On the long road home she lets the sway of the carriage take her back ten years, to the river at Rouen, when Marguerite was a green, sick girl, determined but unable to do what a queen must. She remembers the lesson she gave her out of pity. ‘When a thing is impossible to do, Marguerite, you must find a way to make it appear to be done.’ And by sleight of hand and costume, Alice de la Pole carried a crowd. Cecily’s hands fist in her sleeves now, and the remembered smell of sickness sears her throat.

You have put a bastard in your cradle, Marguerite. And shown the world a prince.

Richard, when she tells him, runs long hands down a weary face and shakes his head. ‘You cannot know for certain.’

‘I know Marguerite. And what she might do. I need no proof.’

They are alone in his office, business all about him, the endless ink of governance on the vellumed backs of beasts. She sits across the desk from him, reaches out, pulls his hands into hers.

‘Richard, that boy is Edmund Beaufort’s son. You manage a kingdom for a madman and a bastard. Soon that madman will ask for it back. Will you give it?’

He pulls back from her, his face closed, his arms folded tight to his body. ‘It’s not mine to keep.’

A hiss of disdain and frustration escapes her bared teeth as she rises to her feet and starts to pace.

‘Cecily, whatever the boy is, Henry is an anointed king. To put him aside is …’

‘Something you have not the nerve to do.’

‘… is treason.’

She turns, leans to him, throws her hands in his face. ‘Is justice. When a king is too weak, or too mad to rule … It is your duty. And you shirk it.’

He’s on his feet now, his strong fingers biting her wrists. She’s pushed back into her chair and feels the pent-up fury in his leaning frame.

‘Alright. Alright. In terms you will understand. I don’t have the support to depose a king. The council won’t back it. The nobles don’t want it. Too many of them have grown fat on Henry’s negligence. You think they want good government? They don’t. They baulk at every reform that will cost them money. Block anything that threatens their interests. I am not the king for them.’

‘Salisbury and Warwick—’

‘Are no better than the rest. Do you think they support us out of love? Family sentiment? You know better than that. They wanted me to kick Percy arses for them. Good. I’ve done it. They wanted Beaufort put down. I’ve done that.’

‘They want him dead!’

‘I’m very sure they do.’

She pushes back against the weight of him. ‘So do I! So why in God’s name does he still live?’