A/N: And it's Friday again! Thank you all for your comments - I really appreciate them. A special shout-out to Audriel and Starfire for your wonderfully comprehensive reviews; I love reading them.

So, with Boleyn looking to divert his influence elsewhere, it's time to get started on introducing Elizabeth to the rest of her Kingdom - in spite of her age. There is also Mary, of course - how will she react to Boleyn's approach?

I suspect that I'm getting a little bit Walsingham/Cecil-ish with Cromwell's spy network - but with an altogether freer hand and specific royal support, perhaps he might well have been that organised!

PART THREE

Rival

CHAPTER NINETEEN

An Introduction to England

The rose garden is exquisite, the heady fragrance of a thousand blooms scenting the air as the small group of ladies make their way between the beds towards a small summerhouse in the shade of the garden wall. Behind them, several men of the Council follow, apparently for reasons solely of a social nature, but a diligent observer could not fail to notice that at least one of them has a portfolio under his arm.

Anne has no wish to leave Whitehall, not yet at least. Not while there is the faintest risk that Katherine's misbegotten brat might attempt to call men to arms in support of her invalid claim to the throne. The discovery that her own father has turned upon her and is now attempting to seek favour with the girl remains a true shock. That he no longer loved her, she already knew. That he would do anything to regain the power and privilege that he had lost - again, she knew that, too. But it had never occurred to her for a moment that he would attempt to grasp his lost ascendancy by tying his loyalties to his granddaughter's rival.

In the week that has passed since Mr Cromwell advised her of her father's duplicity, it has not been possible to ascertain whether the wretched creature has accepted or rebuffed his overtures. The matter has not been raised in Council, as she knows that any discussion would make its way back to Mary via Suffolk. God's blood, she would send that man to the Tower if she could do so - but again, her closest advisers have counselled against it, largely owing to the lack of solid evidence. Any precipitate action upon her part is likely to provoke Mary to act equally precipitately, and it is far too early in the reign to know with any certainty whether the people would rise to that alternative banner, or ignore it in favour of Elizabeth.

It is hard not to brood, in spite of her cheerful countenance as she walks arm-in-arm with Margery, laughing a hollow laugh as her dogs play amongst some fallen rose petals. The problem of Mary has been there all along, and it is a matter that they must act upon; she knows that well. But when to do it? If they act too soon, then Elizabeth's subjects might look upon the bastard girl as a martyr - but if they act too late, she might rise against them and demand the Crown for herself.

At least the first Parliament of Elizabeth's reign is to be summoned shortly - a proper gathering of men of England's shires, sent by their Aldermen and Nobility to offer the counsel of those who are not permanently contained within the sheltered confines of London's walls. They shall, of course, be good Christian men who have abjured the tyranny of Rome - and they shall be well aware of the hypocrisy of the Religious houses that sit upon great hoards of wealth, and tell those who live around them in poverty that their misery is God's will and should thus be accepted and borne with good grace.

For the first time since she left her apartments, her amused smile is genuine - the requirement to continue the reform of the Church in England is the one remaining source of friction between her principal advisers. Mr Cromwell, of course, is all but champing at the bit to set his commissioners to work, but Mr Rich is counselling caution. Watching the pair of them stiffly sparring over the issue is quite amusing, as the two are learning to trust one another, but still remain uncertain of that degree of trust. Besides, she has not failed to notice that their former enmity is also crumbling, and they are equally nervous of disrupting that emerging friendship through a major quarrel.

While she is hurt by her father's betrayal, she is, on the other hand grateful for George's return to her side. At first, she was concerned that his act was solely for his own interests - but he has found it in himself to accept the presence of both the Lord Treasurer and the Lord Privy Seal, and seems also to have rekindled his good relations with at least Mr Cromwell, so she is pleased to have him present in her group this morning. Apart from anything else, he can act as an additional Chaperone to keep false rumours at bay.

Seating herself in the pavilion, she dispatches her ladies to play with the dogs on one of the lawns, "Has any further news come from Hunsdon?"

