Frankie’s face and neck flushed, her pallor momentarily banished. She was unused to refusals and resented George’s assertion that she was to blame for her husband’s lack of desire. She did not know that this was a grievous subject for us also, and that she was the recipient of ire provoked by his own impotence. She looked away from George and we sat in awkward silence awhile. Each laugh from above made her shrink further into herself.

George stood and bowed, but Frankie did not acknowledge him as he left the room. I was angry that he had made no effort to please a woman whose friendship I sought. I expected her to rise and ask for her cloak but she sat silently; it was not awkward between us, even then.

“Have you more brandy?” she said eventually.

The cupboard was locked and only George had a key. I found one of my hypericum brews, distilled in brandy.

“Small sips whenever you are enervated. I will give you more to take with you,” I said, allowing her a gracious exit with that cue. There seemed little point in discussing George’s homily; obedience to God’s will is a challenge for all, especially for women like us. She stood, but instead of leaving said, “Will you show me round your house?”

There could be no other reason to look into my life but that we were to be friends and my heart jigged about like a child at the fair. The house would be a mess but I made no apologies. Frankie wanted to know me; best she knew the truth. Taking a candle, I handed her another.

“Is there a kitchen?”

“You want to see the kitchen?”

“I want to see everything.”

It dawned on me that Frankie had never been in a middling sort of home. She had probably never entered a kitchen, never stoked a fire or opened a shutter, certainly never boiled water in which to wash or cook a pottage. There can be contentment in these simple things, especially when they are done for children, and she wanted to experience it. And so I let her taste my life, hoping it would not turn bitter in her mouth as she returned to the opulent prison of her own, bereft of her little sister Margaret and maltreated by a husband infuriated by his inadequacies.