Secret Reflection

4


Day Three

The National Archives turned out to be quite an illuminating place. After much hemming and hawing, the portly gentleman behind the counter suggested Kelly try the Guildford Muniment room, which held documents relating to the time and parish she sought.

The smell of faded parchment fought for prominence with the tang of glass cleaner as she entered.

A long but cursory search told her that a John Tarrant had indeed lived at that time, born in 1838 to the then Lord Richard Tarrant and his wife, Elaine. There were no other offspring. A family bible and a notation of birth in the parish register from the town of Abingdon confirmed both names and dates. John Tarrant became Lord Stanthorpe when his father inherited the earldom early in 1861.

Her heart began to race unbidden when she found the entries for 1861.

The parish records pronounced John’s death to be by accidental drowning, when, according to the only witnesses, he fell, apparently inebriated, into a deep well somewhere on the property just south of Stanthorpe House itself. The account, taken down by the local vicar, stated that John, ‘overwhelmed with grief at the death of his cousin’s wife had taken himself off in a “sotted” stupor, never to be seen again’.

John’s torn coat was discovered snagged on the nearby well’s rope winder. Edward Ditchley, Tarrant’s cousin, and William Plunkett, Ditchley’s valet, each furnished a handwritten account of the viscount’s disappearance. The parish constable corroborated those accounts and John Tarrant was pronounced dead. No body was ever found. Reference was also made to a will, presented by Ditchley and bequeathing, as expected, all of Tarrant’s estates to his cousin and heir.

Kelly took down the names of all the people involved and recorded the document numbers so she could order copies, which she would collect upon her return early the following week. She also noted the next few entries in the family bible, citing the births and deaths that occurred immediately after John’s demise: Anne Aston married Edward Ditchley on March 5, 1862. Richard Tarrant passed away suddenly in a riding accident on May 15 of that year in a riding accident. A boy child, William John Ditchley was born prematurely to Anne and Edward Ditchley on August 6, 1862. Edward Ditchley died, believed murdered by his wife, on January 27, 1863. Anne Ditchley interred at a private sanitorium in Gloucester on February 2. Elaine Tarrant died at Stanthorpe House on April 22, 1867.

Hmmm. How do I find something the ghost might NOT know?

After another hour exploring, fruitlessly, she conceded defeat. She filled out all the forms required to obtain copies of useful documents, passed over her credit card and waited for a receipt.

The theatre district of the West End vibrated with colour, noise and vivid contrasts.

Kelly procured a ‘cover’ for herself by making fake business cards at a large stationery store that offered all sorts of do-it-yourself possibilities. For only three pounds she managed to turn herself from LA reporter to Hollywood movie scout in less than ten minutes – photo included. Kelly Reid became Kari Rosen, independent agent. Armed with her dummy business cards, she began her assault on London’s talent agencies.

The list she’d compiled went to two pages, but she reasoned that she’d most likely find the actor in question through one of the larger agencies because the man was good – very good – and that meant he probably had a lot of work, which in turn suggested that he’d have to be reasonably well known. In Kelly’s fuzzy logic, the fact that he might be well known on the London theatre scene shouldn’t have deterred Tom and Nancy if they were involved, since they knew Kelly hadn’t ever been to London.

What seemed like a good idea turned into a nightmare that lasted more than seven hours, wore out her best shoes, and cost her two pairs of hose – one of those the result of barely escaping a lecherous fellow who appeared to be looking for talent of a completely different nature.

She figured that if she came prepared with a detailed description of the actor in question, finding him would be easy. Her head pounded and her feet throbbed as she traipsed from office to dodgy office. But as time passed she found she remembered the face of the spectre from her bedroom less and less once confronted by page after page of ‘thirty-ish, piratical, tall, dark and handsomes’. By the close of business she decided that if she were ever to be attracted to a man again, he would be short, rotund and if he had hair at all, it would definitely be blond! No, that wasn’t honest. The man pretending to be John Tarrant was attractive, extremely so, and if they weren’t in opposing camps she’d probably consider the ‘therapeutic sex’ that Nancy suggested.

Not going to happen.

By six o’clock, as she sat dejectedly making patterns in the froth of her overly hot cappuccino, willing her swollen feet to squeeze back into her ruined shoes, she wondered whether to even bother returning next week to check out the rest of her list. While some of the actors looked a little like John she was just as certain she hadn’t yet seen his face amongst the hundreds of photographs she’d viewed. For now, her ghost remained a mystery.

