“Which one would you do?” Mara asks. “Y’know. If you had your pick?” Ask any female member of the Wolf Hall student body this question. If they tell you they couldn’t care less, then they’re a dirty, dirty liar. I’ve had so much practice at lying now, though, that when I do it, it sounds like the honest to god’s truth. “Jacobi. Definitely Jacobi.” Mara nods, swallowing down this falsehood like it was the only natural answer. She picked Wren. Most people would. Not me, though. Every Saturday for the past year, I’ve crept out of bed and tiptoed down to the orchestra room in the small hours of
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