Weston found a door that emerged near the head of the principal staircase. The sound of voices and music was loud from the floor below. A maid, clearly waiting for us, led the way to a richly furnished bedchamber but immediately retreated, indicating that Weston should follow her. To distract myself from worry, I tried out the chairs set against the walls. I had only George’s chair in my house; we sat on stools or cushions on the rare occasions there was time for sitting. There was as much furniture in this one bedchamber as I had owned in my lifetime. As I rose to look at the plaster coat of arms over the fireplace, I heard a burst of loud cheering in the distance, then a door closing on the sound. The same maid rushed in, followed by Frankie. She stopped dead on seeing me.

“Anne! You here?” she said.

“Your great-uncle sent for me,” I said, alarmed by Frankie’s high color. “Did you not know?”

“No. But how glad I am to see you,” she said, embracing me briefly. “There is no time. He is coming soon. Bring me a sharp and clean knife,” she said to the maid, who dashed out. “My great-uncle has ordered Essex into my bed. You heard the cheering?”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Why? Has Essex accused you of loving Carr?”

Frankie looked suddenly exhausted. “No. He hinted that I was bedswerving but he has always done that.”

“I will not let you kill yourself, Frankie.”

She looked puzzled, then laughed rather loudly; she had been drinking heavily judging by the flush on her cheeks. “I would sooner kill Essex than myself. If he enters me, there must be blood.” I could sense the wheels in her mind frantically spinning. “That must be why my great-uncle sent for you. You can let blood.”

The maid returned with a small knife for scraping hard skin from feet. Frankie and I looked at it askance. “Have you wiped it?” I asked.

The poor girl nodded. I took the knife and held it close to a candle; it was encrusted in places with dead skin, which I pared off with my fingernail.

“Essex will see the cut,” I said, suddenly realizing the problem. “It must be my blood.”

“No,” said Frankie immediately. “Lady Cheke let blood to cure an itch last month and was dead in two days. I cannot ask it of you.”

“No, you cannot, but I offer myself freely. How can it serve your great-uncle to prove you an adulteress?”

“I thought he would agree that the marriage is of no value if I cannot have heirs. Now, it seems he means to force them on me.”

The maid began unlacing Frankie’s clothes. I poured her more wine and examined the cleanliness of her undershirt. “It doesn’t matter if I stink,” she said.