Her first memory of him is fear. Not the sort of fear that wakes her up from a bad dream, or roots itself in her mind when she has had no word from her brothers after days of hunting. This fear is entirely new. Somehow more visceral, and attenuated. The lump begins in the back of her throat and slides down into her belly—like she took a sip of warmed ale that was too hot. The weight slides through her bowels and comes to rest between her legs. She is an intact virgin, but she recognizes immediately the sexuality of this fear. The misfortune of every woman to have this intuition, to be able to read a particular danger in a particular situation. Every woman past a certain age recognizes this dawning dread. Suddenly, she is not afraid of the Boleyns, the Tower, or the King. She only fears Thomas Cromwell. A wave comes over her as she registers that Sir Richard Rich is not present; he has been present for all of the questioning of Queen Anne's ladies. Instead, she sits alone in a drafty antechamber, in some half forgotten part of the palace. A desk between her and Cromwell, nothing else. He holds her gaze relentlessly. She drops her eyes long enough to note that he has neither quill nor paper with him. So, she folds her hands together demurely on the desk. She will play a game with herself in which she imagines the world beyond this isolated room with a door that bolts from the outside.

"I am not sure why I am here," she confesses. To be fair, she does not feign ignorance. Her family is no friend of the Howards, no friend of the Boleyns. Queen Anne never took her into her confidence—not after the latest pregnancy that ended in a bloody mess.

Cromwell smiles his enigmatic smile and leans forward over the desk. His heavy gold chain catches the light of the flickering candle. No windows in this room. It could be dawn or twilight for all she knows. In this light, there's no telling the real color of his eyes. Then again, she has seen him in broad daylight and she could never quite unravel his eyes. She cannot help but notice the weight and quality of the gold he wears. She wants to quip, Not bad for the son of a drunk innkeeper, eh? But, she minds her tongue and returns his stare with equal audacity.

"I believe you know why you are here," he says after a while. His eyes trail down her neck and come to rest where her collar bone meets her throat. The fear coils between her legs and threatens to turn her stomach inside out. Who knows? She might vomit all over the expensive Italian shoes of Thomas Cromwell. Therein lays the danger: she does not know what will happen five minutes from now or five hours from now. Five minutes or five hours is not the point. She does not know what he will do, what he can do in that space of time. She wonders how long Mark Smeaton lasted, five minutes or five hours?

The crimson velvet pouch arrived on a Monday. Mistakenly, Elizabeth Seymour thought it was for her older sister, Jane, the latest Queen of England. Poor sweet, simple Janey had somehow managed to marry the King of England barely a week before. Elizabeth now found herself chief lady in waiting to her older sister. Which meant she brushed her sister's hair, helped her wash her back, and soothed her anxieties. All in all, Elizabeth did as she had always done for Jane at Wolf Hall. Except now she did so at Whitehall.

"Ooh Lissie, do go see what Master Cromwell's man wants," said Jane. A youth, wearing the livery of Lord Privy Seal Cromwell, entered Queen Jane's presence chamber clutching the gift.

Elizabeth looked up and saw the black clad young man glancing nervously about the queen's ladies, unsure of the utterly female world, unsure of whom to give the gift to.

Elizabeth left her sister and welcomed the stranger into the queen's rooms. She knew Jane had Cromwell to thank for the former queen's quick disposal—whatever his Lutheran sympathies. Whatever her own rough treatment at his hands.

"I can give that to her Majesty," she smiled, holding out her hand for the parcel that was clearly heavy with jewels. Inwardly, Elizabeth checked at the thought that Master Cromwell's wedding gift for her sister was most likely from a dissolved monastery that her family had contributed to. But, she kept her pleasant courtier's smile. The page swallowed hard, and shifted uncomfortably. Discreetly, he touched her elbow and raised his lips closer to her ears.

"It is for her Majesty's sister, Lady Elizabeth."

Jane craned her neck over her ladies' heads in order to meet Elizabeth's eyes. Elizabeth returned her sister's questioning gaze with a shrug. She turned back to Master Cromwell's page.

"To whom do I owe this favor?" she asked. His eyes narrowed, confused.

"Why, Master Cromwell."

"From Master Cromwell, to Lady Elizabeth Seymour?" She repeated. He nodded minutely.

"And is there a letter…a message attached?" she pursued. He shook his head and offered the pouch again. Puzzled, Elizabeth gave up and took the parcel. What was this? So sorry my Lady Elizabeth for that unpleasantness a few weeks ago? A pretty jewel so you need not worry your pretty head about losing your pretty head because your sister is the Queen of England now? Elizabeth smiled at her own private joke.

" You must give the Queen's love to our Master Cromwell." She shared a knowing look with the page and smiled at their mutual embarrassment. He bowed stiffly to her, which she returned with a gracious curtsey.

