November 10, 1544. I have been living with this constant fear of exile now for two days. So far I have heard nothing. Plans seem to proceed as normal for our move to Ashridge. This palace, too, is becoming quite filthy, what with all the banqueting and people and gaming between Michaelmas Feast and the feast of All Saints’ Day. The roses bloom in our garden with such vigor, but the stench from the courtyard over the wall outside the kitchens is unbearable.