The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018

I yawned and continued to read. I was alone, and enjoying the solitude, losing myself as I rarely did in the romantic exploits of the inestimable Sir Galahad in his search for the Holy Grail when, from Will’s chamber there was the unmistakeable sound of his boots being removed, of coffers being opened and slammed shut. My peace would not last long.

Will had found a need to return to Bisham, a brief visit that, so it seemed, had lasted no longer than a week before he was back with me here at Westminster. I would give him five minutes before the door between the two rooms was thrust back.

There. Barely five. He had exchanged his travelling garb for hunting leathers. I thought there was a furtive look about him as he loped across the room, took my hand and kissed my cheek.

‘There you are, Joan.’

‘How are things at Bisham?’ I asked.

‘Difficult. My mother thinks I should remain there to become familiar with the running of the estates, even though I do not have full power over them until I am twenty-one. My mother thinks that I should become accustomed. So does my grandmother.’

I watched him as he shuffled from stool to window and back again. His thoughts were entirely suspect.

‘And what do you think, Will?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Then he grinned. ‘I feel shackles tightening round my ankles whenever my mother issues instructions to speak with the steward or my father’s council or even the cook about what my grandmother can and cannot eat.’

‘I know what you think.’ Standing, I tucked my hand into his arm. ‘You’d far rather take up your sword and join the King in his next campaign.’ I knew Will well by now. I knew how he reacted, and I knew how to get him to tell me the worst. ‘Come and walk with me. The King is still talking with Philippa.’

Leaving our rooms we strolled slowly towards the royal apartments.

‘It is what my father would have done.’ For a moment Will grimaced. ‘And so would I. But it’s not as easy as…’

‘Of course it is.’ Not that I wanted Will to hotfoot to France to engage in battle, but it was time that he threw off his mother’s yoke. ‘Who ran the estates when your father was elsewhere? When he was imprisoned in France? I’m sure that the Countess didn’t.’ My own mother might have her fingers in every estate pie, but not every wife or widow was as driven to oversee every insignificant detail from bedchamber to cellar.

‘Our steward,’ he said. ‘And my father’s council of knights and clerics to oversee all matters. My mother has no interest. Or application. Or ambition, even. I suspect she lacks the knowledge for checking ledgers. Not that she doesn’t keep an eye on everything that goes on, and if she does not, my grandmother certainly does. Despite appearances to the contrary, my grandmother is an uncomfortably percipient old woman, even if she does refuse to eat roast meats.’

‘So why can this not continue?’

‘Our steward is old. I think he was appointed by my grandfather. His sight is failing.’

‘So appoint another.’

I sensed him looking at me, and returned it. There was a thought in his mind that continued to disturb me. As he blinked, I saw what it was.

‘Oh, no,’ I said.

‘You could do it.’

Of course I could do it. I had the ability. I had the application. I had the education, and could learn soon enough where I was lacking. But like the Dowager Countess I lacked the interest, the ambition to become my own steward. I could overlook the ledgers at regular intervals under the guidance of the steward but I had no intention of spending every day with the minutiae of detail of the Salisbury possessions. The life I saw for myself was at court, in the whirl of government and intrigue and political gossip, not tied up in ordering and supervising every meal the family ate.

‘No,’ I repeated with some force. ‘Employ a steward. You have the money.’

‘No, I do not. Nothing like all of it. Not until I reach my majority.’

‘Then apply to the King. He will be understanding. He’ll not let you live in penury.’

But Will showed more resistance than I expected.

‘I can’t employ just anyone. I need a man of loyalty and skill, of experience in handling finance and people.’ The more he talked the more I saw him persuade himself that this would be the best option. Will had no wish to do it himself. Then, as he remembered his financial state, his eye fell once more on me. ‘But why can you not do it while I am away fighting?’

So we had our first real argument. I would not be tied to ink and lists and tally sticks. I would become as morbid as the Dowager Countess.

‘And if you think that your mother and grandmother would allow me to take precedence over their wishes at Bisham, then you are a fool!’

‘They would if I ordered it.’

Sometimes Will was astonishingly naive, unwilling to let the matter lie, believing that I was the perfect answer to his problems, and selfish not to concur.

‘I prefer dancing to accounting.’

By this time we were standing together in the Great Hall.

‘Can you not do both? If you would only…’

‘If I do that I will be supervising your ageing steward for the rest of my life. Employ another. Someone with life and ambition and foresight in him.’

‘But you have the time on your hands. Whereas I have to go and hunt.’

‘Hunt? Now there’s a valuable occupation! You hunt while I bloody my fingers with quills and tally sticks and endless rent rolls.’

Will looked hurt. ‘It was you who told me to find time to be with the King.’

‘But not at the expense of the running of your estates. They cannot be neglected.’

‘Please Joan… ‘ he wheedled, his smile a thing of great charm.

‘No.’

‘My lord – ’

We both turned. There, also clad for hunting, a hawk on his gloved wrist, a brace of hounds at his heels together with a couple of enthusiastic pages, stood Sir Thomas Holland.

Will, still preoccupied with my refusal, acknowledged him with a curt nod of his head. I simply stood.

Thomas was solemn, worryingly formal. ‘My lord. I would request a word with you before the King arrives.’

I looked from one to the other as Thomas sketched a somewhat dismissive bow in my direction as if he thought I should retreat and leave this discussion to men. Will looked as surprised as I. I returned a suitably bland expression. I was going nowhere.

‘I have a proposition, my lord.’

‘What sort of proposition?’

I had no thought whatsoever of the thunderbolt Thomas was about to hurl into our midst.

‘It is in my mind that my proposition would be of mutual benefit.’

Will now managed to look wary. He might have persuaded himself that Thomas had abandoned his pursuit of me, but the underlying suspicion would take a long time to die completely.