Cromwell shakes his head, "Nothing of use, Majesty. Wiltshire's letter was dispatched back into her supposedly secretive network of adherents, but it may be that she has not yet received it. I do not doubt that it shall be obvious to all in the household when she does." He adds, with a mild smile of amusement. There is no doubt that Mary's reaction to such a missive shall be incredulous and quite loud. Discreet she may be - but not when she is in a high temper.

"And what of our mission to discover the general mood of the populace?" she turns to Rich.

"The commissioners' reports are starting to arrive, Majesty." He advises, "I also took the liberty of inserting a requirement in the formal recall of Parliament for the representatives to bring with them a report of their own. It shall be interesting to compare them. The more information we have, the easier it shall be to discern our priorities."

Anne nods, and looks at him a little archly, "Took a liberty, Mr Rich?"

At once, his eyes widen, and he looks almost frightened. Henry would never have responded well to a claim that a councillor acted without first seeking his consent - she can see that from his behaviour. Even Mr Cromwell would have done so only very carefully, and then within the most strictly proscribed limits. Add to that the truth that it does not take much to unnerve him, and perhaps it is no surprise that his complexion has gone a little grey. Not wishing him to faint in front of her, she breaks into a smile, "Forgive me, Mr Rich - I was merely speaking in jest. Your action was sensible, and I approve of it."

He looks relieved, and a little embarrassed, so she continues, "When do you expect the reports to be received?"

"In perhaps a week, two at most, Majesty. We have already developed some initial conclusions based upon the reports that came in from London - and we intend to have a draft Poor Law ready for Parliament's consideration as soon as they are in session. The reports that the Commons bring with them shall assist in their deliberations of that draft."

"And they are free to offer amendments as they see fit?"

"Yes, Majesty."

Anne sits back, relieved. If she is to win the hearts of the people, Her preference is to do so through showing that she cares for them, and wishes to ease their troubles as best she can. The Bishops might proclaim that poverty is a truly holy state - but they do so from fine palaces upon a comfortable cushion of wealth. Speaking of which…

"Mr Cromwell, how go matters in relation to the reassignment of my former retinue?" If one is to demand others tighten their belts, one must set an example, after all. She recalls her demands that the monies from the Religious houses go to charitable causes, when they were being all but swallowed up by the cost of both Henry's household and her own. No wonder Mr Cromwell was so irked.

"New positions have been found for all of your lesser retinue, Majesty. Some have been settled with other Courtiers, while others are now employed in the Homes of the nobility." Cromwell advises. The opportunity to employ a member of a Queen's household - individuals with excellent manners and training - seems to have been eagerly grasped, thank God, "The consequential reduction in your Household expenditure stands at approximately a third less than previously."

She nods, approvingly. Henry was keen to promote his Princely state through the display of enormous wealth and grandeur - which is expected, after all - but she is not England's Prince: that is Elizabeth, and thus any attempt upon her own part to do so is likely to be viewed with great disfavour.

"Good. If there are further economies that can be implemented, I think it wise. I was a fool to believe that I was loved as England's Queen, and I think I did so only because I wished to pretend it was so. It is not pleasant to know that one is hated, after all."

"Yes, Majesty." Cromwell agrees, "Though I would not advise dressing in sackcloth and ashes."

"God forbid." She laughs, "Even were it required of me, I should struggle with such a wardrobe!"

Rochford leans forward, "Might I suggest another idea?"

Anne turns to him, "Say on, George."

"If there are concerns that the Lady Mary might attempt to raise England against you, and against the Queen Elizabeth, might it be worthwhile to undertake a limited progress? While the Lady Mary is closeted at Hunsdon, it might well enable Elizabeth's subjects to forget Mary more easily and quickly if their new Queen travels amongst them?"

She can see Cromwell and Rich exchanging a glance, each of them clearly thinking the matter over - and their expressions seems almost to change on an instant, as though they are conversing through such means alone. While the Treasurer has always been able to maintain a singularly inscrutable façade for as long as she has known him, she has learned that Rich lacks that capability, and thus she can almost see what he is thinking.

"Is she not too young?" he asks, worriedly, "To travel so is tiring - and she cannot yet ride well enough. Moreover, as she cannot ride far, she would be obliged to travel in an open litter - and to be on public display throughout."

