Not until the day of the funeral did I venture beyond my parish, and only then because Frankie requested it. The streets were empty of wheeled traffic, the city hard with frost. I walked in the black stream of mourners that surged through Ludgate onto the Strand, joining others until an ebony river flowed around Westminster Abbey, where the body of our beloved Prince was to be buried.

In the bitter air, the grieving were wreathed in white by their sighs. The windows of every house along the funeral route were draped in black and the sky boiled with yellow and gray clouds laden with snow. Death had snatched color away with the Prince’s life. He was to have been the redeemer, the clean-living, fervent young man who would deliver the country from the strange times of King James. His death was a terrible blow to us all.

Frankie was sitting red-eyed in her chamber, Brutus in her arms. She did not look up as I entered but stared into the fire. “There is a rumor that the King poisoned Henry, from jealousy,” she said.

I tutted and removed my outer clothing. “He fell ill after swimming in the river. He went in hot and there was a bad odor,” I said, bending to kiss Frankie’s cheeks. She looked at me sharply, for only Arthur could have told me that, and I hoped she would broach the subject so that I did not have to bring it up myself. She did not. “If anyone left off their mourning weeds they would be set upon,” I said.

“It is the same here. The Queen has lost her wits with grief, the doctors fear for her life. The King is in bed with vomiting and spasms in his limbs. The Princess cannot eat for crying. Her wedding will be postponed. Prince Charles walks around clutching the little bronze horse he brought to his brother’s bedside as Henry lay dying. All entertainments for Christmas are canceled. His death has brought back all our losses.”

“You are thinking of Margaret?”

Frankie nodded and fat tears fell on Brutus. “For her, always, and my own children who will never be born. I long to hold a baby of my own so much that I fear my grief will turn to madness,” she said, lighting forbidden tobacco in a silver pipe. “Robin is never let out of the King’s sight.” She stared into the glowing strands in the bowl as a trickle of white smoke escaped her lips, making her look like a beautiful dragon.

“The Prince’s death will bring change to us all. We cannot foresee how, but the King will not keep Robin so close forever,” I said. “Something good has come of it at least. Arthur has proposed.”

There was no joy in Frankie’s expression and she quickly looked away from me. She did this when she was struggling against harsh words.