‘Both,’ I replied, more sharply than I had intended. No, this was not going to be easy.

‘Then you are welcome.’

The woman, standing in the doorway of the scrupulously arranged parlour actually curtsied to me. Her tone was even, if a little caustic, as I recalled that it could be when she was faced with insurrection in her charges, but her eyes were not unkind and the smile that lit her face was genuine in its warmth.

‘Should not I show respect to you?’ I asked. Still there was an edge to my voice, product of this unusual meeting, unusual circumstances. ‘I have been stripped of my titles, whereas my father saw fit to clothe you in utmost respectability.’

‘You should, of course.’ She laughed softly. ‘But your blood is of far greater value than mine.’

This was better. Acknowledging the gleam in her eye, I copied her neat gesture, then stood and observed the woman who had had more influence on my life than she would ever know.

‘Come in and be at ease, and sheathe your sword,’ she invited with all the old grace.

I stepped across the threshold, followed her into her private parlour, thinking how like her it was. The highly polished wood, the expensive hangings, the signs of female occupation with books and embroidery and a lute, all overlaid with a fine elegance and an essence of style that was very much her own. She was of course a wealthy widow, and free to indulge her tastes and interests as she pleased.

‘Please to be seated.’

Nodding to dismiss her servant, she moved to pour me a cup of wine while I divested myself of hood and gloves, disposing of the items on a coffer beneath the window, beating the dust from my skirts. She was assured enough of her own status that she did not come to my aid. Nor did I need it.

So we sat and regarded each other, not yet at ease. She had not kissed me in welcome as once she would have done. Nor did I kiss her.

I thought that she had aged since I saw her last but her comeliness was not disfigured in any way by the fine lines of grief and experience. As for grey hair I could not tell. She wore a plain linen coif that drew the eye to her broad brow and to her eyes, full, as I now saw, with compassion. Her hands lay in her lap, loosely linked, abjuring the cup of wine and her feet rested on a little cushioned stool.

How composed she was in her widowhood. Unlike me.

‘Well, Elizabeth? You have not come all this way to Lincoln for the pleasure of looking at me, now have you?’

Dame Katherine de Swynford as I first knew her. Now Dowager Duchess of Lancaster. My father’s sometime scandalous mistress and finally his wife, the woman my father the Duke had loved enough to keep by him for almost thirty years. The woman who was once my governess and who I believed had loved me. In spite of our sharp exchange over my loyalties to John, I knew—I hoped—that still she held me close in her heart.

Was that not why I was here?

But still I hesitated, inexplicably uncertain. Had I not come here for truth?

‘It is many months since I last saw you,’ Katherine said, to soften the silence. ‘Are your children in good health? They will be well grown …’

We had never been as close, Duchess Katherine and I, as she was with Philippa. I felt her disapproval of John and my choice of him even now hovering between us, and resented it, for neither of us was without sin. And when I had demanded by what right she could criticise my choice, when she had lived in an adulterous relationship for all the years I had known her, all she could say was that at least her sin was with a man of honour. That John could never have a claim to that.

The hard words of the past raced through my mind, resentment building anew.

Ultimately Katherine sighed. ‘Why have you come to see me, Elizabeth? Is there so much lingering bitterness between us over your choice of Holland that we cannot now find common ground?’

And I knew. She might have been a scandalous whore in Walsingham’s eyes but Katherine was the most devout, most clear-sighted woman I knew. In the corner of the room was her own prie-dieu, with a rosary and Book of Hours and I would swear they were well used. Katherine would give me her guidance.

‘You look weary,’ she said.

‘So do you.’

She smiled faintly and I knew she felt her years. ‘Two widows, sharing a cup of wine.’

I grimaced. ‘I feel old!’ Yet I felt the tensions in my neck and shoulders begin to lessen.

‘Not as old as I, I assure you.’ Her light laughter was a blessing. ‘You are a young woman with all your life before you. Now tell me why you have come, and if I can I will help you. Then you can go away again and we can both be comfortable.’

Direct as usual, but she smiled, and I found that I was returning it.

‘I am not sure,’ I said at last. My mental list-making had been for nought. ‘I’m not even sure that I should have come.’

