“Mistress Turner,” said Lord Chief Justice Coke very loudly. “Do you not know that to wear a hat in this place is an insult to the members of the jury whose greatness far exceeds your own? Remove it at once!”

I fumbled to remove the hat, placed so precisely to denote myself a gentlewoman, as Lord Coke feigned mounting irritation to a rising gale of laughter from the audience. Cheeks scalding, I had no choice but to pull it off. Hair straggled around my face and I pictured the first time I had met Frankie in her chamber, with her lunatic tresses. I felt entirely naked, my messy head uncovered in public. I tried to pin the stray hairs back to recreate an impression of calm control and honesty. As there was nowhere else, I placed the hat on the floor by my feet and pulled from my purse a black silk square, which I tied over my head. But the armature of my appearance had been shattered. Lord Coke appeared satisfied with his opening salvo.

“Mistress Turner,” he boomed, not looking at me but to the crowd and jury, a well-rehearsed performer. “You are here on trial for your life”—he paused to allow the audience to react—“as accessory to the poisoning unto death of Sir Thomas Overbury. You are accused of the willful destruction of a creature made in God’s image, the worst of crimes, employing the worst of weapons, to inflict the worst of deaths. How do you plead?”

I lifted my face.

“Not guilty, my lord.”

Lord Coke looked down at the bench before him and appeared to puzzle a small point of order, waiting for silence to fall again. He knew how to caress his audience. This man judging me had also collected the statements and evidence for this trial and was able to dismiss anything that disproved his accusations and retain everything that supported them. I was guilty until I could prove my innocence but I had no means to make a case for myself and who would dare speak up for me?

“If you persist in your claim of innocence, I have no choice but to put to you the evidence we have gathered to the contrary, to the detriment of your honor and that of other persons known to you. Will you not change your plea?” This harrying made Coke appear eager for my welfare and the restitution of my good name. It made him seem beneficent while I knew him to be seeking only his own glory through my downfall, whether I be guilty or not. I shook my head in so small a manner that I was taken by surprise when Coke bellowed in response, as if rallying troops to march.