‘No, he is living freely as a fool at the court,’ he says. ‘And York will be the next king.’

‘The queen will never consent to it,’ I say incautiously.

‘She’s in Scotland, so they say,’ he replies, preading his goods before me. ‘Good riddance. Let her stay there, I say. D’you want some pepper? I have some pepper and a nutmeg so fresh that you could eat it whole.’

‘In Scotland?’

‘They say she is meeting with the Scottish queen and they are going to bring an army of harpies down on us,’ he says cheerfully. ‘An army of women – think of that as a horror! A nice little polished mirror here? Or look, some hairnets of gold thread. That’s real gold, that is.’

We celebrate Christmas at Grafton. Elizabeth comes to stay with her husband, Sir John, and their two boys: Thomas is five years old now and Richard just two. All my children come home for the twelve days of the feast, and the house is alive with their singing and dancing and chasing each other up and down the wooden staircase. For the six youngest children, from Kather ine, who at two can only toddle after her bigger siblings, imploring them not to leave her behind, through Edward, Margaret, Lionel, Eleanor, and Martha, the oldest of the nursery at ten years, the return of their older brothers and sisters is like an explosion of noise and excitement. Richard and John are inseparable, young men of fourteen and fifteen years, Jacquetta and Mary are thoughtful young women, placed in the houses of neighbours in these difficult times. Anthony and Anne are the oldest of course. Anne should be married by now, but what can I do when the whole country is turned upside down and there is not even a court for her to join as a maid in waiting? And how am I to find Anthony the bride he should have when I cannot tell who will be wealthy and in the favour of the king next month – let alone ten years from now? There is a promise between him and the daughter of Lord Scales, but Lord Scales is dead and his family disgraced like us. And finally, and most puzzling for me, who should be planning matches for my children and looking around for the great houses where they should be placed to learn the skills they need: how can I know which will stay loyal to Lancaster, when the House of Lancaster is a king living in the queen’s rooms, an absent queen, and a boy of seven? And I cannot yet bring myself to consider an alliance with anyone who serves the traitorous House of York.

I think I will keep all the children at home with us at Grafton till the spring, perhaps longer. There can be no positions for us at the new royal household which will be the York court – since there are now York placemen and lords and members of parliament I assume that soon there will be York courtiers and ladies in waiting. Cecily Neville, the Duchess of York, riding high on fortune’s wheel, is sleeping in the king’s apartments under a canopy of cloth of gold like a queen herself; she must think that every day is Christmas. Clearly, we can never attend a York court: I doubt that any of us will ever forgive or forget the humiliation in the great hall at Calais Castle. Perhaps we will learn to be exiles in our own lands. Perhaps I shall now, at the age of forty-five, with my last child learning to talk, live in a country that is like that of my childhood: with one king in the north of the kingdom and one in the south, and everyone forced to choose which they think is the true one, and everyone knowing their enemy, and everyone waiting for revenge.