The wheels of her mind were turning as frantically as those that were lowering the portcullis at this moment. Where to send the boys? Anywhere north and west of London would be fraught with Lancastrian danger. Fotheringhay was too far—and they would risk running into the queen’s soldiers—Elizabeth in Suffolk was a possibility, but Lizzie was expecting a child at any moment. Her other daughter, Anne, lived in Devon, but her husband was the hated duke of Exeter, one of Queen Margaret’s adherents; nay, the boys would certainly not be secure there.

Sweet Mother of God, help me, she prayed fervently, looking out on the river, the small craft plying back and forth between the banks or down towards London Bridge and the larger ships in the Pool beyond readying for voyages to…and suddenly her prayer was answered. Why not send them abroad? English Calais, perhaps? But without Warwick there, could she trust that the garrison commander was loyal? She thought how lost she was without her husband, but Cecily had always undervalued her own intelligence for many of Richard’s decisions had actually been made by her. She needed faith in that intelligence now…

“Burgundy,” she exclaimed, startling those near her, “Duke Philip. Of course!”

“Did you say something, Mother?” Meg asked nervously from across the room. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Cecily turned and smiled triumphantly. “Aye, there is, Meg. The boys must go away. Boys, come here!” she called. “Come here immediately.”

Dickon stood perfectly still as he and George were given stern instructions to “pack some clothes, gather your cloaks, your boots and bonnets and choose one of your treasures to take with you. Margaret, go and help them.”

“What for? Where to?” Dickon asked before George could open his mouth to ask the same. “What about Meggie?”

His mother held up her hand to stop Dickon’s usual spate of questions. “Enough! I have no time to explain now. Just go!” Frightened into action, the three children ran from the room.

Arriving in their apartments, however, Dickon, now thoroughly alarmed, began to grumble. “You aren’t packing, Meggie. Does that mean you are not coming with us? I don’t want to go without you,” and he clung to her arm. “Tell us. Where are we going?”

Meg shook off his hand. “You heard the same as I did, you simpleton.” She was as perturbed as he was, but she would not show fear. “Mother knows what is best for us.”

When Cecily finally swept through the door, a fur-lined cloak swirling around her trim, tall figure, she found her brood from oldest to youngest puzzled, sulky, and wary.

“Why is Meggie not coming?” Dickon tried again. “I don’t want to go without Meg.”