the realm in her care. It shows only that the Regent cannot rule. If she could, she would not need to look to Parliament.

Rumours have reached her that all of the European ambassadors have pledged their loyalty to the Queen Elizabeth, and she longs to know whether that is true or not. If it is so, then it shall make her plans far harder to bring about. Surely the Emperor has not abandoned her? While she is confident of support from the Holy Father, she needs more than just his endorsement to take back her realm from a usurper - and it seems impossible to her that her own cousin would ignore her claim.

Supper is eaten, and cleared. Those of her household whom she did not appoint are busy at their duties, leaving her with Jane and Susan Clarencieux, and she looks eagerly to Jane for the promised letter. Jane's expression clearly shows that she has one, and she hands it over with a smile.

The seal is not broken, though she has no doubt that Edward has used a hot knife to lift it before replacing it once his own curiosity was satisfied. It gives her pleasure to break the wax disc, and she opens the letter with slightly trembling hands.

Majesty,

I am pleased to report that the Imperial Ambassador has written to his Imperial Majesty upon your behalf to request his support for your intention to claim your royal crown. We await his response - which Chapuys expects within three weeks - but it is likely that his support shall be forthcoming.

The negotiations with Parliament are complete, and - alas - the prerogatives that they have been granted are now in place. They shall be called into session three times each year, for four weeks to each session. All laws shall pass through their hands before they are granted assent, and taxation shall be considered and reviewed by them. We are relieved, however, that they have not been granted - or requested - the right to appoint those ministers who shall, in time, be yours.

Having purchased the goodwill of Parliament, the Regent is now looking to purchase the goodwill of the people, through false acts of charity. It is, I fear, likely that they intend to continue to destroy the great Religious Houses of England, and the holy relics they protect. Thus they do what they can to bribe your subjects into acceptance of such a grotesque act against God's holy Church.

It grieves me to be obliged to stand against an anointed Queen - but it is a greater burden to do so in the face of one born of an invalid marriage, while the true Queen remains held from her people. It speaks against me as a loyal subject and a true Christian, and I am ever more certain that to bring you to your true inheritance is God's will. Thus, I hope that he shall forgive all that I must do in order to aid you.

As soon as I have received word from Chapuys, I shall advise you of the Emperor's decision. Trust in God, and pray for our success.

Your friend,

Suffolk

So, she must wait a little longer, it seems. There is no worth in making her claim while she is unsupported; although she is certain that she can look to the people for their love, those who stand above them shall not accept her if they think that it shall lead to war with their neighbours. Much as she would be pleased to remove those who have stolen her crown, she knows enough to know that such a move at such a time shall serve nothing, and no one.

But to live like this - a pampered imprisonment. The chains that she wears are made of gold, and silk - and her people toil under false rule while she resides in comfort and wealth.

"Majesty," Jane whispers, "Father Francis has arrived for our evening mass."

"Then let us pray for the success of our hopes." Mary smiles, "For that is what shall serve England best."

His expression is disgruntled, even if his ability is ideal for the task in hand. It has been a week - and he has only just surveyed the first of many ports around the Kingdom. Wiltshire could have completed the count far more quickly than he has, but for his frequent angry letters to George, exhorting him to continue the work that he has been obliged to set aside thanks to his own complacency.

God's wounds - it had never occurred to him for a moment that his infuriating daughter would think to turn that blasted letter against him as she did. Was it her idea? Or perhaps that blasted creature Cromwell. Between them, they have used the simplest of ruses to remove from him all that he was hoping to gain. By concealing that bloody letter in George's papers, the two of them stymied an entire faction - and now he is here, at Deptford, counting vessels for a prototypical naval fleet.

It is that - the flimsiness of the ploy - that rankles the most. Wiltshire is used to being the consummate manipulator, and to have been trapped in his own act is deeply infuriating. That George has proved so useless in writing back to him is all the more trying - without answers to his letters, how the hell can he continue to plan?

