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Protector has allowed this?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Cicely sat back weakly. ‘How could he?’ she breathed.
    There was an urgent tapping at the door and one of their mother’s ladies entered to beg Bess to come at once because the queen was as one demented now the archbishop had left. Bess gathered her skirts and ran along the passage to her mother’s room, with Cicely following close behind. They found the queen so agitated that she hurled ink at her terrified ladies as they huddled in a corner. They squealed and ran out, almost knocking Cicely from her feet as they passed.
    Bess was firm, making Elizabeth sit down, while Cicely brought a goblet of wine. It was accepted, because their presence was apparently soothing. But when Elizabeth spoke, it was not of her dead brother and son, nor even of Lady Eleanor Boteler, but again of the dead Duke of Clarence. ‘George Plantagenet comes back from the grave to destroy me,’ she whispered. Her face was ghastly and her eyes bright with fear.
    Bess frowned. ‘What is the matter, Mother? What do you mean?’
    ‘Mean?’ The queen sat upright, as if suddenly awakening from a nightmare. ‘I mean nothing! I am merely feeling unwell. My head aches so.’
    There was authority in Bess’s voice. ‘Mother! Your brother and son were guilty of treason, as you are too, for plotting against Father’s dying command that the Duke of Gloucester was to be Lord Protector. We have a right to know everything because if you have been declared the mere mistress of our father, then we have been declared bastards!’
    ‘Yes, and by your precious uncle—do you still defend his every action?’
    ‘Mother, I would merely know his reasons.’
    ‘He wants the throne for himself, is that not obvious?’ Elizabeth gave a disparaging snort of a laugh.
    ‘That is not good enough, Mother. You and I know that he could take it by force were that the case. But he would not do that. Think of him what you will, but he would never use arms against us. Whichever side of the blanket we are, we will always be his brother’s children. There is more to all this and I intend to be told! What has our uncle Clarence to do with it?’
    Cicely’s legs began to tremble so much that she leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. She was surely asleep, and would soon awaken. . . .
    ‘Very well, Bess, you wish for the truth and you shall have it. All of it.’ Drinking the last of the wine, Elizabeth stood a little weakly, refusing to let Bess help her. She went to the fireplace, cold, black and dark, and with her back towards them, began her story.
    ‘Your father married me knowing he was already betrothed to the widowed Lady Eleanor Boteler, daughter of John Talbot, the first Earl of Shrewsbury. Married to her, to all intents and purposes. Certainly they were married if he bedded her after promising marriage. Which he did. It was the only way he could get between my legs, so no doubt he did the same thing with her, except that in her case he really did make her his wife. Unwittingly, no doubt, for he was young and rash, but it was done all the same. Unless, of course, there was another before her . Who knows? He was capable of anything when it came to women. But as things went on, he found himself trapped with me. I knew nothing of it all, and believed myself truly wed to him. He rewarded Lady Eleanor well for her silence by showing favour to her family. She was very pious, kept the secret and died four years after the bigamous ceremony with me. I am told she died a very sad lady. I sympathise, for I now share her fate, because her death did not make any of you legitimate. Your father and I were never truly married.’
    Cicely stared. ‘Never?’
    ‘No, child. I was never his wife, merely his mistress.’
    Cicely blinked back tears. Her father fully intended his bastard son to ascend to the throne?
    Elizabeth sighed. ‘Others knew, of course, but your father purchased their silence. He paid enough for them to