"Lissie, come back to our game. Help me, Lady Rochford is clobbering me at cards," Jane called over the noise of the queen's room. Elizabeth took her seat next to her sister. A hush fell over the room as the ladies swarmed around Elizabeth to see the cut and quality of whatever was in the velvet pouch. Elizabeth gingerly unfolded the rich fabric. Lady Rochford gasped as the contents came into view: a magnificent choker with long jeweled pendant.

Even Jane's eyes widened—and she had the crown jewels at her disposal. Jane reached out to feel the stones, but Elizabeth folded the velvet over the necklace. Her eyes met Jane's; Jane furrowed her brows in confusion. Suddenly, she stood and said: "Lissie, come unplait my hair and brush it for me."

Sister or no, Elizabeth rose and swept her queen a deep curtsey and followed Jane back to her bedchamber. She practically had to shut the heavy wooden door in Jane Boleyn's nose. Once safely alone, Elizabeth brought the jewels over to the window in order to better to see them in the sunlight. Jane stood behind her, resting her head on her sister's shoulder.

"Definitely diamonds," Jane whispered. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes skeptically.

"You think? Are you sure they are not another gem…look they have an orange glow about them."

Jane reached out to raise the gems up closer to the light. "Yes, diamonds. From India. Diamonds can be colored, you know."

Elizabeth had to admit her sister was probably right; for a simple girl who loved needle-point and prayer, Queen Jane Seymour probably knew a diamond when she saw one.

As Elizabeth brushed Jane's hair in long, absent-minded strokes, they considered the implications. In this court, a gift was never just a gift. Jane, a newly-wed ready to believe the best of everyone, thought it was the beginning of an entreaty for Elizabeth to marry Cromwell's son, Gregory.

Elizabeth, more wary, thought it was an interlude to a bribe. Cromwell's politics were highly adaptable. He needed a woman amongst the Queen's ladies and none of the Howard women would be skipping forward to take his hand any time soon.

"A bribe, that would be shameless, Lissie," Jane said. "Especially handing it off to you in front of me. Shameless," Jane repeated.

"He fought for the French, banked for the Italians. I don't think Master Cromwell knows the meaning of the word 'shameless.'" Elizabeth pointed out. Cardinal Wolsey raised Cromwell up from absolutely nothing, which the younger man repaid the Cardinal with by serving him up on a platter for the King's rage. Sir Thomas More went from a political embarrassment, to a martyr. Maybe Cromwell grieved for the better man, maybe he did not. In any case, Cromwell had no trouble slipping on the robes and seal of the Chancellor. If any one asked Elizabeth—which no did--Cromwell and Anne Boleyn were too much alike for their own good: upstart Reformists, with ambition that outstripped their rank. If he could not stay loyal to a kindred spirit like Anne Boleyn, then God help Jane Seymour. He may have turned on the Boleyns, but he was no friend to the Seymours' Papist sympathies either. Then again, Jane, unlike Elizabeth, knew when to keep her mouth shut and swallow her anger.

"Do you think Edward or Tom knows about this?" Elizabeth asked.

"Our brothers know everything in this court. But if they had some sort of deal with Cromwell, we would know." Jane had a point. It was difficult to imagine the fair-haired, fair-born Seymour brothers bartering with dark, low-born Cromwell like Venetian merchants. Such an uncomfortable alliance would only come about after a family meeting in which each Seymour child was briefed on her role.

"Have you seen Lord Rochford in the Queen's rooms often?" Cromwell begins preliminarily. She thinks this is a silly, simple question—but she senses the devil is in the seeming forwardness of the question.

"Well, of course. He is her Majesty's brother after all," she replies with a bit of laughter. One look from Cromwell silences her. This is no laughing matter.

"Have you seen Lord Rochford kiss the Queen?" he pursues.

"With familial affection…but…I am sorry Master Secretary, what is this all about?"

"Have you seen Lord Rochford and the Queen kiss, with their tongues in each others' mouth?" Cromwell marches on, relentless.

At this, Elizabeth cannot help but snort with surprise. "If I had a base sense of humor, I might laugh." Gravity has shifted; the shocking accusation of incest, the fact that Cromwell can level it with a straight face, tells Elizabeth that nothing will be the same in this country ever again.

Cromwell narrows his eyes and sets his jaw. "Am I laughing, Lady Elizabeth? Have you ever known me to jest before? I let Will Somers play the Fool."

"No," she says.

"No? No, what?"

"No, that's ridiculous. Yes, there are always men coming and going from the Queen's chambers. But young men like to pay court to a pretty queen. Her brother is her brother." She wonders if this is why her brothers took Jane back to Wolf Hall, but left her here. Did Edward not want to arouse even more suspicion by removing both Seymour girls? Does Jane know what is transpiring here?

He tilts his head, how he registers sympathy, contemplation, contempt…he will kill you with a lop-side smile and the sensitive incline of his head.