Wilhelm, listening with interest to the conversation, suddenly spoke. ‘Forgive me, Father, but I have heard it said that not all priests have the learning to interpret Scripture properly for their flock, and that some interpret it selectively for their own ends.’

  ‘Wilhelm!’ Mutter exclaimed, shocked.

  The old monk smiled. ‘Your Grace, it is natural at the boy’s age to question, and if he has heard this, then he needs to hear that it is very rarely the case. There are venal souls in all walks of life, even in the priesthood, regrettably. But most are devout and conscientious in their calling. Does that satisfy you, my young lord?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Wilhelm did not look convinced.

  ‘I should hope so,’ Mutter said, severe.

  Wilhelm bowed his head.

  It would not be long now until Anna’s fifteenth birthday. Her birthday was in September, Emily’s in October, and they always had a joint celebration, usually a staid little supper with their parents and a few choice guests, who would come with felicitations and gifts. At least it was a chance to dress up.

  Anna was standing in her chemise in the middle of her chamber, studying the fine garments spread out on her bed. Emily fidgeted impatiently, already dressed in a gown of moss green with a wide black velvet belt and elaborate slashing on the tight sleeves.

  ‘The black velvet is too sombre, Anna,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but it’s my most costly dress.’ Anna bent over a rich pool of crimson velvet. ‘I’ll wear this one. And perhaps my new headdress, with my plaits showing.’ She lifted up the beaded Stickelchen; it was beautifully embroidered, with a decorative forecloth of gold.

  ‘Very fitting, Madame la Marquise,’ Mother Lowe commented, as she bustled into the room with a pile of clean linen for the chest at the bottom of the bed. ‘Now that you are almost a grand old lady of fifteen, you must look the part! But that crimson clashes with your headdress. Why not wear your red silk?’

  Anna hesitated. She had not worn the gown since June, and did not want to do so now. It bore an indelible reminder of what had passed between her and Otho, if anyone looked closely enough.

  ‘No, I think I will wear the black,’ she said quickly. ‘That gold belt with the big buckle will go well with it.’

  Mother Lowe laced her into the gown. ‘I do declare, my lady, that you have put on weight,’ she said. ‘I was lacing it tighter last time.’

  ‘That’s because she likes her Kuchen too much,’ Emily scoffed. Anna did not laugh. She had enjoyed no more cakes than normal, yet she was aware that her bust had developed rather rapidly in the past weeks, and her stomach was rounder. It was all part of becoming a woman, she knew, but she did not want to become fat.

  She put on the belt. It was true. Her waistline had thickened. ‘I shall have to look to my diet,’ she said.

  ‘’Tis common for young ladies of your age to get plump,’ Mother Lowe consoled her. ‘If you eat less, it will all fall off, mark my words.’

  But it didn’t. A month later, as the wind was whistling around the towers, the cobbles were slippery with damp russet leaves, and the household were preparing to move to Düsseldorf, as they did every winter, Anna had to face the fact that her belly and breasts were definitely swollen. Could she be ill when she felt very well? And what disease would manifest itself like this?

  An awful possibility occurred to her. When the married ladies of her mother’s court were enceinte, their stomachs swelled up. They would disappear to their estates for some months, then reappear at court, slim as reeds and full of gossip about their new babes. But she could not be enceinte. She was not married, for a start, and Otho had assured her that kissing, even the more intimate kind, was harmless. Mother Lowe had just said it wasn’t to put her charges off kissing any young man they fancied.

  But what if Otho had been wrong? What if kissing was not as harmless as he’d said?

  To read on, order your copy of Anna of Kleve, Queen of Secrets here

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