I stared too, but also I was confused. Was Overbury threatening to reveal Frankie’s infidelity, in which case he must have evidence we knew not of; or his own secretest love of Carr, which was shared by the King? The first would destroy Frankie, the second would destroy the Court; it would be suicide, but then Overbury was the sort of person who would enjoy dragging as many people as possible into hell with him.

“This same Lidcote told Overbury that I am not working to secure his release. Overbury writes that I am ‘the most odious man alive.’” Carr waved the letter at Frankie. He kicked the metal fire grate with the toe of his boot. The fire was banked and the few sparks that escaped burned out at the peak of their glowing arcs. His face was closed in a way that Frankie could not have missed. It was clear that he was terrified to have an enemy who knew so much about him. Perhaps he also felt regret at deceiving his best friend, or at least for having been found out in it?

“I’ll call on your great-uncle Northampton.”

“How can he help?” said Frankie. She had told me that Robin had recently gone against Northampton’s wishes in choosing a new Under-Secretary of State and that her great-uncle would pretend to forgive him but would exact revenge at some future point.

“He has more spies than anyone. You and I must stay apart. Overbury’ll need to apologize to me now, as well as to you.”

Frankie made a gesture to stop him, kiss him, but he only patted her shoulder and left. In the enveloping night, we heard the logs shift in the fireplace, slowly consumed by a gentle burn. Outside, despite the late hour, footsteps echoed in the courtyard below, torchlight reflecting like thousands of distant fires in the diamonds of the window. We returned to bed but neither of us slept.

Two days later, Weston visited me with dread news. The moment he took his leave, I left the house and stumbled about the streets, looking for the painter Larkin’s building. It was but fifteen minutes from my door, but the way was clogged with goods’ carts from the wharves and people in such numbers that we were pressed to a standstill every few paces. I ducked through courts and branching passages but there was no escaping the crush; I felt I was being smothered in oilcloth, my ears deafened not by the swearing and vexation that surrounded me but by Weston’s urgent whispers.