“Lord Northampton is pressing Overbury to make cause with us,” said Frankie, making a small snorting sound.

“Is that not good?” I said.

“The damage has been done. Everywhere I go I feel a new disrespect. No matter how many times he apologizes, people will never forget that he called me base.”

I could not argue. At Court, in the Exchanges, even in the back streets, there was frenzied talk about women’s disobedience to men, the breakdown of law and order, the canker of corruption and effeminacy that tainted the King himself. Frankie was the perfect scapegoat, representing everything most hated: a pretty, pampered woman with independent ideas, a Catholic, a courtier. The libels and broadsheets boosted their sales by illustrating their broadsides against her with stock woodblock prints of half-naked harlots. I must have frowned, for Frankie asked, “It touches you too?”

“The few clients I still have invite me in the hope that I will give them gossip about you. No one pays me.”

“Once Robin and I are married, we will bore people with our respectability.”

“And if it is brought up in Parliament?”

Frankie laughed and patted my arm. “Why would Parliament be interested in whether the Earl of Essex can stiffen his member?”

“If your annulment is granted and you marry Carr, Parliament will not want a powerful Catholic family allied to the most important man at Court after the King. When they pause in their hateful speeches against Catholics, they fill the time with railing against the King’s favorite and the Scottish.”

Frankie looked hard at me for a long while, before shaking her head. “The King does not listen to Parliament; Parliament listens to the King, and he wants the annulment. You worry too much.”

“That is true,” I said, looking away from her. I rehearsed each step in my mind while Frankie fiddled with the gold chain around her neck. The knock came.

Into the parlor processed the six inspectors appointed by the Annulment Commission; two midwives of fair repute and four noblewomen of mature years who were all mothers, Lady Mary Tyrwhitt, Lady Alice Carew, Lady Elizabeth Dallison and Lady Anne Waller. All looked discomfited to be there and Frankie did nothing to lessen their unease. With an admirable display of mortification, she curtsied to the noblewomen and offered them refreshment. All refused, as anxious as Frankie to be released from the ordeal.

“Lady Carew, it has been some time since we have had the pleasure of each other’s company,” said Frankie, quietly. “May I offer you my hearty good wishes on the birth of your first grandchild. Is that a picture of him?” she asked, indicating the locket that hung from a long chain around the neck of Lady Carew.