She watches Richard’s face, stone-white beside her, and feels the blow to his heart. For a second time, and when it mattered, he has asked for kingship and been answered with silence.

‘They did not say no.’ Salisbury’s voice is low, placatory.

It’s night now. He and Warwick have come at last to Baynard’s from the Parliament, and George Neville with them, Warwick’s brother, the worldly Bishop of Exeter and, since yesterday, Chancellor of England. Cecily met them at the river gate and brought them to Richard as he’d commanded her to do, before he closed the door of his chamber upon her and refused to heed her calls.

Now they’re gathered, and whatever Richard has done in these hours alone, he’s steady enough now to speak.

‘They did not say yes.’ He sits opposite her, flanked by his sons.

Edmund’s eyes are fixed on the table before him. Edward’s are upon Warwick, who leans against the fireplace, arms folded.

‘You said all was ready,’ Edward challenges him, ‘that we would carry the day. We would have their voices, you said.’

Warwick pushes off from the wall, walks to the window and turns. ‘We will yet.’ He throws out an arm, chances a smile. ‘This is a first move. Parliament’s a woman, you have to talk your way into her favours.’

Cecily feels her nostrils flare. ‘Brother, I think your son should sit down before I knock him down.’

Warwick doesn’t come to table, but lowers himself into the window embrasure, noisily spreading his legs, the swagger not quite gone from him.

Cecily ignores him, looks to Salisbury. ‘Now, tell us what went wrong today. And what we must do to put it right.’

‘They fear the Queen.’

‘With good cause, probably.’ Richard’s voice is a blade on a whetstone. ‘Where is she? What’s our intelligence?’

Salisbury heaves a breath. ‘We don’t know exactly. She’s been in Wales, with Jasper Tudor, but she’s not there now. Word is she’s heading north. She’s ordered Henry Beaufort to bring men to Hull. Exeter’s there already, gathering an army.’

‘I imagine Jasper Tudor, too, will be drawing up forces.’

Salisbury shrugs. ‘I imagine. There’s no turning Jasper. He’s a bastard and a Welshman, but he’s loyal to his brother the king.’

‘Northumberland? Clifford?’

‘The same, further north.’

Richard scoffs. ‘I can see that certain knowledge of three gathering armies might give our friends in Parliament pause.’ His hands are netted before him, the ruby glinting as it turns. ‘Your son did not tell us this. Either when I met him in Shrewsbury or in his message two days ago.’

‘I did not think Parliament so lily-livered,’ Warwick grumbles.

Salisbury rubs a hand across his chin. ‘Look. The point is they haven’t said no.’

‘What have they said, exactly?’ Cecily asks.