A door opened. Arthur with moth-shadowed face? No, mud on worn hem, it was old Maggie who helped me to bed. My mind wandered, further and further into the dark wood. How long does it take a small child to starve?

I lay that way for two days. Even the embraces of my children gave no comfort, for I had failed them. My sister’s voice could not penetrate my madness and my younger brother’s kindness made me shrink deeper into my shame.

Frightened, old Maggie sent for Weston, who was sufficiently perturbed to ask Frankie for help. It took him two days to find her; she was hiding in her apartments in Greenwich Palace, away from the gossip that was washing around Whitehall about the nature of her friendship with Robert Carr. She came without hesitation, her face obscured by a deep hood, bringing rum and tincture of opium. I wished she would leave; I did not want her to witness my degradation, but she lay beside me on the bed, stroking my hair and chafing my hands. As I did not speak, she talked, mainly of the scandal Overbury had incited with his insult to her.

“I need you, Anne. Overbury will scupper my annulment. He is hand-in-glove with Archbishop Abbot, both support my husband; without your wits I have no hope of getting the better of him.” There was never a mention of Arthur. “I can appoint my own household when I marry Robin, and you and the children shall live with me. You will be happily married yourself soon; Mr. Palmer has intentions toward you, it is quite plain.” But I did not believe that Frankie or I would marry again; the angels had turned on us.

After a further day and night of my torpor, Weston reappeared.

“Sir Thomas Overbury is arrested and in the Tower, held close prisoner,” he announced, out of breath. This news at last cut through the wool in my skull. For the first time in days, I felt that my head and my body were no longer two divorced entities. Frankie, who had barely left my side, stood; the place where she had lain quickly cooled.

“How do you know?” she demanded.

“The Earl of Northampton commissioned me to take a letter to Viscount Rochester who is ill in bed…”

“Robin? What ails him?”

“A griping in the guts but it is not serious. The Viscount told me its contents. Sir Thomas was arrested today, during the meeting of the Privy Council.”

“On what charge?”

“For refusing the Embassy in Russia.”

Frankie let out a great laugh. “Of course he refused it! How could he interfere in everyone’s business from Moscow? Was Robin surprised? Distressed?”

“I could not tell.”