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already gone through her dowry, the wastrel. I should have forbidden the match.”
    â€œI promised him!” Mother was weeping.
    Papa was silent. Aemilia could picture his face—he was too outraged to even speak.
    â€œCan we not pawn anything?” Mother was like a dog with her teeth in meat. She would not give it up. “Surely we can give them something.”
    â€œThere’s nearly nothing left of our savings as it is! Would you let him bankrupt us? Let him ruin us? You think I will live forever and always be here to provide?”
    Hearing her father’s voice break, Aemilia began to sob. Her heart beat in terror of a world that didn’t have Papa in it.
    Â 
    T HE NEXT MORNING M ASTER Holland appeared at their door, hoping perhaps to find Mother alone again. Instead Papa confronted him with a face like thunder.
    â€œDo you think to wheedle more money from my wife?” he demanded. “I see she already gave you her housekeeping money.”
    Holland’s mouth twisted in a sour smile. Out from behind him stepped Angela, as though emerging from her husband’s shadow. She stood trembling on the threshold.
    Aemilia threw herself at Angela, burying her head in her skirts. Through the worn fabric, she could feel her sister’s bony hips. Angela had grown so thin, as though she hadn’t eaten a morsel since her wedding feast three weeks ago. Had her sister been ill? Angela didn’t hug her back but only stood there, stiff as a fence post.
    â€œ
Cara mia.
” Papa embraced her, tears in his eyes.
    But Angela’s eyes were empty.
This is no longer my sister,
Aemilia thought. Mother came barreling out, exclaiming how thin and pitiful Angela looked.
    Aemilia scowled at Master Holland, who looked perfectly healthy and well fed while her sister was as gaunt as a starveling. No one could have mistaken her for a gentleman’s wife. The only thing of quality to be found on her person was the golden ring her husband had given her, now sliding loose on her finger. Had Master Holland starved her on purpose? Aemilia’s spine crawled when she remembered Lord Hunsdon telling her that his merlin falcon ate only at his command. Yet it was not Lord Hunsdon who had turned her sister into a skeleton, but her lawful husband.
Papa was wrong. Angela was wrong. She would have been happier with Lord Hunsdon. He would have made her a lady.
Aemilia imagined her mother would beat her silly if she even guessed she was thinking such thoughts.
    â€œLet’s get you some food, love.” Mother held Angela as though she’d never let her go. “There’s fresh baked bread. And pottage on the hob. If I’d known you were coming, I would have made you lamb-and-fennel pie.”
    Angela only wriggled out of her grasp and delivered her line as though she were a player at the Theater in Shoreditch.
    â€œPoor Francis is having a dreadful time with his creditors. Papa, could you lend us anything at all?”
    Papa sagged. “If your husband cannot provide, you must come back home, Angelina. We’ll look after you. We always have.”
    â€œYes!” Aemilia cried, hugging her again.
    Her sister, she hoped, would sleep in their old bed again. Angela would tell her stories at night and everything would be as it was before, the house ringing with her madrigals.
    â€œGo with your mother into the kitchen,” Papa told Angela. “Let her feed you before you blow away.”
    Angela only stood there looking lost and miserable, as though she could no longer take a step on her own without her husband’s permission.
What had he done to her?
Aemilia glared at Master Holland with pure hatred. But he ignored her the way he would a yapping dog.
    â€œIt’s my grave misfortune,” the man drawled, “that my creditors are as mean as Jews.”
    Master Holland cast a pointed stare at Papa, who went as pale as wax. Panic rose inside Aemilia’s chest—why did