She picked up her mobile phone and punched in the Stanthorpe number.

‘Madam,’ John stated the minute she opened the door, ‘how do you propose to find the journal if you are never present on the premises to search?’

Throwing the two parcels and her purse onto the bed, Kelly turned to face the mirror. She felt like lashing out at him; after all, it was because of him her feet ached and her knee was scraped.

Then again, upon reflection she supposed she couldn’t really blame John for the knee. Walter McGuigin – if that was even his real name – was solely responsible for her almost falling down the rickety staircase in her hurried attempt to escape his roving hands.

And when she saw the naked vulnerability on her ghost’s face, she relented. It was late – much later than she’d planned. After a quick bite to eat, she’d had to trek about London to find a place where she could print from the file of images she’d downloaded to her disk. It still amazed her that any number of devices that might be hidden about her room could be as small as the specs said, some only millimeters across. Little wonder she hadn’t yet unearthed them, but at least she now had an idea what to look for.

The cross-town excursion meant she’d missed dinner and had only arrived back in time to say goodnight to Nancy and Tom.

‘Just give me minute,’ she muttered and marched through to the dressing room to change out of her uncomfortable clothes.

A short while later, dressed in her softest denims and a loose burgundy sweater, she came back and sat cross-legged on the bed opposite the mirror.

‘So, Madam—’

Kelly held up her hand for him to stop speaking. ‘I thought you were going to call me Kelly …’

He swept his hand before her in a flourish and bowed, ‘My apologies, Kelly. You must forgive more than a century of ingrained manners. While I have observed the changes in people over time it is very difficult to break with how one is reared. I mean only the utmost courtesy.’

With a sigh, she acquiesced. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry too.’

He smiled, and without warning a sudden warmth stole up her spine to heat her cheeks.

Despite the smile, his eyes remained filled with sadness and for a second Kelly truly wanted to believe in him, wanted to prove that he really was a lonely man who’d been trapped in a time warp. She wanted to save him.

‘Did you enjoy your outing?’ he asked, reminding her of her mission.

‘It was just business for the most part,’ she replied as she reached for the envelope that contained the photos of the sneaky cameras and listening devices. When she glanced at him again she could see the curiosity in his expression but for some reason he held himself back from asking her what they were. While she had no plans to tell him about the theatrical agents, she was interested to know his reaction to her information on the spy equipment.

She hopped off the bed and approached the mirror. ‘Ever seen one of these before?’ She held up a picture of an infra-red camera, supposedly the size of a pea.

John appeared to lean closer while he studied the photograph, a perplexed frown knitting his brow. ‘Alas, Kelly, I am flummoxed,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Can you give me some clue as to its purpose?’

‘It’s a camera, one that can take pictures in the dark.’

The frown deepened. ‘You mentioned cameras in a previous discourse, however you failed to explain their purpose when our conversation diverted in another direction. If you would please detail the device’s purpose, I would gladly help in any way I can.’

Hmmm, Kelly thought, she had hoped to catch him unawares but he was obviously wise to her ploy.

‘Okay,’ she sighed in resignation, ‘a camera uses light to burn an image on paper,’ she turned and grabbed a magazine from the table, ‘like this.’ She flipped several pages to show him photos of women, a church, and a car.

‘Are you saying this small device does it. Not a painter?’

‘Oh no, painters are few and far between in this day and age.’

He nodded his head sagely and as she watched a glimmer of recognition formed in his expressive eyes. ‘Ah – this makes a Daguerreotype? They were the rage in Europe when I was a youth … although the image was much darker than yours, and of course there was no colour, only shades of black and grey. I had a portrait done with my mother and father on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. As I recall, the equipment needed to make such a picture almost filled a room. And there was a Mr Frith who made pictures …

‘The changes I have missed,’ he lamented.

Kelly drew her brows together wondering if this was another example of his skill as an actor. She honestly couldn’t detect any sign of duplicity, but even if he had been born over one hundred and fifty years ago, surely he would know about hand-held cameras? What else didn’t he know about? She stared at him for a long minute acknowledging that she’d have to do lots more research about his supposed ‘time’ if she were to trip him up on details.

She went back to the computer and tapped in a memo: Make a timeline of inventions from 1840 onwards – might be a way to expose trickery.

