‘Oh,’ he laughs bitterly. ‘But I have my orders now.’

I wait, my heart sinking.

‘I am to take a force to defend Calais.’

‘Calais?’ I stumble. ‘But surely the King of France is at Bordeaux?’

‘They think that the Duke of Burgundy is massing to attack Calais.’

‘My kinsman.’

‘I know, I am sorry, Jacquetta.’

‘Who will go with you?’

‘The king has appointed Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, as Captain of Calais. I am to go and support him as soon as I have dismissed the ships and sailors and the army from here.’

‘Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset?’ I repeat, disbelievingly. This is the man who lost us Normandy. Why would he be trusted with Calais, but for the king’s unswerving belief in his kinsman and the queen’s misplaced affection?

‘Please God he has learned how to soldier through defeat,’ my husband says grimly.

I lean my cheek against his arm. ‘At least you can save Calais for the English,’ I say. ‘They will call you a hero if you can hold the castle and the town.’

‘I will be commanded by the man who gave away Normandy,’ he says gloomily. ‘I will be in service to a man that Richard, Duke of York has named as a traitor. If they don’t send us men and money there either then I don’t know that we can hold it.’

GRAFTON, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE,

AUTUMN 1451

Richard’s mood does not lift as he prepares to leave for Calais. I send for Elizabeth, my oldest girl, to come home to see her father before he leaves. I have placed her at the house of the Grey family at Groby Hall, near Leicester, just fifty miles away. They are a wealthy family, with kinsmen all around the country, ruling thousands of acres. She is supervised by the lady of the house: Lady Elizabeth, heiress to the wealthy Ferrers family. I could not have chosen anyone better to teach my girl how a great woman runs her household. There is a son and heir at home, young John Grey, who rode out against Jack Cade, a handsome young man. He will inherit the estate, which is substantial, and the title, which is noble.

It takes her a day to ride home, and she comes with an armed escort, the roads are so dangerous with wandering bands of men, thrown out of France without a home to go to, or wages. Elizabeth is fourteen now, nearly as tall as me. I watch her, and have to stop myself smiling: she is such a beauty and she has such grace. At her age I was probably her match for looks but she has a calmness and a sweetness that I never had. She has my clear pale skin and my fair hair, she has grey eyes and a perfectly regular face like the sculpted marble face of a beautiful statue. When she laughs she is a child; but sometimes she looks at me and I think, dear God, what a girl this is: she has the Sight from Melusina, she is a woman of my line, and she has a future before her which I can neither imagine nor foresee.