“You mean when he said you should return that poor stablehand’s only boots you stole when the boy was told to muck out a stall?” Meg retorted. “Dickon was right to be indignant on his behalf. ’Twas unkind of you, in truth.”

George chuckled. “I know, Meggie, but it was amusing just the same.”

Meg cocked her head. “Can you hear bells? It sounds like tolling and not the usual calling to mass. Has someone died?” She gave an involuntary shiver.

All of a sudden Traveller dropped the ball he had just retrieved and barked. Those in the hall stopped their chatter as the others had heard horses in the courtyard. A servant ran to open the heavy oak door to let in the messenger, who was wearing the badge of the ragged staff on his heavy cloak. It was no ordinary messenger, however, as Dickon instantly recognized their cousin, Richard Neville, earl of Warwick, and gave him reverence. Usually affable, he paid Dickon scant heed today—although anyone standing close to him would have noticed that his grim face softened when he saw the children’s expectant faces. “Where is the steward?” he barked. “Tell him I must speak with Her Grace immediately.”

“What is it, my lord?” Cecily herself hurried in from the outer staircase, where she had seen the earl arrive. She was not the only one to have noticed the sharpness in her nephew’s loud commands. Her children, huddled together sensing bad news, caught their breath seeing their stoic mother stumble as she went to greet Warwick, who reached out and caught her. “Is it the duke? Is it my husband? Has he been wounded?” she ran on. “We heard the bells….”

“Hush, my dear Aunt. Why don’t you sit,” Warwick said kindly, “I have much to tell you.”

By now inquisitive servants had entered the hall. What with the tolling bells, the unrest in the north, and the absence of their lord, the household was more than curious: they were on edge. Aye, all of Baynard’s wanted to know Warwick’s news.

Cecily was helped to a bench, and the earl dismissed the others with an autocratic stare and a jerk of the head towards the door. Meggie pulled her reluctant siblings to the private staircase Cecily had just descended.

“But I want to hear…” Dickon protested, resisting her. His instincts told him Warwick did not bring good news, and he felt frightened.

Meg’s instinct, however, told her to protect her two young brothers from any bad tidings that their mother alone should hear from Warwick. Shushing Dickon, she pushed him up the staircase in front of her.