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better not come too early as my toilette will take longer—I shall be at my best for him.”
    “But “four Majesty, how can there be any way of improving perfection?” asked the Earl with a look of false innocence.
    The Queen smiled. They always play this kind of game when they are together, and the Queen is at her most relaxed when she is with the Earl. Mrs. Champernowne doesn't like him—and I don't, either, when he's being bad-tempered—but I think it's a pity he can't marry the Queen because of the scandal over his wife. I'm sure the Queen is only pretending to be interested in Prince Sven's suit for her hand—it's all about diplomacy and alliances being forged, as marriage always is for everybody except peasants. That's why half the courtiers talk so wistfully about being shepherds and shepherdesses who don't have to care about such things, and can wed purely for love if they choose.
    So that is what happened yesterday evening, and now the sun is up and everyone is getting dressed for a new day.
    And Mrs. Champernowne is scowling at me, so I must stop writing.

    Well, that was most interesting! I have just changed into my hunting kirtle—my black wool, because the green wool is too disgraceful to be seen, according to Mrs. Champernowne—and I am writing this whileI wait for the other Maids of Honour to do likewise. It takes some longer than others—especially Lady Sarah, who must have everything just so.
    I shall begin with where I left off writing as we were dressing for to meet the Swedish Prince. We were told to wear black and white, and the Queen wore black velvet and white sleeves and forepart, so we all looked like a chequerboard when we were ready. Despite what she had said, she was up very early—and bad-tempered about it—because she didn't want to miss any hunting. The Earl had been up even earlier, of course, because he was to escort the Prince into Kenilworth.
    I think it is very funny when the Queen is engaged in a courtship. Sir William Cecil fusses horribly over the arrangements. I'm afraid he is very dull— ditchwater is exciting by comparison. He never talks about anything except business and politics and administration, which is why the Queen has him as Secretary to the Council.
    Anyway, as I was explaining to Mary Shelton, a courtship is like an elaborate game: the Prince or Duke, or whatever, has to pretend to be madly in love with the Queen. And the Queen has to pretend to be a shy, timid maiden! Mary thought that would be a sight to see.
    This one had been carefully planned. The Queen would be casually taking the air in the garden, which has been hew planted with roses to scent the air, and we would be with her. Then Prince Sven, so full of love for her that he couldn't wait for an audience, would come to find her there.
    While the Chamberers finished dressing the Queen, we were all making ready in our own chamber. My ankle was still quite sore, but I was desperate to see this Swedish Prince, so I was hobbling about while Sarah and Jane sat with their backs to each other fussing about hair and smearing beeswax—pounded with little beetles from the New World—onto their lips to make them red and beautiful.
    “Good morning, my lady,” said a friendly voice from the door. “May I be of service?” I turned to see John Hull bowing to me. There was quite a flutter, and both Lady Jane and Lady Sarah turned to give him very gracious smiles because both thought he meant them. “Mrs. Champernowne asked me to help you,” he explained. “Because of your injured ankle.”
    Jane and Sarah scowled at each other. As for me, I must say I think I am sickening of some distemperor other, for I suddenly felt very hot. “Um … my ankle is still very sore,” I said, wishing it were a bit more swollen so I could show him. My voice sounded quite odd when I spoke. Definitely a distemper—I hope not plague.
    I leaned on his arm to hobble down the stairs and, at the bottom, thanked him. I felt fine