‘I promise you, my lady, I am no necromancer like Master Dee. I do not know the right words and to get the spell wrong could be disastrous.’ ‘My mother would never harm me,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Queen Jane died at Hampton Court, perhaps in these very apartments, soon after your brother King Edward was born. Do you think it could have been Queen Jane you saw, and not your mother?’ ‘It was not my stepmother,’ Elizabeth said hoarsely. She turned her head away, staring at the hearth as though she hoped to see her mother’s spirit emerge from the ashes of the dying fire. ‘It was the ghost of my mother, coming to bring me comfort in this place of torment. It was Anne Boleyn, I tell you!’ I struggled not to shout at the princess to be silent and drop this madness. It was hard to remember that she was my mistress and the Queen’s sister when she was forcing me into dark magicks I had no wish to perform. To witness my poor aunt’s spirit called forth by an adept like Master Dee had been terrifying enough.
