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said, “and Saint Stephen’s can accommodate them easily.”
    Montagu remained silent, now staring at his knife.
    Neville fought to stop himself from laughing. “But of course, I can understand that many among the lords might be, ah, disgruntled, that they shall from henceforth sit in…the kitchens.”
    It was the merriment of the nation. Although Westminster Palace had several large halls, most were currently entirely unsuitable for permanent habitation by the House of Lords. The Painted Chamber’s floor was almost rotted through, and needed replacing, while its foundations were dank with rising damp. Repairs were desperately needed. White Hall had, for over fifty years, been divided up into sundry chambers for clerks and officials of the Chancery, and it would take a generation not only for all the brick partitionsto be pulled down, but for suitable storage space to be found for all the rolls and deeds of government bureaucracy, not to mention all the grumpy Chancery officials. The Great Hall of Westminster was reserved for ceremonial occasions and the daily activities of the King’s Bench, as various other legal courts.
    That left the kitchens which were, in actual fact, a good choice. The great hall of the kitchen was of a similar size to the Painted Chamber, was solidly built, well lit, and, by virtue of being a kitchen, was well heated with five great hearths; and now that the palace was no longer to be used as a residence, the huge kitchen complex would no longer be needed. Once the cooks, dairy maids and butchers were moved out and the hall scrubbed, it would actually make a very good home for the House of Lords.
    It was just that it was a former kitchen ! While many lords accepted it in good humour—their new home would be far more commodious and comfortable than the cramped Chapter House—many grumbled about it, feeling the location a slur. The beautiful St Stephen’s went to Commons, while the lords got the kitchens…
    At least the people on the streets of London and, presumably, the fields of England, have something to smile about , Neville thought.
    Then, before he could speak again, the Abbot of Westminster rose to his feet, his cheeks now a deep-hued crimson (although whether with excitement or drink, Neville could not tell), and called a toast to their handsome young king, and all in the hall rose, and raised goblets towards Bolingbroke.
    Much later, Bolingbroke rose, extending his arm to Mary. She rose herself, but her action was decidedly unsteady, and Bolingbroke’s eyes flew to Margaret at Neville’s side.
    Margaret murmured in concern, and moved about the tables towards Mary in order to help her.
    Bolingbroke’s eyes locked with Neville’s, and he tilted his head slightly.
    Neville nodded, understanding. Making his apologies to both Montagu and to Katherine, Lancaster’s widow, he moved quickly and silently into the pillared aisles behind the tables.
    “More wine, Tom? Surely you cannot have yet drunk yourself into stupidity.”
    “Thank you, sire,” Neville said, taking the goblet that Bolingbroke extended.
    “Hal,” the king said. “Call me Hal, Tom, when we are in private like this.”
    Neville had left the hall and walked quickly to Bolingbroke’s private apartments as Bolingbroke said his goodnights to both his guests and to Mary. He’d waited almost half an hour in the antechamber to Bolingbroke’s suite before the king had entered, dismissed all his attendants with an impatient wave of his hand, and nodded Neville through into the inner bedchamber.
    Now Bolingbroke sat in a chair before the fire, stretching out his legs and sighing. “Come, sit down, Tom. It is rare enough that we have this chance to so enjoy privacy, and there is no need for you to stand on ceremonial deference.”
    Neville’s mouth twitched as he sat in a chair opposite Bolingbroke’s. Bolingbroke could pretend all he liked that it was ceremony and the business of the nation that had kept them from their