“Such propriety that the Court is alive with rumor,” snapped Frankie’s mother. She gazed about the room once more, a study in incredulity that her daughter should possess a friend in such a street, whose notion of friendship could surely be corrupted by her poverty. She had come to me, rather than summoning me to her, in order to see how I lived, to judge my motivation, and to better understand my weaknesses. “If your friendship is real, Mistress Turner, do all in your power to reconcile Frances to her husband. Such loyalty is pleasing to a mother.”

Finally, she was offering me some reward for the responsibility she had handed over the first time she had summoned me to Court. I was neither surprised nor offended by the proffered bribe; this was a woman known to demand payment for any contracts awarded by her husband or, previously, by Lord Salisbury. She assumed I was the same. “Nothing can come of any other union but disgrace and ruin,” the Countess concluded. “Hmm?”

12

A crepuscular shadow hung in the air, pierced by rays of dusty light that dodged the towering buildings of Paternoster Row. All day, with the heat and rushing about preparing the house, I was “fidgety as a flea” as Mary put it, and not even sure they would come. And then it was night. Uncommonly hot, the malodor from the sewer outside seeped into the house.

I was ready for the knock, but still I jumped. Frankie entered my tiny vestibule with Weston, who said nothing and went directly to the kitchen. Frankie opened her mouth to remove her mask. She knew I disliked that style of mask for it was held in place by biting down on a bead that protruded from the back of the mask on a little stalk. It prevented the wearer from uttering a sound so perhaps she chose it to avoid having to converse with Weston or any watchmen they met on the way.

“I am broiling,” she said, eyeing the difference in my circumstances as I removed her cloak. I wondered how long she and her kind would survive if all the servants in the world died or refused to leave their beds.

“You escaped without incident?”

“My younger sister is in my apartment to vouch she was with me all night,” she said, handing me a jewelry case. I put it to one side and motioned her to the narrow staircase.

“Wine?” Frankie asked.

“In the chamber.”

“Windows?”

“Closed and shuttered.”

“The smell is bad.”

“Not in there, I have strewn fresh herbs.” Are men aware of the pains women take to catch them, or oblivious? Does it heighten or lessen the pleasure? Do they feel marched by an overbearing hand into the trap or are they flattered that such effort is expended to ensnare them?