“How can this end well?” said the Countess, surprising me with the note of care in her voice. She approached and took Frankie’s hand, a gesture that seemed to embarrass her daughter. “Forget the plays and poems that lead you to romantic notions. Romance is as mist, fragile and disappearing with the slightest wind, the slightest heat. You will stir up our enemies if you seek to divorce Essex. The Queen will be among their ranks, Essex and all his allies, the Bishops, all haters of Catholics and of the Cecils, and countless others we cannot imagine. It has never been done that I remember, and most especially not by a woman. Even if you achieve your wish, you will pay too high a price for it. Your reputation will be forfeit and without that you will be an exile, as if dead. Learn to love Essex. He will give you a child if you win him over. That is the way, Frankie, that is the way.” She waited for her daughter to look her in the eye, to squeeze her hand, to give some acknowledgment of her words, but Frankie stared at the floor without moving.

The Countess dropped her daughter’s hand and looked to me to open the door. I am not a servant, so I did not move. She opened it herself, and with that moment of pride I lost many commissions to dress Court ladies.

As the door closed, Frankie turned to her great-uncle.

“Other than the words of the washerwoman, and my ring, there is no proof that I have attempted to be rid of my husband.”

Lord Northampton gave her a hard look and turned to her father.

“Then we shall petition the King to establish a Commission to discuss the annulment of Frankie’s marriage. It seems to be for the best,” concluded Lord Northampton. I had thought him fond of his niece; now I suspected that the notice he paid to Frankie was solely because she was of use to him.

Her father looked at Frankie with love and doubt; he was close to crying.

“I would speak to your father alone,” said Northampton, and we quit the room.

“Would that I had kept you away from Mary Woods,” I said as we made our way downstairs. I was to be married the next day but did not remind Frankie of it for fear it would upset her; there were still so many obstacles to her own happiness.

“She has prompted my family to action. The scandal will be forgotten.” I knew that would not be so, because it shook the ladder on which we all perched; her mutiny against those who ruled her and the God who decreed it should be so would find few sympathizers.

Her coach was in the courtyard and we proceeded immediately to Whitehall, where Robin Carr’s steward awaited us.