“Do you know who was the first to be knighted by Margaret’s son after the battle?” Cecily was blazing now as she scanned a hasty letter sent to her by Lord Montagu, Warwick’s brother, who had been captured during the battle. “That craven traitor, Andrew Trollope! If I ever get my hands on that man I’ll string him up by his boll…”

“Mother!” Meg warned under her breath, dismayed by Cecily’s outburst in front of servants. George and Dickon giggled. “I pray you, tell us where the queen is now? What should we do? Should we fortify the castle?”

Meg’s brave reprimand took Cecily’s anger off the boil, and she gave her daughter a rueful yet grateful look. “The queen must be near, and you are quite right, daughter, we should prepare ourselves for the She-wolf’s entry into London. She will not waste time with courteous greetings.” If the truth be told, Cecily was frightened and angry at herself for having no contingency plan in anticipation of this reversal of fortune.

She thought quickly now. Should the family take flight and leave the household to fend for themselves? Nay, that would be an act of cowardice she could not countenance, and besides she would get no mercy from the queen. What would Richard do? she thought. Images of Ludlow and her perilous march to the market cross flitted through her mind, but she forced herself back to the present. This time she would not leave the safety of the castle but fight for what was hers by right.

“Sir Henry, I pray you assemble the household in the courtyard within the hour, and I will address them.” The man bowed and left the room. What she would say, she was not sure but her mother had always told her, “Servants do better when they have orders. They are more comfortable doing something.” She would talk to the captain in charge of the small contingent of men-at-arms left behind to guard the duchess and her family. She nodded to herself. He could organize the small household in fortifying the castle; and she should send the kitchen boys out into the city to stock up on food in case of a siege.

What was she forgetting? Her eye fell on George and Dickon, watching her anxiously, and her heart stopped. Sweet Jesu, the boys! They were the most precious commodity in the castle, and they must not fall into Margaret of Anjou’s hands. George was now second in line behind Edward to inherit the crown when Henry died, as had been laid out in the Act of Accord. Why had she not thought of this before? They were in extreme danger. (A more forgiving observer would have explained that her existence these past few weeks had been consumed by grief, to which Cecily would have roundly responded, “Pish!”)