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“The queen herself announced it,” Margery put in.

“It’s hard to imagine lions at the altar,” Livie said wryly, as they made their way across the bridge, passing over the Tower’s wide moat and approaching its imposing gate. “Daisy, why don’t you and Margery pay the mama lion a call while I visit my father’s chamber?”

“I prefer to greet Harry the Tiger,” Daisy said. “I love the fact that he has a little dog friend. Maybe we should get your father a dog, Livie!”

“Do walk more slowly,” Margery called from behind them. “My corns are paining me something awful.”

“Father dislikes domesticated animals,” Livie reminded Daisy. “You’ll have to tell me how Harry is. Also Miss Peggy, the black leopardess.”

“I don’t think you should visit Uncle’s chamber by yourself,” Daisy said.

Livie shook her head. “By visiting him, I am disobeying your mother. I shall likely be scolded, and you shouldn’t be part of it.”

“She didn’t expressly instruct us to stay away from the Tower.”

“My father will likely be displeased as well.” Captain Sir Tyron had little tolerance for what he called “Acts of Disobedience,” even if they were as small as buying a “fattening, unnecessary” sweetmeat, or a “malicious” novel.

Consequently, Livie’s reading had always been limited to her Bible or copy of The Gentlewoman’s Companion: A Guide to the Female Sex, which her father had given her at the age of ten. Needless to say, The Gentlewoman’s Companion did not approve of frivolous expenditures of effort or thought, which meant that fiction was doubly forbidden.

Luckily, Daisy enjoyed reading aloud.

Daisy rolled her eyes. “If you’ll forgive me, Livie, when is your father ever pleased?”

“He doesn’t mean to be harsh. I just … I need to see him, but I don’t want you to suffer consequences from my actions.”

“Your father—” But Daisy caught herself.

“He would be disappointed to think that I led you into disobedience.”

“Whereas it is always the opposite!” Daisy exclaimed. “Oh, very well, Livie.” They were nearing the entrance to the West Tower. “I hope Captain Sir Tyron is not too cast down by his imprisonment. Just look at how the gateway hangs over the bridge like a harbinger of doom.”

Livie glanced at the masonry, shining in the afternoon sunshine as if it had been polished, and shook her head. “All those novels have frizzled your brain.”

Two warders in magnificent red uniforms guarded the entrance. As Livie, Daisy, and Margery approached, the yeomen raised their battle-axes, crossing them to bar the way forward. One man was old and stout, with a bulbous gourd for a nose. The other was taller and even older, his hair and beard yellowy-white like thick cream. The axes visibly trembled in the air.

“This is preposterous,” Daisy remarked. “As if they could hold back a rebel horde!”

“Hush,” Livie whispered.

“Halt! Who goes there?” the older man bellowed, looking over their heads.

“We’re right in front of you,” Daisy stated.

His chin tilted down, and he stared at them from under the wide brim of his hat.

“Good afternoon,” Livie said, curtsying. “I am Miss Tyron, and I am here to visit my father, Captain Sir Tyron.”

“I am Miss Wharton, the daughter of Lord and Lady Wharton,” Daisy said, flashing the yeoman the beaming smile that typically got her anything she wanted.

It had no visible effect.

“No one is allowed to visit the prisoners unless their name appears on the list approved by the prison warden,” he barked. “You may not enter.”

“Surely I could escort my dear cousin to her father’s chambers and then visit the menagerie in the company of our maid?” Daisy asked, as if she didn’t hear his statement. “I can’t possibly allow Miss Tyron to enter the Tower without my escort.”

“No visitors without prior approval,” the stout yeoman bawled.

“But he’s my father,” Livie said, her eyes filling with tears. “I am not dangerous in the least. No one could consider me a threat to the security of the Tower.”