A servant brought in candles and laid a small fire, and for all that time we said nothing, but the confessor broke his gaze from mine and contemplated his folded hands as if he still held the high ground, which we both knew he had lost. When the servant left, the confessor said: “You wear collar and cuffs dyed the saffron yellow you made fashionable at Court; is that not a conceited display inappropriate to a widow condemned to death?”

“I have not changed clothes since my trial, Dr. Whiting.” It clearly discomforted him to find no other sign of evil upon me: my lips not mean, my brow not heavy, no warts in sight. Perhaps in a murderess of good birth they are not to be expected? He was unsure; I suspect I was his first. He stood and put his rump before the flames.

“Perhaps she hates you, who once loved you?”

“I am not allowed to see my children, but I have not a second’s doubt of their love for me. With Frankie it is the same. Your attempt to make me distrust my friend will not make me betray her.” As I said it, I knew it was equally true that Frankie would not betray me.

“I attempt to convince you only that God is a better receptacle of your faith than Frances Howard. How often was the Countess with you when you visited the apothecary?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

“She shops at the New Exchange.”

“The skin displayed at your trial on which were written Forman’s prayers, did it come from a child?”

“It was the skin of a pig. I could tell you of fifty others who write prayers on pigskin.”

He only shrugged at this for he probably knew several himself, so widespread is the practice. “And the doll? Did you prick it to make Sir Thomas die?”

“It is a female doll! A French Baby wearing designs for Simon Forman’s wife. I have a hundred more at home. Do you think that because I paint my face and wear yellow ruffs, I would torture a hundred women too?” For the first time, I saw unease in his expression. He believed me. “My trial? Fabulous drama! Did you attend it, sir? Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Jonson together would be hard pressed to bring together in one play scenes of adultery, bastardy, witchcraft, poison, Popery, conspiracy and treason, but Lord Justice Coke managed it with consummate skill. To witness my distress at first hearing of the hanging of my friend, Richard Weston, must have been worth the price of admission, even at ten pounds for two seats.”