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him. “Those are skills customarily taught to the children of merchants, Your Grace, even the girls. A young wife must be able to keep her own accounts. How else should she know when she is being cheated by the butcher?”
    Unspoken was the obvious thought that such a one had no need to learn how to tread a stately measure.
    The big vein in His Grace’s neck throbbed. He expected unquestioning obedience from his subjects. While polite, Father’s defiance rankled.
    I burst into speech, hoping to avert trouble. “I will be a very good student. When I learned to cipher, my teacher said I was quick with my numbers.”
    Distracted, King Henry inquired further into what instruction I had been given. Satisfied that it was adequate, His Grace was about to depart when he remembered Mistress Yerdeley and recalled that her inattention had left me free to wander about the palace alone.
    “We will also find a reliable woman servant to wait upon you,” the king decreed. “One vigilant enough not to let you out of her sight when you visit our court.”

8
December 1539
    T hink you’re a fine lady, do you?” Bridget’s taunt was delivered in a whisper but it stung nevertheless.
    “I am the same as you.” I kept my head bent. Pocket, who lay curled up in my lap, licked my fingers.
    “Then why does Father pay for lessons for you and not for the rest of us?”
    “It is not Father who hired him,” I muttered, refusing to so much as glance at the cadaverous figure hovering near the doorway in deep discussion with Mother Anne. Afflicted with the improbable name of Dionysus Petre, he had introduced himself as my dancing master. His arrival at the house in Watling Street a short time ago had thrown the entire household into an uproar, but it was his flat refusal to teach anyone but me that had provoked my sister’s ire.
    “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Who else would be so generous? Besides, we all know you are Father’s favorite.”
    “I am not!” Although I denied her claim, I thought she might have the right of it, but simple common sense prevented me from boasting of such a thing. “And it is the king who pays.”
    The angry expression on her face changed to one of disbelief.
    “Ask him .”
    Hearing the agitation in my voice and seeing me gesture in his direction, Master Petre gave a start. The sight of Bridget, fire in her eyes, stalking in his direction, had him stammering an apology, although what reason he should have to beg her forgiveness eluded me.
    Bridget came to a halt a mere foot in front of him, her stance wide and her hands on her hips. “Is she telling the truth? Does King Henry employ you?”
    “I cannot say, young mistress.” The poor man squeaked like a terrified mouse. In an attempt to avoid meeting her eyes, his gaze dropped lower, landing on her bosom. That seemed to fluster him even more.
    “Cannot or will not?” Bridget took a step closer.
    Her prey threw both arms up in front of his face and backed away, nearly tumbling down the stairs that led to the shop in his attempt to escape.
    I felt sorry for the dancing master. He was twice Bridget’s age and no doubt the younger son of a gentle but impoverished family, forced to earn his living by giving lessons. Even more than an artificer like Father, he had, of necessity, to bend his will to that of his clients.
    “Bridget, leave him be.” I set Pocket on the floor, crossed the room, and positioned myself between my sister and the dancing master. “I have already told you that it is King Henry who pays him.”
    “First a dog. Now a dancing master. Why should you be so favored?” Bridget turned the full force of her outrage on me, giving Master Petre time to recover his wits. “It is not fair . I am older than you are.”
    “And Elizabeth is older than us both. Perhaps Master Petre should give her lessons instead.”
    “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I cannot—” He broke off, eyes wide, when we both turned to glare at him.
    It was perhaps