“Continue,” ordered Coke. A cold serpent of terror rose within me, swelling, making my heart race as it constricted my organs and pushed up into my skull, bringing with it a senseless hiss which made it hard to hear the men’s voices. “With this note came a diamond ring and a chain and cross of gold, for Mistress Turner’s financial comfort, which I have in safekeeping. The Countess writes, ‘My lord will go to Court within three or four days to procure your delivery, my truest friend.’”

Frankie had not abandoned me. She was writing, sending me the jewels on her body to keep me alive, but they were being kept from me.

“When was that sent?” said Lord Coke.

“A week ago.”

Coke leered at me. “And yet here you are.”

Why was I not allowed bail? It could only be that Robert Carr had lost the power to grant it; that Villiers and the Essex faction had the upper hand. Coke stood. “When you decide to stop clinging to faithless friends, I will take your confession myself.”

26

When Alderman Smith came to tell me that there would be a trial, I was too numb to respond. Weston had not withstood Coke and the forces behind him. At the sight of the coach in which I was to travel to the King’s Bench, completely draped in black cloth, all courage deserted me.

“It is a hearse.”

The coachman attempted to herd me inside but I refused. I would be unable to see out. If my children were waiting on the route, I would miss them. He sneered openly and I felt all the terror of recent weeks press upon me. My attire spoke of trustworthiness and honesty: a smart black dress with simple yellow collar and a black hat pinned onto carefully arranged hair. What had been said and written about me as I sat alone and undefended in the cell, that even a coachman treated me with contempt?

“If you do not mount, you will be constrained and carried in,” he said.

I could not will myself into it.

“The drapes allow you safe and anonymous passage,” said Alderman Smith, gently clasping my elbow. He helped me up, staying the coachman’s hand as he went to slam the door, closing it softly himself. The black cloth was pulled down and I was in darkness.

Although I could not see, the sounds told me where I was. On King Street, the rumble of the wheels was dampened by straw. I was yards from Frankie’s apartment. Did the children know I was passing? Did she? I strained to hear their shouts. I longed to see them; I pictured Frankie, statuesque and remote, my children gathered around her, remonstrating with the driver and pulling me from the blackness; all I could hear were the sounds of daily life and it amazed me that beyond the darkness, life continued.