All of the men who have accompanied him on this blasted trip are in Cromwell's pocket - and he cannot even complain about that, for the final report shall be passed to him as the Lord High Treasurer. He must, after all, consider the costs of the naval fleet in order to work out how much they shall need to pay if they are to see off any overseas threat. That they can - if so minded - report his every move back to that damned crow ensures that he takes the greatest of care with the dispatch of his letters. Presumably George has not the wit to find some means to get responses back to him.

The man granted as his personal manservant enters with a tray upon which is set a dish. The victuals in this benighted place are of such poor quality that he would refuse to eat them were it possible for him to demand better. As he cannot, however, he chokes down the mean stews of salt beef and beer, with rough, chewy bread that makes his jaws ache if he chews it for too long.

And - to truly make his day complete - he has a toothache.

The thought of continuing such a dull task is so abhorrent, that he is even considering another idea that was equally, if not more, abhorrent a mere two weeks ago. It is clear to him that Anne has rejected his authority as her father, and refuses to accept her filial duties to him - which he expects as his due. If that is so, then he, equally has no paternal affection to grant her in return. Thus he shall turn to others who might be persuaded to accept his advice as a man who has served a King.

It shall, of course, require a great deal of grovelling, and the proclamation of a change of faith - but if he cannot bend Anne to his will, perhaps a younger woman shall prove more pliable. His expression cold, he reaches for a sheet of rough paper, and loads his quill. If this can grant him that which he desires, then it shall most assuredly be worth the humiliation at the outset.

To her Majesty, Queen Mary of England, France and Ireland, greeting…

The stag leaps from its cover and flees across the parkland, accompanied by loud halloos and the music of the hounds. In their wake, the crowd of courtiers spur their horses to the gallop and give chase.

How long has it been since she last hunted? Not in months - he had ceased to require her presence as the year progressed, and then she had fallen pregnant, and avoided riding at all in order to protect her babe. Such protection as it gave. Or not.

Now, however, she is free to return to the excitements of la chasse, and she is close to the head of the pack of riders, for her skill upon horseback is well known. She is content to endure the discomfort of the thick stockings she must wear as she rides astride, and the constriction of her riding habit too; it is worth it for the exhilaration of the wind in her face, and the sense of absolute freedom that comes with being seated upon a horse at the gallop. She hopes, in time, that Elizabeth shall also know this feeling - but she is still obliged to be seated upon Orithyia and guided by a groom with a leading rein. The young groom assigned to school her reports that she is becoming a better horsewoman with each passing day, and he has hopes that she shall soon be free to guide the horse herself.

Their quarry flees with great speed, and the chasing hunt is obliged to pass through copses and over several walls in order to run it down. Some of the riders pull up at the sight of the second wall, as it is rather higher than the previous, and they are afraid that they shall not make the jump. Perhaps they are right to be cautious, but Anne's exhilaration overcomes her discretion - a leap of such height shall feel like flying, and she is unafraid to try it.

The horse bunches, and then launches into the air, and she leans forward to compensate for the rise, then leans back as they clear the wall and her mount lands, pecks, then recovers. Others have also crossed in safety, thank God - though some have been obliged to stop as their horses refused the jump. Anne leans forth again to encourage the horse to greater speed, and laughs at the sheer exhilaration of the ride. There was a time when she and Henry had raced their horses over this very ground, chasing one another almost in competition - before pulling up in the midst of the parkland to enjoy a meal of fine delicacies and sweet wines under an awning, where he would recite poetry to her, and she would think herself the most fortunate woman in the world - for she had won the heart of the greatest prince in Christendom…

Ahead, the hounds have surrounded the stag, and have brought it to bay in the midst of a copse. Henry would have fired the quarrel that dispatched it - he demanded that privilege - but now it is Sussex who performs that function, taking up a crossbow, and ending the animal's life in a single shot to the heart while the hounds are called off. Stepping back, he allows the huntsmen to come forth and transport the beast back to the palace, where it shall be butchered and hung, ready for the court's consumption in a few weeks.

