I was both overwhelmed by the sure knowledge of my death and relieved to know when it would be. I thought of the only other hanging I had witnessed. The speed of Baron Sanquhar’s drop, his weight straining the silk noose, the twitching of his body. Hanging for the wealthy is quick and almost painless, for the long drop breaks the neck immediately and ends all sensation. Even the burning of the rope is lessened by its being silk. At Tyburn there is no drop, only a slow strangulation as the cart on which stands the condemned moves away. I would need a friend to pull my legs and break my neck, and the rough hemp rope would burn my skin before the bones popped apart. I wondered who would take on this dread burden and whether it was among the confessor’s tasks to arrange.

“Will my children be forced to witness it?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

“No.”

Dr. Whiting knocked on the door and asked for a caudle to be brought. When it arrived, he put the steaming cup in my hands but I could not drink. My eyes were inward-looking and unaware of my surroundings.

“Where does your brother lodge?” he asked, several times.

“My brother Eustace?” I eventually replied. “He is not in London but Westminster, in service to Prince Charles. He lodges in a small court off Scotland Yard, at the sign of the Brown Bear.” Dr. Whiting addressed a note and knocked on the door. A servant entered and after some negotiation as to price, agreed not to return until he had delivered the note into the hand of Eustace Norton himself.

“I thank God, sir, that Lord Coke is not my confessor. You are kinder,” I said. “If I ask the alderman to give you the cross and chain Frankie sent me, would you pass them to Eustace? They will affray, in small part, the cost of caring for my children.”

“Will he take on their care?”

“No, but I trust him to make a wise decision as to who should raise them and to keep an eye over them until they are grown. Perhaps my sister Mary will. She will need money as her husband is not charitable. Barbara loves them, she will help.”

“Shall I also give your brother the ring?”

I was unable to say more so the confessor waved me forward to sit close to the fire and took away my tepid drink. I did not hold my cold hands to the flames but looked at them, resting in my lap. It was too late to seek comfort.