William’s face was before my eyes. He had delivered his news a word or two at a time, gasping after his sprint to Whitehall. I had heard it with lowered head, then hurried back through familiar rooms, now filled with threat. In Frankie’s privy chamber a maid had been lighting candles to banish the darkness of the morning and her mistress, nearly seven months with child, was sitting with other noble ladies. We spent more time at Court since Villiers was made a knight, to entertain and charm the wives of men whose loyalty the Howards needed. My three younger children grumbled at the loss of their country playgrounds, but frequent visits from Mr. Palmer compensated them somewhat. He was teaching them to play tennis and he and I had reached the stage of kissing. It was so pleasant that I was in no rush to hurry matters along.

In May, Frankie’s brother-in-law had been made a Garter knight at the same time as Lord Fenton, a noble from the Essex camp. The Court had split down the middle in choosing which retinue to favor. The King had forbidden George Villiers to join either, keeping him close on the steps of Denmark House, the Court of his Queen. Carr had ridden with Baron Knollys, the seventy-year-old husband of Frankie’s sister Elizabeth. This lord was judged to have slightly more knights in his train, over three hundred of them, all dressed in black and white with matching feathers in their hats, but those of Fenton were better dressed, in yellow and gold, on finer horses, and he was thought to have carried the day. The King smiled with obvious pleasure on the effort expended to gain his favor. By the end of the month, it was clear that Villiers would supplant Carr.

“We stand too high for justice to reach us,” said Frankie, her usual poise returning.

“To reach you.”

“I will protect you.”

“I know you will try. If I am arrested, please look to my children.”

“It will not come to that,” said Frankie. “Robin and my family will have Weston released. Someone must warn Franklin.”

“He talks such copious rot it will be hard to stop up his mouth.”

“Then we must give him sufficient cause. Robin will convince him that…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the difficulty of enlisting her husband to silence the corrupt apothecary who had provided the poison to kill his closest friend. “Robin will never forgive me,” said Frankie, so quietly I could barely hear. “We cannot tell him.”

“How not? If I am arrested, he will be told why. Will you deny all knowledge?” I said, frightened as never before that Frankie might turn from me.

“He will not abandon us,” she said with such conviction I was slightly cheered. “I will get his help without telling him the problem.”