As she described the scene to me, I experienced a moment of fear. In that flask was the strong aphrodisiac I had given her. What was she going to tell me? Had it done him permanent harm? George had persuaded Essex to take a tiny dose, twice daily, but since his doctor’s death, Essex had stopped.

Frankie described how she had bent forward to retie the ribbon on one shoe, her breasts near popping out of her lacings as she did so. She was careful to keep her head lowered; Essex’s arousal was often halted if he caught sight of her face.

He drained the flask and closed the curtains nearest him. Frankie begged God, as she retied the second shoe, that this time her husband kept his member stiff enough that he could penetrate her and a baby result. Essex reached forward and gripped her arm. He steered her until she was kneeling on the hard floor with her back to him. She did not struggle, knowing he preferred her back view. He tussled with the willow hoops and fabric that encased Frankie’s lower half and pressed her face onto the seat so that the velvet nap rubbed painfully. She could hear and feel him fumbling to get his yard free while keeping up her skirts.

He talked, as if to soothe her. “You are beautiful, like the perfume bottles on your dressing table.” Frankie was encouraged. This was the first compliment her husband had ever paid her. “When I stamp on those, they shatter. I can break you too.” She tried not to feel the impact of his words, to think only of the better love she could have once Essex had broken her, but fear rose in her; he did not usually talk at all. Frankie prayed continuously that this torture would bring a child and keep him from her for at least as long as she carried it. He slapped her buttocks and the back of her head, lightly at first, increasing in force as he pressed himself against her.

He hit her harder and suddenly she understood that he did not want her virginity, for that was something she also desired, but to break her spirit. She tried to twist around, to show him her face, but he pressed his hand so hard over her mouth that her neck bent back until she thought it would snap. Her throat was distended beyond screaming.

Then she felt a searing pain and for a moment thought he had stabbed her. He had entered her where no man should. She tried to scrabble away but he slammed a hand onto her back. He grunted as he shoved, his free hand yanking back her head to throttle her screams. Tears ran from her eyes but nothing else of her was at liberty to move. He held on tighter, grunted a few more times, then let out a thin, hissing sigh.