“If you come into His fold and repent of your sins, then you will know the joy of His love and salvation. God loves all His flock, even those who stray.” Just as I loved Thomas, even though he had been an undutiful child. “To know God’s forgiveness will give you courage to face tomorrow,” said Dr. Whiting. “If you appear reformed and chastened, the crowd will wish you well and ensure the good treatment of your children hereafter.”

“Since the trial I have become the greatest exemplar of evil from one end of the world to the other.”

“You can alter that,” he said. He wanted me to convert as much for his own reputation as my salvation, but I saw his reasoning.

“Dr. Whiting, would you do me the honor of calling me Anne? I am tired of this formality between us.” He was surprised but agreed without asking the same of me.

“Did the Countess of Somerset press you to silence?” he said into the growing darkness. “She has failed in her promise to protect you, yet still you do not condemn her.”

“Of what can I condemn her? She brought me joy, she loved my children and saved us from starvation. When those with obligations toward me faltered, she remained loyal. Her spirit and high ideals inspired me, and she allowed me to display the fruits of that inspiration upon her body; in her company, I was seen and heard.”

“She asked much of you in return.”

“Frankie and I are different faces and ages of the same spirit. That is why I was drawn to her … but I should have counseled her better. I am the elder, I should have led her more faithfully and been a truer friend. After George’s death I stumbled toward what I thought was a future, but it has proved to be an illusion with no substance. I thought there would be time to become virtuous, once I had reached a place of safety.”

Dr. Whiting was looking at me, mystified, but the bells rang six o’clock and he moved to the window, looking down at the wharves.

“Will you join me?” he said. The slats of the truckle creaked as I pushed myself up. I looked through the narrow opening that punctured the thick wall. Down on the nearest wharf a man was carrying a torch. I recognized his familiar outline. My brother Eustace was bringing my children to me! John, my fledgling gentleman, lit the way for Barbara, the two younger girls and Henry. Only Thomas had not come. I cried out and crammed myself as far through the window slit as I could.

Among the group there was much pointing, turning and cupping of hands over eyes.