I blinked. It was hard advice, pragmatic though, from a woman who was not only protective of her family but who had also experienced a number of miscarriages herself. I remembered the unsentimental way in which Mother had sent me recipes for herbal medicines to try to help me conceive and the unvarnished words that if I did not, I would be a woman with nothing: no place, no influence.

“It happened again,” Anna said, “over and over, I would conceive and lose the babe and now the physician has told me I must not try again for fear it will kill me. Antony tells me it does not matter, but it does.” She lifted her gaze to mine. Her face was drained of all animation, all spirit, except for the startling hatred I saw beneath the surface. It was that which kept her alive.

“You blame Robert,” I said. “You think it is his fault that you have lost all your babes and your hope for the future.”

She nodded. “I do. I do blame him. I always will. I lost the last child two weeks ago and I can bear it no more. I had to tell you. You had to know.”

I went down on my knees beside the bed and took her cold hands in mine regardless of the shudder of revulsion that went through me. It was like grasping a corpse.

“Anna,” I said, “I am so very sorry. I know how hard it is to be childless—”

Her gaze snapped. “You do not know what it is like to lose a child.”

I swallowed the hurt and the words that bubbled up. It was a different sorrow to fail to conceive. That grief was mine.

“No, I do not,” I said carefully. “And I do understand why you feel Robert is to blame for your misfortunes. What can I do?” I shook her hands gently. “How can I help you?” I did not know what she wanted and I did not want to be so crass as to offer money for a loss that could never be compensated. “What do you want of me?” I repeated.

Her hands tightened cruelly on mine. “I want you to kill him,” she said.

For a moment I was frozen into shock and then I started to laugh. It was so unexpected that I could not help myself. The sound came bubbling up and I could not prevent it bursting out. Anna let go of me as though I had the plague and leaped to her feet, leaving me kneeling there on the floor.

“I’m sorry.” I scrambled up, trying to stifle my mirth. “It’s the shock... I was so surprised—”

She looked at me with loathing. “I might have known that you would not care,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, sobering. “But... To kill Robert? How could I possibly accomplish that? And why would I want to do so?”

“Not just for me,” she said, turning away so that her expression was in shadow, “but for both of us. Surely you cannot bear the way he humiliates you? You are a laughing stock, Amy. Your name is synonymous with cuckoldry throughout the entire land.”