I bobbed a curtsy. ‘Yes, my lady. I will see to it.’

Lady Margaret glanced around before speaking again in a more confidential tone. ‘You are familiar with Welsh traditions, Jane. Do these praise poems carry much weight with the people? Their loyalties seem sadly fickle. I can remember when Lewys Glyn Cothi hailed Lord Edmund as the Son of Prophecy before Henry was born.’

‘The title certainly captures people’s imagination, my lady; Y Mab Daragon is a powerful symbol of Welsh pride.’ I dropped my voice to a whisper and my eyes subserviently to the floor. ‘Perhaps we might discuss this when we are among your own people.’

She raised her head and her voice reverted to noble authority. ‘Yes, well thank you, Mistress Jane. Let me know when you have made the arrangements. I would like to retire with Henry as soon as possible.’

I hurried away to do her bidding, this new arrangement playing into my schemes, and the sooner I could warn her that the Herberts were not aware who was my children’s real father the better. The custom of wealthy nobility to occupy individual bedchambers, though married, added to the convenience of the arrangement and I would be able to liaise with Lady Margaret as Jasper hoped.

Sir Henry Stafford cheerfully escorted his wife and Harri to the door of the chamber they would share. He was a good deal older than Lady Margaret and not robust; close up, an angry red rash could be detected behind his full beard. Nevertheless they seemed a fond pair as they exchanged kisses and blessings for the night to come. For Harri to sleep on, I had caused my own small truckle to be placed beside his mother’s velvet-hung tester and procured some finer sheets and covers for it than those I was permitted to use. I had arranged to sleep myself on a palliasse in the separate ante-room allocated to Lady Margaret’s servants, but she instructed me to bring this into her chamber.

‘I think it would reassure my son to see a familiar face, should he wake from a nightmare,’ she announced in front of her own attendants, to counter any jealousy that she was favouring a stranger. I hoped it meant that she was making it possible for some private conversation with me.

With maternal thoroughness she observed Harri’s bedtime routine and listened particularly intently to his prayers, smiling with satisfaction when he included one for the soul of his dead father. When the tired boy had fallen deeply asleep she settled herself, silk skirts rustling extravagantly, in the high cushioned armchair beside the fire, which I had stoked to burn brightly and ward off the autumn chill. A footstool lay nearby and she gestured me to sit on it. I felt a little like a lowly handmaiden sinking down before a queen.