She is relieved that his concerns centre entirely around the welfare of the Queen, and she smiles again, "I am grateful for your concern, Mr Rich; I appreciate that you, too, have daughters who are young, and thus think as a father would. But in some ways, my Lord of Rochford is right - we must allow her subjects to see her, so we must balance her needs with those of expediency, must we not?"

"That is true." Cromwell agrees, "As long as we do not lose sight of her Majesty's tender years, then a progress seems worthwhile. The worst of the hot weather is yet to strike - and to depart from London while the risk of plague is at its highest would be sensible for her Majesty's health. That said, I would not advise a large-scale progress - again, a balance must be struck between recognition of her Majesty's status, and the avoidance of self-aggrandisement."

"We should lodge with families who have young daughters - then she shall have the chance to play." Rochford adds, "It would be a cruelty to demand decorum of her at all times."

They are warming to the idea now, and Anne raises her hands to stop them, "Thank you, Gentlemen - I agree that it is a worthwhile idea. Thus I charge you with the preparation of a suggested route, and activities. Once that has been considered, I shall advise you of my decision."

The three men rise, bow, and depart. She can see them already talking amongst themselves as they go - and is grateful again that circumstances have brought them together. If she can get her daughter out into the shires, then perhaps the memory of that blasted rival shall be dulled, and the threat she presents be quelled.

"I have supervised the closeting of your linens, my Lady." Jane Seymour advises, as Mary looks up from her volume of speeches by Cicero, "They were most well laundered."

At once, Mary's eyes narrow: while Jane always supervises the handling of her linens, her statement upon the quality of the work is the signal between them that a missive of some sort is in her possession. Susan is sitting nearby, apparently absorbed in some blackwork, while several of the Concubine's planted servants also sit with them, ostensibly embroidering, but also watching them with that annoying scrutiny that shall ensure any palming of notes is seen. Their presence also deters her women from referring to her by her proper title.

"Thank you, Jane. Forgive me, I appear to have left my copy of the poems of Lucius Afranius in my bedchamber, would you be so kind as to fetch it?"

She does not have such a volume - the comic poetry of Afranius being far too low-brow for a woman of her station - but it is the signal between them for Jane to visit her personal quarters and secrete her delivery in a volume of works by Horace that remains permanently in her bedchamber. There is also a book containing poems by Ovid that she leaves there on an equally permanent basis so that Jane does not return empty handed when such situations arise.

God above - when she is Queen, she shall be glad to set aside such deceptive behaviour - it is tiresome, and slows down the movement of information into and out of her house. Her only consolation is that it prevents the spies of that vile corvid Cromwell from knowing her business. If it came to the attention of the Concubine that she was in communication with others, or that her ladies refer to her as the true Queen of England, she is quite certain that a poison of some sort would have found its way into her food by now. But then, she avoids that by demanding that one of that woman's own spies taste all the dishes first.

She returns to the speeches, but cannot concentrate upon them. From whom has the letter been dispatched? Suffolk? Another sympathetic nobleman, perhaps? She knows so little of what is occurring outside her gilded prison that it is impossible to make plans of any worth. And all the time, that thrice-damned woman parades her daughter to the people, and demands that they call the child a Queen. She may have no anger in her heart for that unfortunate babe - but that is more than matched by her virulent hatred for the woman who shattered her world into fragments. Every night, she dreams to herself of the punishments that she shall mete out upon those who have robbed her of her rightful inheritance. That woman shall burn, of course - for she is a traitor as much as a heretic - while those who stand with her shall face the hangman, unless they be of noble birth, of course, in which case she shall allow them the dignity of a headsman instead. Then, perhaps, the humiliation of her poor mother shall be truly paid for.

But then her conscience pricks her. Did the Lord not tell a true Christian to turn the other cheek? How could she truly begin her reign as an enlightened Prince of England by wading in blood? That the Concubine must die is inevitable, and the people shall cheer at her deserved fate, but other than that black-robed monster Cromwell, perhaps she might find it in her heart to forgive - and keep her late father's most skilled men at her table. Then she can bring England back to the true Faith, and restore those religious houses that were destroyed; and all shall be well again.

