‘He will be beside himself!’ he declares to the queen, and they laugh together like children who rattle sticks against the cage of a travelling bear to make him growl. ‘I have found an old peasant who claims that he heard the duke declare that Cade was only saying what most men think. That’s treason. I have an ale-house keeper who says that Edward March, his son and heir, thinks the king is simple. I shall call him into court and the king shall hear what the duke’s own boy dares to say against him.’

‘I shall forbid the king from staying at York’s home, Ludlow Castle,’ the queen says. ‘I shall refuse to go there. I shall snub Duchess Cecily. And you must support me.’

Edmund Beaufort nods. ‘We can stay with the Carmelite Friars,’ he says. ‘The king always likes staying in a monastery.’

She laughs, throwing back her head so that the lace from her high headdress brushes his cheek. Her face is flushed, her eyes are bright. ‘He does love a monastery,’ she agrees.

‘I do hope they have good singers,’ he says. ‘I so love plain-song. I could listen to it all day.’

She gives a little scream of laughter and slaps his arm. ‘Enough, enough!’

I wait till he has left, though I think he would have stayed longer if someone had not come from the king’s rooms and said that the king was asking for him. He leaves then, kissing her hand, lingering over it. ‘I shall see you at dinner,’ he whispers – though of course he will see us all at dinner – and then he leaves, throwing a smiling wink at me as if we are special friends.

I take a seat beside her and I glance around to see none of her other ladies are in earshot. We are staying at Caldwell Castle, Kidderminster, and the best rooms are small; half the queen’s ladies are sewing in another gallery.

‘Your Grace,’ I begin carefully. ‘The duke is a handsome man, and a good companion, but you should take care that you are not seen to enjoy his company too much.’

Her sideways look is gleeful. ‘Do you think he pays much attention to me?’

‘I do,’ I say.

‘I am a queen,’ she observes. ‘It is natural that men are going to gather round me, hoping for a smile.’

‘He doesn’t have to hope,’ I say bluntly. ‘He is getting your smiles.’

‘And did you not smile on Sir Richard?’ she asks sharply. ‘When he was nothing more than a knight in your husband’s household?’

‘You know I did,’ I say. ‘But I was a widow then, and I was the widow of a royal duke. I was not a married woman and a queen.’

She gets to her feet so quickly that I am afraid that I have offended her, but she takes me by the hand and pulls me with her, into her bedchamber, closing the door behind her and putting her back to it, so that no-one can come in.