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seen.
    “There you are!” Mary exclaimed. “I was wild with worry when you went racing off. This foreigner doesn’t appear to be a bad sort, does he.” She tugged on my cap strings, which had come undone. “I went outside and peeked at him and Father through the window. He’s rather handsome.”
    “I suppose,” I muttered. “Did you hear what he and Father were discussing—”
    A sudden wild pummeling shook the back door in its frame. A man’s voice shouted, “By God’s grace, let me in!”
    “Merciful heavens!” Mary flung the door open. Francis Sutton staggered into the kitchen. He wore no hat, and his blond hair streamed loose to his shoulders. Through the tangled strands, his face looked pale, his eyes frantic.
    “You all must flee at once!” He whirled to Mary. “The king’s men were just at my home, asking for directions to your cottage. Whatever they want with your family, it has to be for a grave offense, for their party numbered at least a dozen, and they must have ridden all night to arrive here so early. I beg of you, begone from here before it’s too late.”

Five
    SHOCK BLEACHED THE INSIDE OF MY MIND BONE white. I stared at Francis, silently entreating him to repeat what he had said, as if hearing his announcement a second time would bring clarity.
    The kitchen erupted in screams. Mary threw herself at Francis, shouting, “What’s happening? I don’t understand!” Deborah dropped the platter she’d been arranging. It shattered on the floor, flinging pottery shards and slices of beef everywhere. From her stool, Anne burst into tears. Luce stopped chopping vegetables, her knife raised in midstrike.
    I stood stock-still. My thoughts were encased in ice, frozen on Francis’s earlier words. They didn’t make sense. The king’s men would hardly travel eight leagues from London merely to come to our cottage. Father no longer mattered to them; he was a grain of sand in a shoe, an irritant easily ignored. Unless theking had finally changed his mind—
    Something seemed to burst within the left side of my rib cage, and I let out a choked gasp. It must have happened at last—what we had feared and half expected for years. The king had decided to execute Father for his revolutionary past. There could be no other reason for his men to travel such a distance.
    I ran to the back door. Nothing but banks of pennyroyal and chamomile, shriveling in the heat, and Francis’s horse, gleaming with sweat and nosing at the grass. If the king’s men were coming from Francis’s estate, they would ride east across the countryside. Anxiety coiled in my stomach. We probably had minutes at the most before the king’s men were upon us.
    My sisters were still screaming, such a cacophony of sound I could scarcely think. “Be quiet, all of you!” I shouted.
    At once the room froze into silence. Everyone stared at me—each face a mask of terror. I shook my head, trying to still the panicked thoughts rising in my mind like swarms of gnats. Father will die. Father will die. Father will die . How could I protect him? I had to do something.
    In the sudden hush, I could hear Anne rasping for air. “Deborah, see to our sister,” I ordered. “I must get Father away from here at once.”
    “I should return home.” Francis tried to disentangle himself from Mary, but she clung to him, sobbing.
    “Unhand him, Mary!” I snapped. “He needs to get out of here before the king’s men arrive.”
    Mary released Francis as though he had turned to flame. I clasped his hand. “Thank you. I can never repay the debt my family owes you.”
    Without waiting for his response, I raced down the corridor toward the sitting rooms. In vain, I fumbled at my long sleeves, desperate to get at my knives, but the fabric fit too snugly. I tore at the shoulder laces until they broke. Then I yanked the sleeves from my arms, flinging them to the floor.
    I barreled into my father’s sitting room. Father and Viviani sat at the writing table,