For those who have reached this point, however, there shall be a repast under bright awnings awaiting them, just as there once was for Anne and Henry. The chosen spot is less than a half mile away, thanks to the care taken to direct the stag to this place, and the crowd of Courtiers is already gathering, while stewards prepare to serve a selection of dishes. All but two of those present were part of the hunt, but she knows that Cromwell and Rich are far too busy to engage in such pastimes. They are there at her request, and have come down separately from the hunters. The days when she could indulge her passion for hunting without thought of the cares of running the Kingdom are now gone.

"Has the morning gone well, Majesty?" Cromwell asks, as he waits for Anne to seat herself before doing likewise.

"We have a fine stag, Mr Cromwell." She answers brightly, "And how has the morning passed for you?"

"Busily, Majesty." He smiles, as she reaches for a glass of cold ale, "I have set a man to watch over the activities of the Imperial Ambassador, as I am rather concerned at his behaviour. I think he may have set plans in motion that do not bode well for the realm."

"In what way?"

"In seeking the support of his Imperial Majesty to back the Lady Mary in a claim to the throne."

Anne goes very still, "And you believe Charles would do so?"

"It is difficult to say, Majesty." He admits, "He has given no indication that he would fail to recognise her Majesty Queen Elizabeth as the rightful Queen of England - but, there is no escaping the truth that the Lady Mary is his cousin, and that he might well see benefit in doing so."

"He had better not." Anne snaps, viciously, "And what of the Lady herself?"

He sighs, "I have not been able to ascertain that to the degree that I should like to. But…" he pauses, then remembers his promise to be frank, "I have it on good authority that those who are her confidantes refer to her as 'your Majesty'."

Anne turns to face him, her expression now deadly, "If that is so, then it shall be stopped. Immediately. She is not a Queen - and never shall be. If it is confirmed that she is demanding that her sycophants address her so, then they shall be removed from her household forthwith."

Cromwell shakes his head, "I would counsel against such precipitate action, Majesty. The Lady Mary remains compliant at this time, though I am having the Seymours watched, as I am quite convinced that they are acting as a conduit between the Court and Hunsdon. I have no doubt at all that she intends to declare her claim at some time - though if she delays for much longer, the opportunity shall be lost, for she shall be all but forgotten. If we provoke her, however, she may decide to act."

He watches, as Anne turns his words over in her mind. In some matters, she most assuredly thinks with her head - but in others, she thinks with her heart, and thus is prone to error. He has not yet definitively identified the traitor at Court - though he has his suspicions - and to provoke Mary to declare her claim before he is ready to counter it would be a dangerous mistake. Rather than embarrass him in public, she turns back to him, "We shall discuss the matter this evening, Mr Cromwell."

At which time you shall argue with me. He thinks, but does not say so.

Her determination to ignore the matter is manifest in her request to Rich to apprise her of progress upon her intended charitable works and institutions, and his expression as he does so equally displays his nervous worry that she shall overrule his colleague. They are neither of them unaware of the love that Mary still commands in the shires - a love that is gradually being forgotten as she resides in obscurity at Hunsdon. Should she emerge and demand that she is the true Queen, what chance might there be that Elizabeth's subjects rally to her banner? It is not a risk that he, or Cromwell, is keen to put to the test.

His report complete, he sets his papers to one side, as Anne indicates that they are welcome to dine with the assembled courtiers, calmly ignoring the expressions of snobbish annoyance at the two interlopers. Neither man has time to join in with court entertainments of this kind; they are far too busy keeping her daughter's Kingdom from collapsing into a mire of civil war for that.

The meal is a simple affair, in keeping with Anne's intention to reduce the degree of sheer profligacy that marked her husband's reign. And hers - there is no hiding from that. Thus the assembled Courtiers dine upon baked game contained in great coffins of flour paste, manchet bread, sallets of herbs and flowers, ale and claret, and candied fruits with sweet wine. She chooses not to notice the expressions of dismay at the lack of well roasted mutton and venison direct from a spit.

