Denys entered Queen Elizabeth"s audience chamber as the church bells clanged thrice. A lady-in-waiting went to inform the queen. Denys prepared for a long wait: her highness always made her grand entrances when good and ready.
As she paced the floor, three serving women scrubbed the woodwork with red, raw hands. Two more servers beat tapestries and polished furniture. A maid wobbled atop a rickety ladder, straining to fan dust webs from a ledge.
Queen Elizabeth entered, swept past Denys without acknowledging her, and headed straight for the maid polishing her writing table. Denys had seen that poor lass on many a dark morning scrubbing the floor, pushing a candle along to light her way.
The queen flattened her palm on the table. “This is not warm, you are not rubbing hard enough. And it
