“It sounds like a little court,” I say. I can hear the jealousy in my own voice, and I try to smile to conceal it.

“It is a little court,” she says. “Many people who loved her still remember the old days and are glad to visit her and see her in a lovely house and in safety again.”

“But it’s not her house,” I insist. “And she once commanded palaces.”

Elizabeth shrugs. “She doesn’t mind that,” she says. “Her greatest loss was my father and my brothers.” She looks away as she mentions them and swallows down her grief. “As for the rest of it all-the palaces and the clothes and the jewels matter less to her.”

“Your mother was the most venal woman I have ever known,” I say rudely. “Whatever she pretends, this is her downfall, her poverty, her defeat. She is in exile from the royal court, and she is a nobody.”

She smiles but says nothing in disagreement. There is something so utterly defiant in her smiling silence that I have to grip my hands on the arms of my chair. I should so like to slap her pretty face.

“You don’t think so?” I say irritably. “Speak up, girl.”

“My mother could have come to court at any time she wished, as the most honored guest of her brother-in-law King Richard of England,” she says quietly. “He invited her and promised she would be the second lady in the kingdom after the queen. But she didn’t want to. I think she has put worldly vanity behind her.”

“No, it is I who have put worldly vanity behind me,” I correct her. “And this is a struggle of mastery over one’s greed and desire for fame, a goal only won by years of study and prayer. Your mother has never done such a thing. She isn’t capable of it. She has not surrendered worldly vanity; she just didn’t want to see Anne Neville in her place.”

The girl laughs again, this time smiling at me. “You are quite right!” she exclaims. “And almost exactly the very thing she said! She said she couldn’t stand to see her lovely gowns cut down to fit Anne Neville! I truly believe she wouldn’t want to go back to court anyway, but you are quite right about the gowns. Poor Queen Anne.”

“God rest her soul,” I say piously, and the girl has the face to say: “Amen.”

JUNE 1485

My son must come soon. Richard, from the castle at Nottingham, sends a commission to all the shires of England to remind them of their duty to him, and proclaiming the threat of Henry Tudor. He orders them to put aside all local disputes and be ready to muster in his cause.

He orders Elizabeth to leave me and to go to Sheriff Hutton with her sisters, to join the orphaned children of George, Duke of Clarence, in a safe place. He is putting all the York children in the safest place he can find, his castle in the north, while he fights for their inheritance, against my son. I try to keep her with me-the men of York will only support my son if they think he is betrothed to her-but she packs in a moment, she is in the red riding dress in a second, she is ready to leave me within the hour, and when the escort comes for her, she all but dances out into the yard.

“I daresay we will meet again when all this is over,” I remark, as she comes to make her farewell curtsey to me. I let her come to me in the great hall, and I stay seated in my chair and make her stand before me, like a servant being dismissed.

She says nothing, she just looks at me with her beautiful gray eyes as if she is waiting for me to finish my sermon and release her.

“If my son comes in like a dragon from Wales and defeats King Richard, then he will be King of England. He will take you as his wife, and you will be queen. It will be in his gift,” I say. “You have no name now; he will give you one if he chooses to do so. You have no title; he can make you Queen of England. He will be your savior; he will rescue you from shame and from being a nothing.”

She nods, as if shame is not a curse for a woman.

“But if Richard defeats my son Henry, then Richard will take you, his whore, and wash your reputation clean with a late marriage. You will be queen but wed to the man who killed your uncle and your brothers, who betrayed your father’s will, your enemy. A shameful fate. It would be better if you had died with your brothers.”

For a moment I think she has not heard me, for her eyes are on the floor and she does not flinch at this prospect. She is quite unmoved by the threat of being married to a young man who must hate her, or a man who is blamed for the murder of her family. Then slowly, she looks up at me, and I see that she is smiling, beautifully smiling, as if she were happy.

“Either way you will be disgraced,” I say harshly. “You should be aware of it. Shamed in public for all to see.”

But the bright happiness in her face does not falter. “Yes, but either way, shamed or not, I shall be Queen of England, and this is the last time you will sit in my presence,” she says shockingly. Her confidence is extraordinary, her impertinence unforgivable, her words terribly true.

Then she sweeps me a curtsey, turns her back on me with absolute disdain, and walks out of my great hall and into the yard where the soldiers are waiting in the sunshine to take her to safety far away.

I have to say, she leaves me stunned into silence.

My husband comes home, his face grim. “I can’t stay,” he says. “I have come to muster my army. I am calling out my tenants, and I am taking them out to war.”

I can hardly breathe. “Whose side?” is all I can ask.

He glances at me. “D’you know, that is the very question that King Richard asked of me,” he says. “He doubts me so much that he has taken my son as a hostage. He let me go out to recruit only if George is in my place as a pledge. I had to agree. I have to get my affinity out into the field. This will be a battle which will decide the next King of England, the Stanley banner has to be there.”

“But on which side?” I ask.

He smiles at me, as if to reassure me after such a long time of waiting. “Ah, Margaret,” he says. “What man could resist having his stepson as King of England? Why do you think I married you, all that long time ago, if not to be here today? Arming my thousands of men to put your son on the throne.”