‘I think I might guess,’ she said, and stood with a smooth serenity that denied her years. ‘Come with me. I’ll make it easier for you.’ And taking my arm she ushered me through the door and out into the cathedral close. ‘You’ll not need outerwear. It’s warm enough for a little walk. Leave your woman here. We don’t need protection in Lincoln.’

‘Where?’ I asked, suspiciously, ready to resist. Was she going to pray over me in the cathedral? I had had enough of prayers that left me empty with despair.

‘You’ll see. Just enjoy the scene.’

And then we were in the streets, making our way downhill through the shops towards the market stalls. All was bustle and prosperity, the daily task of buying and selling coupled with the exchange of news. All around us was the clink of coin, the exchange of goods.

‘Perhaps I will buy some fish.’ Katherine lingered by a stall where she was obviously well known.

I looked askance. ‘If you do, I’ll not walk with you!’

‘What’s wrong with a fine carp? You’ve suddenly become over nice. Your father once offered to buy me oysters in the market at Leicester.’

Again, the laughter in her voice soothed all the raw edges in my heart. ‘And what a scandal that caused.’

‘It was not the oysters. It was the horse.’

‘I remember.’ It was my father’s indiscreet hand on Katherine’s bridle, openly in the streets of Leicester, that had drawn too much unwelcome attention and dragged Katherine’s name in the mud as witch and seductress.

There was no need to say more, for those days were long gone. Any number of people greeted Katherine, asking after her health. We walked slowly side by side, light comment passing between us, nothing to do with my purpose here. I could not define her intention but allowed her to take the lead. And then we climbed the hill again, back to the looming bulk of the cathedral.

‘We will go in.’

‘I have no wish to pray. I have prayed enough in recent weeks.’

‘Then we will sit and talk.’ Unperturbed, she led me towards the Lady Chapel where we sat in the cool tranquillity. ‘We will not be disturbed. I am well known here.’ Katherine disposed her skirts into seemly folds. ‘One day I will be buried here.’ I glanced sharply at her, wondering if I had been misled by her smiling composure. ‘But not yet. I still have my health.’

For the first time, sitting close to her now, I saw the weaving of lines beside eyes and mouth. She would always be a comely woman, but there was evidence of suffering. Did I not recognise it?

‘You miss him,’ I said.

‘Every hour. Every day.’ No drama, merely a statement.

‘I miss John,’ I stated.

‘I know. I did not know if you would wish me to speak of it. Our words were harsh, as I recall.’

‘I loved him so much.’

‘I never judged you. The Duke and I simply thought that he would never bring you happiness. And I was right, wasn’t I? His defection from Henry put you in an impossible position.’

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘But oh, he brought me such happiness as well. And I thought you did judge me, in allowing him the intimacies of marriage. And in bringing grief to my father. That is why …’

‘That is why you cut me off. You always were intolerant, Elizabeth.’ She stretched out her hand to touch mine. ‘How could I be judgemental, when I had committed the exact same sin? But enough of that.’ She squeezed my hand then released it. ‘Perhaps, two femmes soles as we are, we can now heal a few wounds. This is a place of contemplation and sacred thoughts. Of honest confession. Tell me why you are here.’

So I did.

‘Henry has given my hand in marriage.’

‘So soon. But I am not surprised. I thought that might bring you to my door.’

‘Did you know?’ I reacted with a sudden burst of barely suppressed frustration, despite the sacred place. ‘Had he told everyone but me?’

This time she closed her hand around mine to still me.

‘No. How should that be? I live retired from the world. But common sense tells me that that is what Henry would do.’

‘I did not see it!’ Or had I? ‘Perhaps not so soon, at least.’

‘What will you do?’ she asked. ‘Is he a personable man?’

‘I care not whether he is personable or not. I won’t obey. I have already told Henry.’

‘You were always short on patience too. No …’ As I made to stand and leave. She pulled me back to her side. ‘Do you want my advice or not?’

‘Yes.’ Resentment at Henry’s decision, and the Duchess’s easy acceptance of it, still filled me to the brim.

‘Then think about this. What did you see when we walked through the town?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘What did you see?’

‘People going about their daily affairs. The busy marketplace of course. The purveyors of fish.’ I wrinkled my nose.

‘Go on.’

‘It was noisy and busy and provincial. How do you stand it when you could live in London? At court? At Eltham?’