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“I hope he manages to flatter them on canvas,” joked Fen weakly. She had nearly been put off her breakfast by the sight of her pudgy fifteen-year old self staring out of a frame that morning. She heartily hoped this portrait would be able to replace her old one.

Eden looked a little unsure. “He certainly has a very unique eye. I do not lay claim that his vision will universally please,” she said cautiously.

“But Lady Hartleby was very pleased was she not? With his work?”

“Signor Arnotti has only made the preliminary sketches of her dogs thus far,” said Eden with a shrug. “Bess herself has not yet committed to sit for the pre-requisite amount of hours he requires for a portrait.” Eden gave her a sidelong look. “Which is why he is now working exclusively on your painting.”

“Oh dear,” said Fen. “She really only did want a painting of her dogs.”

Eden smiled. “We shall see who comes out the victor. They both have very strong personalities, do they not?”

“They most certainly do!” agreed Fen fervently. “Still, I should not wish to be embroiled in their quarrel, for I do not have many friends at court and I had hoped Bess would be one of their number.”

“I do not think she is so easily offended,” said Eden. “Perhaps you might invite Lady Bess to join you in a walk with your dogs?” she suggested. “I hear you and Lady Schaeffer exercise your hounds most days.”

“That is a very excellent notion,” Fen agreed, brightening up. To her surprise, a page hurried over with a note for her. She took it from him and hastily retrieved a coin from the purse suspended from her belt. “Thank you.” She broke it open. “Why, it’s from Mr Entner!”

“Your playwright,” said Eden.

Fen scanned the letter. “He writes that he has finished his play!”

“Ah, that is good news,” said Eden with satisfaction.

“He asks if he can deliver a copy of it to me this afternoon.” She turned the page over to read the postscript. “I am to send a reply with the deliverer of the note.” She looked up to find the page still hovering nearby. “Yes, that would be agreeable,” she told him, and he took off, his green hose flashing. “I am going to walk down and meet him in the main courtyard.”

“I will come down with you,” said Eden. “For it is on my way.”

They linked arms and made their way down together.

Mr Entner bowed very low when he saw both her and Eden, and to Fen’s eye, he looked even more nervous than the last time she had seen him. He dropped his hat twice and made very poor eye-contact as Eden bade them farewell. He waited until Eden had disappeared from view and then handed over the bundle of closely written papers to Fen.

“The Tragical History of a Lady Most Foully Betrayed in Three Acts: A Morality Play” Fen read aloud from the front page. She peered over the top of the manuscript at Mr Entner. “But what happened to the donkey?” she asked in bewilderment.

He shrugged. “My muse took me in a different direction,” he said evasively.

A pucker of apprehension appeared on Fen’s brow. “What happened to her?”

“I couldn’t get beyond the first few scenes,” he replied. “The donkey metaphor seemed labored and –”

“Not the donkey,” Fen corrected him testily. “The tragical woman most cruelly betrayed.” She held up the manuscript.

Mr Entner reddened. “Foully betrayed,” he corrected her. “I could not do the subject matter justice by summarizing the plot. ‘Twere much better if you simply read it yourself.”

Fen had a sinking feeling about the whole thing. She clutched the pages so hard her knuckles turned white. “Mr Entner-,” she started.

He shot up to his full height. “Rehearsals have already started,” he said defensively. “People are saying this is my most seminal piece of work.”

“People?” she echoed.

“My wife, and brother-in-law, then.”

Fen looked about them. All around, courtiers and servants were milling. She lowered her voice. “Very well, I shall read it, Mr Entner, but make no mistake if I find-”

“Your very gracious servant,” he said loudly, bowed and then scurried away as Fen stared after him.

Fen made her way back to their rooms feeling deeply uneasy. Hester Schaeffer was coming over to visit with her in two hours, which she hoped would give her ample time to wade through Mr Entner’s play. She closed the door behind her, dragged a blanket out of the chest and bundled herself into the window-seat to plough through it. At various points, Meldon appeared to throw some more logs on the fire. Trudy tiptoed in at one point for some direction on what refreshments they were serving to her guest later, but otherwise Fen was left in peace to decipher Mr Entner’s cramped hand, as a grandiose tale of woe and treachery unfolded before her horrified gaze.

“Hester,” Fen announced hollowly as soon as her friend arrived. “I have read Mr Entner’s play.”