Despite the philters and the angels, Arthur did not propose to me at the end of the first year of mourning. I remained in black, worked quietly for clients at Court, and sustained my family by pawning the gifts I received as payment, and with rent from lodgers and the modest stipend Arthur provided. I kept my exact circumstances from Frankie but took my children to see her whenever possible, that they might eat their fill and play with her dogs, the parrot and a new pet monkey, Caesar, so named because he did everything he could to torment Brutus. She would tell me the latest gossip and of Sir Robert Carr’s rise in favor; at only twenty-five years old he was to be granted an English title, Viscount Rochester, and would therefore be the first Scot to sit in the House of Lords. Her observation of him was intense and unwavering, but at no time did it spill into indignity. She hid her feelings for him from everyone but me, confessing that his seeming devotion amused her, but nothing more. And I believed her.

She did not ask to visit me as she had when I lived in Fetter Lane; I suspect she understood that I could not welcome her as I would wish. I went often to Forman, always accompanied by Richard Weston, to devise new prayers for the angels and tinctures for Lord Essex and Arthur, to keep one away and the other keen. Frankie did not dare come with me; someone had written to her husband, warning that she sought to poison him. Was it Overbury, afraid that Robert Carr’s attachment to her was eclipsing him? Essex crowed to receive “proof” of the suspicions he had long held about his wife, as if it was some form of victory.

Two months after our visit to George’s grave, the angels gave me a message: they persuaded me to go to a bearbaiting. I loathe such entertainment and declined Frankie’s invitation when it came, but Simon Forman sent me a bottle labeled, “Fortifies courage: large swig on rising. Avoid at full moon.” Accompanying the bottle was a note, enthusiastically scribbled. “Throw off your widow’s weeds! George would want you happy. The angels say go out! They will do the rest!” The imperatives made me anxious, but Forman could see the future and was telling me to find myself a new place in life, even as a widow. I did wonder if Frankie had asked him to persuade me.

On the morning of the event Frankie was half-dressed when I arrived. I handed her a parcel of biscuits made by the children. She opened it immediately and ate one.