Most importantly of all - she can finally find a husband, and do her duty as a Queen should.

As the afternoon draws to a close, she rises from her books and withdraws to her personal chambers, leaving those blasted spies behind. With only Susan and Jane for company, and just two dressers who have been with her for years, she is free to fetch out that letter.

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

I must ask, and plead, for your Majesty's forgiveness and indulgence for my wrongheadedness and foolish regard for matters other than your just and lawful rights. In my loyalty to your late, noble father, I allowed myself to become blinded by glory, wealth and riches - and, as such, was turned from that which was right and true: namely the validity of your mother's marriage, and your true birth. For that, I lay myself at your feet in supplication.

Equally, I took it upon myself to set a woman of light morals, that I myself had prepared for the task, to pander to the King's wishes for a son, and to worm herself into his affections through unGodly and immoral means. Eager to profit, I was tempted by the blandishments of mammon, and thus made a true shipwreck of my conscience upon the shoals of perdition.

In doing so, I have come to learn that I threw the true and right rule of England into confusion, and set at her head an illegitimate babe of an invalid union between man and woman. Thus I hope with all of my poor, damaged soul to right that grievous wrong - and offer, with all of my hopes and loyalty, my service to you as England's right, and true Prince.

In writing this letter, I know that I deserve no forgiveness, nor do I deserve acceptance of this pledge to you. But I ask it in hopes that your gentle soul, so warmly close to the gentle heart of Christ, shall see it in yourself to grant both.

Thomas Boleyn, Kt. & E. of Wiltshire.

Mary stares at the letter, stunned. Of all the people she hoped would rally to her banner, this man was the one, above all others, that she had not expected to see. Does he think her a fool? A credulous idiot who would take his blandishments at face value?

Then she laughs, a harsh barking sound, "It seems that our hopes of support from the Nobility have won us a most strange companion!"

Intrigued, Susan takes the letter and reads it, "Would you accept his pledge of loyalty, Majesty?"

"Even one so rendered?" She answers, "God's wounds, I would not! He is the father of that strumpet! That Whore! He can only have come to me because she has rejected him - and I dread to think what he has done to win that from her!"

"He is devious, Majesty, yes." Susan continues, "But, should his pledge be sincere, his knowledge of the court would be most useful to you."

"If his pledge is sincere - which I singularly doubt."

"From my time at court, Majesty," Jane muses, "I recall that he was a staunch reformer, and a great opponent of the late, most lamented Sir Thomas More. Thus I cannot see how he could even consider such a thing as this."

Mary pauses, "He is indeed a reformer - I had forgotten that." She agrees, "Then I shall test him. If he is truly repentant, and offers his loyalty to me, then he must come to me as a true and practising Catholic. To repudiate his adherence to the reformist heresy would prove all but impossible if he has not truly seen himself to be in error."

"So you shall write to him?"

"Not immediately. I shall let him stew awhile - and he shall think that I have not received his letter, or I have ignored it. Should he write again, then it is likely that he is indeed intent upon offering his support to me. And thus I shall make that demand of him. No one shall serve me if they adhere to heresy - I am determined upon that point. I intend to root it out of England, and thus all who are a part of my Court must abjure it upon pain of death. If he cannot do it, then he cannot serve me."

She stands up to allow her dressers to begin unlacing her garments in order to dress for the evening. Strange though Boleyn's approach may be - if he is able to abandon his heresy, then perhaps he might be of use to her after all.

Orithyia moves with a gentle pace around the paddock, still attached to a leading rein held by Sir Anthony Browne, but even as she does so, Anne can see that Elizabeth has taken to riding with ease. They still ride upon soft ground, of course, as the risk of a fall is ever present, and two pages - granted special dispensation to handle the Queen's Person - trot along either side of the plodding pony to right her should she lose her balance. It would not, after all, do for her Majesty to be thrown.

It has been a long morning - the Council have been rather argumentative today - and she is glad to be free of the stifling atmosphere in the Council chamber. The report into the establishment of charitable institutions has, inevitably, raised hackles amongst those of privilege who would be expected to donate some of their largesse towards the welfare of those who have nothing, and the discovery that the men of Parliament are likely to require some means of taxation to fund such works has not gone down well. Such irony that one of the wealthiest men at the table, Mr Cromwell, has stated to all that he shall gladly accept such taxes to aid those of lesser state. But then, if the Council strike the measures down, he shall not have to pay them.