Cromwell and Rich depart before the meal is ended, as they have work that they must do; but the discovery that Mary is already pretending to be Queen, and expecting her confidantes to call her such infuriates her. Damnation - that, above all else, she intends to stop. At once.

Anne's mood has improved somewhat by the time she has returned to the Palace across the wide park of St James. It is quite impossible to remain ill tempered when one is chasing along on horseback, even if there is no quarry in one's sights.

Elizabeth is in the Privy Garden with Lady Bryan and Miss Champernowne, engaged in some complicated, intricately constructed story in which Lady Mille-Fleurs is the centre of attention. Watching her from the Privy Chamber, Anne's worries return tenfold - Elizabeth is so young, so innocent - and already she faces destruction at the hand of her own sister. No matter how loving that girl might have been towards her sister when they resided at Hatfield, Anne is quite convinced that such kindness shall not be forthcoming should she make a claim to her sister's crown.

There's nothing that she can do, either. She must wait until people have forgotten that wretched, misbegotten brat - there is no alternative, after all. She cannot remove the girl to the Tower, nor can she order the girl's death - much as she would like to. That would create a martyr, and make things worse, so instead she must buy Mary's compliance with unwarranted generosity. If the life of her daughter is at stake, then she shall show no mercy to those that threaten it: Man, woman or child. In the absence of the lion, there is, after all, still the lioness.

Lady Rochford sets out some wafers and sweet wine for her, "Is there anything else you require, Majesty?"

Anne turns, "No - thank you, Jane." She pauses, "I shall sup in our apartments tonight - please advise the kitchens. It is also my intention to invite the Lord High Treasurer to join us, so I should be grateful if you could also be present." Madge is excellent company for discussions involving gossip, dresses, literature and poetry - but she finds matters of high politics rather less enjoyable.

Elizabeth has finished her game in the garden, and comes in to see her mother sitting near the window, "I have enjoyed my games today, Mama - and Kat is most pleased with my latin!"

Anne smiles, "I am pleased to hear it, my dearest. Now, go and wash your hands, and you may have a wafer."

Laughing, the little girl retreats into her chambers. Immediately, Anne's expression darkens again. God help any who would steal that child's inheritance; where once she would have jested that she could simply order the deaths of Katherine and her blasted girl, now she has the true power to do it. And yet, at the same time, she does not. The only way to get rid of Mary would be to marry her off to some compliant Courtier - which she would refuse, for she does not accept that she is no more a princess than she is not a legitimate child. Perhaps it would be better to find some foreign prince and dispatch the girl into exile. Yes - that is most likely to serve Elizabeth's interests…

"Majesty, Mr Cromwell is without." Jane's voice interrupts her thoughts.

His expression is grim, and she looks at him with concern, "What is the matter?"

"I have received word that the Emperor looks favourably upon a rival claim from the Lady Mary." He says, quietly, "One of my creatures was able to intercept a letter to Ambassador Chapuys. He noted the contents before ensuring it was sent safely upon its way to its intended recipient."

Anne stares at him, her expression appalled.

"I have, as I advised this morning, been unable to definitively identify the Councillor who is serving her interests - but, I am largely of the opinion that it is my Lord of Suffolk. He has retained his adherence to the old ways, and was known to support the Dowager Princess of Wales during the annulment hearings, even though he did not speak of it. He is also no friend to your Majesty." He adds - not that she needs to be told it; she knows it to be true.

"Then I shall remove him from my council." She says, at once, "I shall not have men present who are not loyal to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth."

"I would counsel against that." Cromwell answers, "Our only advantage at this moment is our foreknowledge of the information. I consider it better to keep him at Court, and at the council table, where we can see him, and keep watch upon his activities."

Anne glares at him, "He is helping her." She snaps back, viciously, "That makes him naught but a traitor."

