“A toast to Anne and Frankie.” She drank and then pressed the cup into my hand. The warmth and weight of it shocked me. I had become a ghost.

“Say it,” said Frankie, squeezing my fingers on to the cup. She wanted to pull me back from hopelessness, as I had her, but I was tired of struggle. She put her hands either side of my face and blew into my mouth as midwives do to silent babies. The love of one who shares the tribulations of your sex can be as consoling as any marriage. Frankie was showing me that I was not worthless because I had been thrown away.

“To Frankie and Anne,” I mumbled and took a large swallow.

“Louder. Remember, things always change.”

“To Frankie and Anne,” I said, not believing it.

“Christ alive, Anne, shout!”

“To Frankie and Anne,” I said, clearing my throat for it was a long time since I had spoken. Frankie grabbed the cup, drained it, and threw it as hard as she could into the fireplace. We both shrieked as it smashed against the backplate. Rum spat blue in the flames. I spun out of bed to stamp on the embers that erupted from the fire and flew over the hearth onto the wooden floor.

“Now you are dancing!” said Frankie, laughing.

18

A month later I was greatly recovered and waiting anxiously with Frankie in her parlor.

“You are sure of the veil?” I asked, perhaps for the third or fourth time, never more nervous than at that moment. Many people had parts to play, I alone aware of them all. If I had forgotten or overlooked a single thing, if anybody was late, or early, if anybody veered from the agreements they had made or was loose with protocol, both Frankie and I would be entirely undone. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation, to be in a position of the utmost strategic importance, with peril not power my only reward.

“Lord Northampton has reassured me on that point,” said Frankie. “I feel like a tennis ball frayed with overplay,” she said, fidgeting ceaselessly. She took my hand. “In truth, you risk much. I will never forget my debt to you, Anne, never.”