She smiles to herself as she remembers that comment, spoken with dry humour. He is not blind to his own faults - but he can be free to jest upon the matter as he maintains funds for the relief of the poor in particularly troubled times. It is a source of discomfort to her that those funds were first established by Cardinal Wolsey - a man whom she hated implacably - proving that, for all his sins, he had the capacity to care for those who did not share his privilege. Jesu - she has been living in a cloud of ignorance.

She turns at the sound of footsteps crunching upon gravel, and sees Cromwell approaching. There is no sense of urgency about him, and he carries no papers. Instead he is booted and gauntleted, clearly intending to ride. Keen upon hard work he may be, but he is not immune to that call of racing upon horseback, free as the wind in his face. She understands that. She hears it, too.

"Majesty." He stops, and bows, as is required.

"My Lord High Treasurer." She smiles, accepting his courtesy, "Whither are you bound?"

"Merely to enjoy the parkland, Majesty." He admits, "I have not done so in considerable time, and the offices are uncommonly stuffy this afternoon."

"Would you be discomfited by company?" she asks, then, "It is more pleasant than to ride alone. One cannot converse much with a horse."

He pauses at that, uncertain, "Forgive me Majesty - but I do not think it appropriate for you to be in my company unchaperoned."

"Oh, pshaw - you are my closest adviser, and I am a widow who is still in mourning. I am tired of matters of state, and of policy. I wish instead to enjoy an afternoon's ride with interesting and intelligent conversation." He is near old enough to be her father, for Heaven's sake. Why would anyone believe that she would wish to take him as a lover?

For a man usually utterly unreadable, his uncertainty is obvious, and she wonders why, "Why are you so unwilling to ride with me, Mr Cromwell?"

Now he looks deeply embarrassed, "Forgive me, Majesty - but it is entirely to avoid gossip. I am hardly unaware of my reputation about the Court. Regardless of my true motives, I do not think it unlikely that malicious persons might claim that I was intending to marry you for my own benefit."

Why is she surprised at that? All know that he is ambitious - but to attempt to win her affections with the aim of marriage? God have mercy! But then, in a poisonous wasps' nest of intrigue, the motives of all, however noble in intent, are always subject to double meanings and misinterpretation. Any rumours of impropriety upon his part shall certainly reflect poorly upon her - and thus he demurs from an activity that is intended solely innocently. She sighs, a little dejectedly.

"Perhaps if Miss Horsman were to accompany you?" he asks, looking across at the Queen's obligatory companion. Privacy, after all, is not permitted to one who wears a crown.

Seeing the look of horror upon the woman's face, Anne laughs, "In spite of her name, Madge is most unhappy in the saddle, Mr Cromwell. I think, if you are prepared to await her, one of my other women might be willing to take her place."

He bows again, and she turns back to Margery, "Madge, could you send for Lisbet, please? She is the best rider amongst my ladies - ask her to ensure she is in a riding habit."

"Yes Majesty." Margery bobs a curtsey and calls over a passing steward to deliver the summons.

Anne turns back to the paddock, "Have you news from Hunsdon?"

He nods slightly, "The letter was received largely as I expected - with scorn. The lady is, however, interested to ascertain the sincerity of the approach, and thus intends to ignore it in hopes that another shall follow. At which point she shall demand that the writer abjure the reformed church - that is, it appears, a matter that she considers absolutely immutable - for it has not occurred to her that not all men cleave sincerely to their faith. She does - and thus assumes that all men do."

"Given who has approached her," Anne observes, "I have no doubt that she shall be wrong. If it results in gain, then he shall swallow bell, book and candle without hesitation or scruple. He would kiss the feet of the Antichrist himself in exchange for wealth and privilege."

She speaks with such casual candour that Cromwell looks quite startled. She might be speaking of her own father, but she has been a pawn in his plotting for much of her life, and knows full well where his loyalties lie.