Cromwell does not flinch from her anger, but instead watches her gravely, "Traitor or no, he remains here under our scrutiny. His retinue is large, but long-standing, and I have not been able to penetrate its walls of silence. Thus he is our only source of information pertaining to his activities. He cannot be watched if he is not at Court."

The Regent's expression is now conflicted. He can see how deeply she wishes to strike out at those who would threaten her child - the very epitome of a protective mother; but to do so without preparation is madness, and thus she is required to exert patience, whether she wishes to or not. For as long as she bathes in the warmth of her mother's legacy, the Lady Mary is as untouchable as an angel upon a mile-high plinth.

She sighs, "Do you think it is likely that she shall attempt to raise her banner once she is informed of her Cousin's support?"

"Not immediately." Cromwell muses, "Though she cannot continue to remain silent for too much longer. Parliament has already accepted our terms, and the prospect of better representation has won you respect from those who shall attend for their shires. Once we commence work upon the charitable causes that you intend to establish, the love of the people shall begin to shift, I think. No - if she is to steal England, then she must act quickly, but not without preparation. She does not yet know which lords shall rally to her banner - for if they do not, then her attempt at insurrection shall falter before it has begun."

"I will not have it, Mr Cromwell!" Anne hisses, angrily, "I will not! If she dares to raise a banner against my daughter, then she shall find herself in the Tower, and upon the scaffold, for her presumption!"

Cromwell looks a little helpless. In all matters but this, she can be reasoned with - and indeed her reasoning is generally close to his own - but not when her daughter's safety is under threat. Then, she shall strike with haste, spite, and without thought of the consequences beyond that first moment of release. He can see it.

"I intend to remove all of her servants, and replace them with a household that I have chosen myself." She says, firmly, "No more Seymours sneaking around her, no more Susan bloody Clarencieux whispering sedition in her ear. If I must continue to pay for her household, then I shall employ them. She shall not be permitted communication with any, nor shall she be permitted to receive visitors. I want her forgotten! Then she can be married off without ceremony - preferably to some petty princeling in the low countries, where such nobodies are ten-a-penny. And thus she shall be gone from here and no longer a threat to my child!"

"And, in doing so, you shall make her a martyr - even though she be one who has not given up her life." Cromwell finishes, with that infuriating calmness, "If she is to leave England, then she shall be free to foment rebellion from abroad, to plot with the Emperor - and to lead an invasion of mercenaries should he be willing to finance such an enterprise. She is the daughter of the King's first wife - and the invalidity of that marriage is not universally accepted, nor is her bastardy. You know, as I do, that the late Dowager Princess defied God's law in marrying her late husband's brother - but she claimed to be intact, and thus dispensations were granted. To some, who think that any of God's laws can be ignored should the Vicar of Rome be importuned sufficiently, the dispensation created a valid marriage. That it did not makes little difference to them."

"And what do you suggest, then?" she snaps, angry now.

"Let her think herself safe. Allow her to believe that her plottings are undiscovered. My spy continues to keep me informed - and the more that we know, the easier it shall be to counter her."

There is a knock at the door, and Matthew enters "My apologies, Majesty. The Lord Privy Seal is without - with a message for the Lord Treasurer."

"Show him in, Matthew." She sighs, now what?

The letter that Rich brings with him is clearly unread - for his inquisitiveness is still tempered greatly by his cowardice, but his expression is concerned, "This came by fast horse, Mr Cromwell. I decided it best to bring it to you at once."

"Thank you, Mr Rich." Cromwell takes it, while Anne indicates that he draw up a chair. It seems rude to dismiss him; besides, he might have a different perspective upon their conundrum.

They wait, as Cromwell breaks the seal, and reads the letter, and then his face falls.

"What is it?" Anne asks, at once.

"It is a note from Hunsdon." He answers, his expression dismayed, "It seems that the Lady Mary has already received an expression of support from an English Noble."

Anne and Rich stare at him, shocked, "Who, sir?" She demands, angry now. Who on earth would act against her so?

"Forgive me, Majesty - but it is the Earl of Wiltshire."