‘Better,’ I say. ‘But we still have to wait.’
I let half an hour go by the cathedral bells, and then I open the stair door. With Kitty at my heels, I creep down the twisting stair, a hand on the cold walls on either side. I open the door at the foot, and suddenly, just across the gravel, there is the nightwatchman, making his rounds with a flaming torch in his hand.
I jump back into the shelter of the doorway and push Kitty back up the stairs. I close the door as we wait, trembling. I can hear his footsteps approaching the door, and we dash up the stairs, our slippered feet making no noise, until we are hidden by the curve of the staircase. Down below, I hear the creak of the lock as he turns the key on the outside and then takes the key away, leaving us locked in.
Above me, her face pale in the moonlight that filters through the arrow slit, Kitty is horrified. ‘He’s locked us in, and Thomas out!’
‘You’ll have to go back to bed,’ I say quietly. ‘We’ve lost our chance tonight.’
She looks as if someone has knifed her in the heart. ‘I can’t,’ shesays flatly. ‘I can’t not see him. Jane, you must run around, go to the garden and find...’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘We’ll just have to try again, later.’
‘I’ve spent all day waiting for tonight.’ Her voice trembles on the edge of tears. ‘All day. He’s the only thing that gets me through these days. I don’t think I can bear—’
‘I know,’ I interrupt. ‘We can try another night.’
‘I don’t want another night. I can’t wait for another night. I want tonight!’
‘We’re locked in. The watchman has the key. There’s nothing we can do.’
‘Oh, Jane!’ She gives a little shuddering sob. She is beyond argument.
‘Kitty, be sensible. Go to bed now, and we’ll try again tomorrow.’
She shakes her head. ‘I can’t stand another day without seeing him. What if the king comes to my bed tomorrow? I’d rather die than go another day. I tell you, I would rather die than have the king in my bed.’
‘Stop. Stop this. Be calm – don’t say such things. Think! You’re the luckiest girl in—’
She catches my hand. ‘Look at me!’ she demands.
I look at her: her eyes are filled with tears, her face twisted with grief.
‘I can’t live like this,’ she says.
She clutches my arm as we hear a noise on the door to the garden. It is not the watchman returning; it is a rhythmic littlerat-tat-tat.
We creep down the stairs again. I go first, Kitty silent behind me.
‘Who’s there?’ I whisper.
‘Um... Sir Lancelot!’ comes the laughing whisper.
‘It’s him!’ Kitty breathes in my ear. ‘He’s come!’ At once, she is restored, vibrant with desire. She would get past me to the door to whisper through the keyhole, but I hold her back.
‘We’re locked in,’ I hiss. ‘There’s a nightwatchman. Take care he doesn’t see you.’
‘He’s gone round the other side,’ Culpeper says quietly. ‘I think I can pick the lock.’
‘He can pick a lock!’ Kitty whispers adoringly.
We wait, listening to the sound of a thin blade being pushed into the barrel of the lock and the noise of metal against metal as it is jiggled into place. Then the lock yields, and it swings inwards, and he slips through. His servant, who picked the lock, steps discreetly back, but he has seen the two of us.
Kitty is in Culpeper’s arms in a moment. I cannot stop her leaping forward or stop him wrapping his arms around her. They hold each other, her face buried into his shoulder and his brown head bent into her neck as he inhales her perfume.
‘Get inside,’ I say urgently. ‘Come on. You can’t stay here.’
In a moment, Kitty recovers herself. She steps back; he releases her. He bows; she bends her head.