Anne turns back to him, "And the Lady has no idea who hides within her train?"

"None." Cromwell answers, "I placed an observer amongst her women from the instant that I knew his Majesty's intentions for his invalid marriage, and his requirements upon me to participate in the annulment proceedings. The age of the Lady suggested impulsiveness, and I thought it would be useful to know what her mother was thinking - though I did not appreciate that the two would be separated. That said, that use changed when she moved into her Majesty's Household, and I thus retained the observer in case of any plots that might foment about the then Princess."

"So she would not suspect?"

"No - though I have asked that one of the household appointed by your Majesty monitors the watcher's activities as well, in case her loyalties change."

Anne's eyes widen, "You think of everything, Mr Cromwell."

"I must, Majesty, if I am to survive." He answers, simply, "And if we are to bring the Queen Elizabeth safely to her coming of age."

His eyes are upon that young girl, now dismounted and giggling delightedly as Orithyia nibbles a half of an apple from her hand, "I was not granted the privilege of seeing my daughters reach womanhood - and thus I shall give my all to see this child reach that state."

There is a note of real sincerity in his voice - a painful sadness tempered by the presence of another girl that he can help to nurture in the absence of those that he lost. Wishing that she could link arms with him as she once did with her father, and knowing she cannot, Anne smiles at him, "Thank you."

The atmosphere in the offices is revoltingly warm, and the clerks are sluggish in response. While they work, they do so with a dull slowness, and conversation is slight at best. The turnspits in the kitchens might be granted limitless ale in order to endure the heat of the fires, but that courtesy is not granted to the men of the offices, and most look miserable in their heavy doublets.

Seated beside an open window, Rich works his way through a long list of minor nobles who might serve as hosts to a royal progress. In the old days, when Henry travelled across England and looked to his nobility to house him at their expense, it was quite possible to be financially ruined by the presence of the Court. Not only the dreadful expense of providing for a King who expected none to be spared, but also to house the enormous numbers of retainers, courtiers, servants and other hangers-on that inevitably expect to accompany a royal entourage. He has struck several houses from his list already, as the owners have not yet recovered from the last progress - and that was nearly a year ago.

His heavy simarre has been abandoned, draped over a nearby chair-back, while his doublet is open and his ruffed shirt unlaced at the throat. In this heat, he has no interest in propriety, and hopes that no one of substance enters the offices and sees him in such an unseemly state. While the Lord Treasurer has found the time to go out into the park awhile, he is keen to complete the work for the progress as quickly as he can, as this ghastly heat seems to be set for some time. The sooner they can get away from Whitehall and a river that can only grow more noisome as the weeks progress, the better.

The clerks scatter at the sound of footsteps, and he looks up to see that Rochford has arrived. The apparent rapprochement between the Queen and her brother has left Rich uncertain of where he stands with the Viscount, particularly after the man struck him and blackened his eye in the midst of his confrontation with the two male Boleyns as they demanded to know what had been done with Norfolk's proclamation.

Rochford shuffles awkwardly as he stands alongside Rich's desk, and has the grace to look at least vaguely embarrassed, as they are now allies in the face of a worse betrayal by Wiltshire. Norfolk might well be a spent force - for now, at least - but Wiltshire is still dangerous, and thus they are tied together in the midst of an alliance that stands against him. Besides, he has not forgotten Rochford's convinced assertion that Anne would fail to rule England well. How ironic that he is now part of the faction that aims to assure that she succeeds.

"How goes the list?" he asks, eventually.

Being a man more than capable of unpleasant spite, Rich is tempted for a moment to make matters more difficult for the awkward man at his side by being stiff and uncooperative. In the face of all that has occurred, however, he decides such an approach is pointless, and looks up with as much amicability as he can muster - which is likely not as much as it ought to be, "Middling well, my Lord. I suspect that her Majesty's entourage shall be smaller than that of the King - as her full Court is still becoming established. Consequently, the number of houses that we can visit is larger than it might have been - for some who served as hosts to his late Majesty have not recovered their former wealth after his last progress."

