Gently, I pushed a finger into the pearls and saw that they formed a long strand. I wound them round my hand and rubbed them against my cheek. There was a note.

My dearest Anne,

Every day since your arrest I have written, sometimes many times a day, I have sent money and jewels, and even a boy in a wherry to shout up to your window. Now I am arrested and kept close prisoner. No one will give me news of you; this note I have got out with one who cares for you, at great risk to himself.

I thought that must be Weston before remembering, with a sharp pain, that he was dead. Perhaps Mr. Palmer? It would not be Arthur, and Frankie would not let my son take such risks.

The baby remains quick within me. I wonder how he survives the anguish and torment I feel, not only for myself but for you, the most loving and loyal friend I will ever have. I never meant for matters to take this course. I know you believe me.

I long to hear from you. You are more to me than any friend has ever been. I send with this note my most precious possessions. They hold my love within them. Keep cheerful, for my family and Lord Carr work tirelessly for our release. All will be well and we shall soon be reunited.

Until that day,

Your loving sister

Frankie

P.S. Mr. Palmer came today to ask what should be done with the paintings yet to be paid for.

By that final line I knew that it was he who cared enough to risk bringing me the parcel. I would have liked to know him better and longer; we could have been happy.

“Lady Somerset is held at the house of Lord d’Aubigny, half a mile from here. She begs daily to see you.”

“Does she know of my sentence?”

“She does. It was after she was told that she attempted to take her own life. She is watched day and night as she remains in grievous low spirits.”

“I know how to comfort her in those moods. No one else relieves them like me, not even her husband. Who helps her?”

“It is to your comfort we should look.”

That she had not abandoned me meant that my death was not wasted. I prayed that her babe be safely delivered and that she would discover the love and happiness in him that I enjoyed in mine.

“I have told you all I can,” I said.

“You have related nothing to help Lord Coke build his case,” the confessor said.

“Then I ask pardon, Dr. Whiting, for Lord Coke will not smile about it as you do.”

“I am not sure Lord Coke has ever been seen to smile.”

“Please tell me how I should make a good death,” I said then, very quietly.

28

Today is the fourteenth day of November, 1615.