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she would rescue me from Buckingham’s patronage as Sir Tobie repeated my plea. I had not known I was such a fine actor. But perhaps my success didn’t rest in my ability to perform. My fear of Buckingham was real.
    “It is a fine idea if you are willing to part with your pet, Buckingham!” the king exclaimed. “I have never seen greater delight on the queen’s face than when that dwarf leapt from the pie.”
    The duke hesitated a long moment, feigning reluctance. He cast his duchess an uncomfortable look, then turned to the queen. “Your Highness, I wish you would feel such joy always. Will you accept this little man as a token of my devotion?”
    Her breath caught, her face reminding me of my sister when the whetstone lad had offered her a kitten.
    “See how generous Buckingham is,” the king cried. “Thank His Grace, wife.”
    The warmth in the queen’s face cooled. “Your Majesty, please tell His Grace that this is a most welcome gift.”
    The king’s lips compressed. “That is an unsatisfactory way to address our truest friend!”
    I could feel anger building. Knowing I must reclaim their attention, I wiggled my stave to make the banner ripple. It brushed her skirts. I snatched it away, afraid I had gone too far. But the queen’s gaze turned to me.
    “Have you a name, little pet?” she asked in French, her accent as musical as the instruments that had bewitched me. I caught myself before I replied, waiting for Sir Tobie’s translation.
    “I was christened Jeffrey Hudson, Your Majesty,” I replied.
    “Jeffrey.” She plucked my name out of the jumble of English even before the rest of the reply was transferred into French. She touched one of my curls, feather light. I imagined her in her chapel, running Ave beads through her fingers.
    “You must take pains your new plaything is not trampled underfoot,” the king said in French. “Put him in the care of your giant.”
    “Jeffrey could make his bed in Will Evans’s shoe,” Buckingham jested. “Let us hope Evans does not get jealous and put the shoe on with Jeffrey in it.”
    What could one so tall know of the fear he had touched in me? I had spent my whole life afraid of being crushed, had experienced enough near misses to guess what it would feel like. A trill of laughter from the crowd sounded surprisingly familiar, and the king turned toward the sound.
    “It seems as if someone is amused by your quip, Buckingham,” His Majesty said.
    “The ever-witty countess of Carlisle, unless I miss my guess,” Buckingham replied. “Pray come and share your jest with Their Majesties, Your Ladyship.”
    The duke beckoned and a stunning beauty in ice white swept toward us from another cluster of ladies, English I guessed, from the barely veiled distaste on the queen’s face.
    But neither that nor the sudden stiffening of the duchess of Buckingham’s shoulders dampened the Englishwoman’s amusement as she laid siege to the queen’s bastion of French courtiers. I knew where I had seen the woman before. Masked at Burley-on-the-Hill.
    She sank into a curtsy before the queen. “I was only musing that I shall be eager to see what happens when you place Jeffrey in the cage with your other pets, Your Majesty.” The woman’s French was flawless, just as Ware had claimed an English courtier’s should be.
    My parents had displayed me in the Fairy Cage, but only for show. Surely the queen did not keep her curiosities imprisoned all the time.
    “Dogs will attack the runt in a litter,” the courtier said in English as she fingered the silk of my pennon. “A cage might be the safest place for Jeffrey.”
    I bit my lip, only half aware of Sir Tobie’s murmured translation. What other curiosities might the queen have in her collection? Dangerous ones? She would have to keep her “specimens” somewhere.
    “I do not find your jest amusing, Your Ladyship.” The queen’s eyes sparked with temper.
    “Forgive me. The jest is between Jeffrey and me. He was