They resume that uncomfortable silence again, until Rochford snatches at a chair and sits down on the opposite side of the desk, "I cannot permit this to continue, sir. If we are to work together, then I feel it is important that I offer my regrets for our…argument…following her Majesty's proclamation. You and I have both returned to the fold in the face of betrayals by those whom we thought to be our friends, have we not? Therefore, I can only ask that you accept my sincerest regrets and apologies for my threats and my violence against you."

Rich looks up from his papers, rather surprised. Being a mere Knight Batchelor, to receive an expression of remorse from a Viscount is all but unheard of, and the contrition upon Rochford's face suggests that the offer is sincere. Not being familiar with the members of the Boleyn family as Cromwell is, he knows nothing of Rochford's character - and thus has only ever seen the rakish womaniser and plotter, not the cheerful, loving brother that was hidden behind that altogether more brutal mask.

He is tempted - again - to make the apology as difficult as he can, but - again - rejects the idea as unworthy of his new allegiance. While they have won over the Council, and Parliament, they must still win over England and ensure that Mary does not step forth to take all that they have achieved. He cannot afford to be anything other than magnanimous, and so he nods, "I accept them, my Lord; willingly. If you are keen to do so, perhaps you might wish to review my list - there may be other noblemen of suitable state to house us that I have missed."

To his surprise, rather than merely act as though the acceptance is his due, Rochford smiles cheerfully and drags the chair around the desk to sit beside him, "Show me."

Bemused, Rich complies, and before long the pair are leaning over the list, engrossed in discussions as to which house might be suitable, and which not. By the end of the afternoon, they have narrowed down the number of houses to a selection that shall support a limited itinerary, and their former enmity is quite forgotten.

"I think the Regent shall be most pleased with this." Rochford says, examining it, "And we can get out of this hellhole. And not a moment too soon." He is blotting at his forehead with a kerchief.

Rich looks equally pleased. As for escaping the heat of London, he could not agree more.

Anne reviews the list that has been put together by Rich and her brother, and nods approvingly, "Have the owners of these houses been approached?"

"Letters were dispatched to all of them yesterday by fast horse, Majesty." Cromwell advises, having overseen the procedure himself, "We hope to receive responses by the end of the week, as the distances are not great. It would be too great a burden upon her Majesty to travel as far north as Warwick, or Coventry, so we envisage visiting St Albans, Aylesbury, Oxford and Donnington, as the castle there is now in Royal possession." He pauses, "I should like to express my gratitude to the Lord Privy Seal and the Viscount Rochford for their work in preparing this itinerary. It was, after all their collaborative effort that created it."

"I am most pleased." She smiles, "Thank you."

The Council meeting finished an hour ago, and now she meets with her closest advisers, a small group that she considers to be her trusted inner circle. Rather than have her councillors argue endlessly over which minor nobleman deserves the honour of a royal visit, and then who should attend, and how much it shall all cost, better to present it to them as a fait accompli and graciously advise them that they shall be required to attend at least one meeting while travelling, and thus assure them that they shall not be left out. That said, she has already decided that Southampton - the most capable of the men who are not within her group of immediate advisers - shall remain at Whitehall to ensure that the Government continues to function in their absence.

It is a small group - but one that she has selected for their skill, rather than because they amuse her. The days when Henry's closest confidants were men who had varying degrees of skill to offer in terms of ability, but who allowed him to pretend that he was a youth again, are over. Her only sadness is that her father is not amongst them - but, unlike George, he seems quite unwilling to admit to being wrong, and so he looks elsewhere for advancement. She has, instead, two skilled politicians and a friendly brother at her side, along with her sister in law. Jane might not be a member of the council: as a woman, that would be impossible, but she has proved her discretion, and the fact that George seems to have apologised to her as much as to the Lord Privy Seal has tightened the bonds of growing trust that hold them together as a loyal unit. Even though a reversal of fortune has brought both her brother, and Mr Rich, to her side, they have set that behind them, and seem keen to serve her with the same loyalty and diligence that she has already seen in her Lord Treasurer.

She has a Crowned daughter. She has a unified council. She has Parliament. She has a trusted inner circle. All she needs now is the love of Elizabeth's subjects - and hopefully a progress shall lay the foundations to win it.