I put out my hand to her. ‘Your Grace . . .’ But she is too delighted with the thought of revenge to hear a word of caution.

‘Edmund says that we have everything to play for now. We have the king returned to health and willing to do whatever we say, we have a son and heir that nobody can deny, and we can teach York a lesson that he will never forget. Edmund says that if we can prove York was planning to usurp the throne then he is a dead man.’

Now I do interrupt. ‘Your Grace, surely this is going to send the Duke of York into outright rebellion? He is bound to defend himself against such charges. He will demand that the council renew the charges against the Duke of Somerset and then it will be the two of you and yours, against him and his.’

‘No!’ she replies. ‘For the king himself has declared before the lords that Somerset is a true friend and loyal kinsman and nobody will dare say anything against him. We are going to hold a council at Westminster, and York is not to be invited, and then we are going to hold a hearing against him in Leicester where he will be accused in his absence. And the Midlands are loyal to us, though London is sometimes uncertain. This is the end of the duke in his pride; and the beginning of my revenge on him.’

I shake my head; there is nothing I can say to make her see that the Duke of York is too powerful to force into enmity.

‘You, of all people, should be pleased!’ she exclaims. ‘Edmund promises me that he will bring your husband, Richard, home.’

Everyone has their price. Richard is mine. At once I forget to urge caution. I grasp her hands. ‘He will?’

‘He promised me. The king is going to give Edmund the keys to Calais, in front of everyone. Richard will be commended as a loyal commander and come home to you, York will be arrested, the kingdom will be ruled rightly by Edmund Beaufort and me, and we will all be happy again.’

* * *

I am happy, I am in his arms, my face crushed against his padded jacket, his arms around me as tight as a bear, so that I cannot breathe. When I look up into his beloved weary face he kisses me so hard that I close my eyes and think myself a besotted girl again. I catch a breath and he kisses me some more. Dockyard workers and sailors shout encouragement and bawdy comments, but Richard does not even hear them. Beneath my cloak his hands stray from my waist and clutch at my hips.

‘Stop right there,’ I whisper.

‘Where can we go?’ he asks, as if we were young again.

You would think we were youths again.

‘Come to the palace,’ I say. ‘Come on. Are your things packed?’