After a few days, desperation to see my children overtook me. I did not eat, wash or sleep, but lay down and remembered every detail of their lives from before they were born to kissing them goodbye as they sat at their lessons. I pulled threads of memory from my mind, carefully separated each one and laid it with utmost tenderness, like clean clothes, on that child’s pile, until I was satisfied I had missed nothing. After that, I did the same with George, until the lid of his coffin closed and darkness came upon me. I dared not think of Frankie beyond praying that she was trying to free me; I had only to keep to my denials.

Each dawn my hopes returned that I would be freed; each afternoon they faded with the light. I imagined Frankie summoning important persons, writing letters, cajoling her father and Robin. I did this to stem the ocean of regret that would otherwise have drowned me. At night I slept little, but once I dreamed of George Villiers walking in the Privy Garden, his chest swathed in pearls, leaving a trail of silk which the King gathered lovingly as he scurried along behind.

The many notes I received from my children, my brother Eustace, Frankie and Mr. Palmer, cheered me a little. Frankie told me that Robin was working for my release and sent me sea coal for the fire. I hoped he was working harder for me than he had for Overbury.

One day, after about a week, the notes and letters stopped. Why did my children no longer write, nor Mr. Palmer? Had they been persuaded of my guilt? Had Frankie lost the baby? Was she ill? Dead? Had she abandoned me? If she, or my children, threw away my love, then all that was left would be my pride, my vanity and my stupidity.

When I again stood before Lord Chief Justice Coke, I felt very much smaller than the first time. Even so, my hopes were not gone that I would be freed.

“Richard Weston claims that you instructed him to give a clear liquid to Sir Thomas Overbury and that the Countess of Somerset would reward him well if he did,” said Lord Coke, leaning forward.

“I cannot think what pressure you have put upon the poor man to make him fabricate such tales.” Coke’s response was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Weston has had a visitor in the person of Sir Gervase Elwes,” said Coke. “The former Lieutenant of the Tower has made a full, written confession of his part in this plot. He managed to persuade Weston of the futility, indeed harmfulness, of continuing to lie.” I looked away from Sir Edward, out of the window. Gulls screamed through the air, hurled about by the gusting wind. The chimney moaned but I did not speak. Coke shifted in his chair and blew sharply through his nose.