The duchess has been so anxious about you, my lady." she said.

"She could speak of nothing but her dear sister, the Lady Anne. And when we thought you were going to marry Prince Edward ... I can tell you we were all dismayed. That would have put you good and truly on the other side, would it not, my lady?"

"Alas, Ankarette, I was not consulted in the matter."

"That's so my lady. I often think how lucky some of us be when it do come to mating. There was I with my Roger. I could have been a contented wife ... but the Lord saw fit to take him."

"So you have suffered too, Ankarette."

"Aye. But I've had my good fortunes and one of them has been to serve the duchess and now you, my lady."

"I am pleased to see you again, Ankarette."

She was indeed assiduous in her care for me; and it was from her that I discovered what was happening outside Warwick Court.

It was she who told me how Queen Margaret had ridden, as a prisoner, in the triumphant procession into London when Edward returned to the capital, king once more, with the Lancastrian armies in full retreat, and the man who had called himself Prince of Wales now dead and his mother the queen, whom the people had hated, vanquished while her husband, poor old Henry, was a prisoner in the Tower.

"Poor soul," said Ankarette.

"I could almost find it in my heart to be sorry for her. True, she has brought great trouble to this country. Ah, if only poor King Henry had been the man his father was ... then we should have had none of this War of the Roses. But then we could not have had King Edward ... and he's the man the people want. He's a king ... every bit of him. So you see, my lady, that is life. A bit of good ... a bit of bad ... both meted out to us all. Let's hope we've had our share of the bad for a while and now let's have a strong dose of the good. But the shame for that poor queen ... a captive driven there with the victors and her husband a prisoner ... her armies defeated. No matter what she is, you must spare a thought for her."

"Yes," I said.

"She would suffer deeply. I grew to know her. She cared so much for her son. I think perhaps that now he is dead she does not mind so much what happens to her." "Poor soul." said Ankarette.

It was not long before there was more startling news, and it was Ankarette who imparted it to me.

She made a habit of going into the streets and talking to people whenever she could. It was sure that when she was in the country she must have missed this a great deal, but here at Warwick Court, she had ample opportunities and because it was in London, at the centre of events, she could keep us well informed. Thus I heard of the death of Henry almost as soon as it had happened.

She liked to talk to me because I was particularly interested in what the people thought; and this was an item of such magnitude that everyone would be talking about it. Indeed it was not long before the rumours began to be circulated.

Ankarette said: "They have announced that King Henry died in the night ... the very night of that very day when King Edward rode in triumph into the city. He died, they said, of displeasure and melancholy." Ankarette raised her eyebrows.

"There are some who are asking if people can really die of such maladies."

"He was without doubt very weak," said Isabel.

"He was weak of mind, my lady, but do people die of that?"

"I suppose," said Isabel, "that if a man is sufficiently afflicted, he can die of anything." Ankarette shook her head.

"They are already whispering ..."

"Are there not always whispers?"

To die at such a time, they are saying. He was kept alive, some say, because he was mad and unfit to rule. If he had died before ... while the prince was alive, that young man would have been ready for the crown ... a king, some would call him instead of a prince. That would have been dangerous. They are saying that the king had been allowed to live while there was the threat of the prince. But now he is dead, there was no longer any need to keep the king alive."

"You listen to too much gossip, Ankarette," said Isabel.

"It is one way of learning what is going on, my lady."

"One learns a great deal about what people think is going on."

"And somewhere in it there might be a grain of truth," insisted Ankarette..

"What will this mean?" I asked. Isabel said: "There will no longer be a threat from Lancaster.

The prince and heir is dead. King Henry is dead. The House of York is next in line. So whatever was thought before, everyone must see now that Edward is the rightful king."

The House of Lancaster still exists," pointed out Ankarette.

"There are the Tudors."

"They descended from Queen Katharine, wife of Henry the Fifth, I believe." I said.

"Through Owen Tudor." said Isabel.

"They are bastards."

"Some say there was a marriage." I reminded her.

"Nonsense." she retorted.

"The House of York is now firmly on the throne. There is no one to displace them now. I am sorry for poor Henry, but he did not care much for life."

"I wonder what Queen Margaret feels now." I said.

"Oh, you are too kind to her, Anne." said Isabel.

"She has caused great trouble. Now that is over. There must be an end to war."

That is what people are saying." said Ankarette.

"But they also say that King Henry was murdered ... and the people do not like a king to be murdered."

"Well." said Isabel.

"He died of displeasure and melancholy. That is what we are told and let us believe it."

"One cannot always believe what one would wish to." I replied.

"Perhaps not. But it is often comfortable if one tries to."

She was right, of course, and poor Henry, I believed, had had no great wish to live in his clouded world. For him it could have been a welcome release, as it was for the House of York and the nation.

His body was exposed at St. Paul's for the people to see and some said there was blood on it which gave credence to the rumour that he had met a violent death. Afterwards they took his body to Blackfriars and there it lay for a while before it was taken by barge to Chertsey and buried in the abbey there.

There was a feeling of relief throughout the nation. The popular King Edward was on the throne, and this was surely an end to the War of the Roses.

The days passed slowly at first and then more rapidly. I was so relieved to be with Isabel and to know that Richard would be coming to see me whenever he was free to do so.

Isabel told me how distressed she had been when George had turned against his brother. "It was our father who persuaded him." she said.

"He adored our father. He looked up to him so much."

I was amazed. Did Isabel not know that George adored only himself and had harboured a grudge because he had not been born the eldest son and above all things he wanted the throne? I suppose our father had promised him that or hinted at it, more likely. Our father had been too wise a man to have put his trust in Clarence. But Isabel loved him. That surprised me really, although of course he was rather handsome; he had his brother Edward's good looks, but he was not quite as tall, not quite so handsome. It was a case of 'not quite' with George. But I supposed he would be considered attractive until he became petulant, bad-tempered and treacherous, and no doubt love was blind to these faults, which was fortunate for Isabel.

Strangely enough, I think that next to himself he cared most for Isabel. Perhaps he found her devotion to him sweet. However it was not the disastrous marriage it might have been. I knew that he, as she did, longed for a child and they mourned the loss of that one who had been born at such an unfortunate time. But for that there would have been a bonny son by now.

I saw Clarence once or twice during that short period. He was extremely affable to me. He told me that the king had granted him the guardianship of my person and he was going to look after me and make sure of a happy future for me.

His words should have been comforting but when he smiled at me I felt a shiver of alarm. I kept remembering that he had been a traitor to his own brother, who had done nothing but good to him and had shown such amazing magnanimity in restoring him to the favour he had enjoyed before his act of blatant treachery. I could never feel safe while he was at Warwick Court. I did ask Isabel about our father's property.

"He would be called a traitor," I said, "and surely when traitors die their goods pass the the Crown?"

Isabel said: "You and I are the heirs of our father's estate and I am, after all, the Duchess of Clarence."

"And our mother?"

"She, I think, forfeits her share. She is after all the wife of a traitor. It is realised that you were forced into your position and are not judged guilty for that reason. I am not sure of these matters. However this place passed to me and George, of course, and I daresay Middleham as well. I am not sure. It is too complicated for me. But there is nothing for us to worry about as far as our inheritance is concerned."

"But our mother ..."

"She is in sanctuary still. George things it is wise for her to remain there for a while."

"I wish we could see her."

"I am sure we shall one day."

"I should like her to know that we are together."

"I think she does know that."

Then she will be relieved."

Isabel nodded.

"I am sure she will be forgiven soon."

"She must be very sad. She and our father were very fond of each other."