‘I am aware that I am placing undue pressure, but will it be possible for you to begin your search for the journal this evening? Your hosts are undoubtedly sleeping, it would appear the perfect time to commence, would it not?’

Again he smiled, and in that instant Kelly knew she was in deep trouble because every time he smiled at her she forgot her own doubts and wanted desperately to believe everything he said. The persistent tingle low in her belly didn’t help matters at all.

As a diversion, she went to her briefcase and extracted the copies of the house plans she’d borrowed from the builder before leaving this morning. While they were not the original blueprints, they did show much of the basic architectural design and each successive page highlighted changes and additions.

She laid the A3 sheets on the floor before the mirror. ‘All right, where do you suggest we start?’

John crouched within the mirror as if a window was all that stood between them. Tilting his head, first one way then the other, he gestured to the middle blueprint. ‘When the last, short-lived search was conducted twenty years ago, only the downstairs rooms in the east wing were inspected, therefore, unless items of furniture have been moved without my knowledge, we do not need to make a further search there.’

‘We?’ Kelly thrust her hands on her hips and gazed at him quizzically. ‘I thought you were stuck in there and that was why you were getting me to look.’

‘Certainly you will look, however, if you procure my mother’s hand mirror from her suite, I can accompany you, in a manner of speaking.’

‘You can?’ It was the craziest thing she’d ever heard! But then again, the hand mirror might help her prove the hoax. If he could also appear in that one at will, she could easily have it tested.

‘I see that you do not believe me. Perhaps you might retrieve the mirror and I will demonstrate?’ He gestured to the blueprint again. ‘If you follow the central hall to the left, it is in the next-to-last room in the east wing. It is marked as the Dowager’s Suite on the map.’

Her hand rose protectively to her throat. It was late, and she hadn’t ventured beyond this wing of the massive manor house. She didn’t even know if the power was connected to that part of the place; workmen’s barriers blocked that side of the staircase.

‘Maybe it would be safer to wait till morning,’ she murmured, thinking out loud.

‘Are you afraid, Kelly? I can assure you that no ghost will accost you in my mother’s rooms.’

She gave an involuntary little laugh. Afraid? Her? Preposterous!

‘I don’t fear ghosts – I don’t believe in them.’ She pointedly glared at him. ‘I was thinking more in terms of the builder’s equipment, lack of light and rickety stairs.’

‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘I expect you will find candles in the bureau on the landing. They will light your way. The workmen appear to have finished much of the refurbishment. They were painting and papering today so it should be safe to venture beyond the barricade.’

‘And what if Nancy or Tom catch me?’ she said, trying a different tack.

John smiled broadly. ‘What? Are you some errant miss to be punished for sneaking out of your dormitory after curfew?’

Kelly pursed her lips. He’s right. There was no reason why Nancy or Tom would bar her from looking at the rest of the house. In fact, they’d given her carte blanche to do so.

She took a deep breath and stared at John for a long minute before checking the floor plan once again. ‘Okay – the second last room on the left? No sweat. I’ll be back soon.’

With more courage than she really felt, Kelly stepped out into the hall and made her way down the short flight of stairs to the bureau. Just as John had said, one shelf yielded a bundle of fat, white candles and a box of extra-long matches. She lit a match and touched the flame to the wick of a candle, then stuck a second candle in her back pocket along with the box of matches. She’d seen too many gothic movies not to take insurance when venturing about in a strange, supposedly haunted, manor house. Despite what John said she knew he couldn’t protect her from any ghosts or ghouls that might accost her, especially if he remained locked inside a mirror!

Peering about, she felt quite ridiculous. All the cliché scenarios from her late night movie habit suddenly loomed as not quite so far fetched. A tingle of fear danced up her spine.

She expected, as she edged past the barrier into the closed-off wing, that she would have to fight cobwebs and keep her distance from doorways and paintings where hidden dangers might lurk. Instead, however, the overpowering smell of turpentine and fresh wallpapering glue made her feel nauseous as she moved down the long hall. The canvas drop sheets that covered the floor softened the sound of her footfalls as she crept along. Every few yards she would come across an empty room, freshly painted with a large brass number fitted to the centre of the half-opened door.

At the end of the hall the last three doors were closed and as she turned the handle on the left-hand, next-to-last door, a small spurt of fear raced up her spine. Fittingly, the door squeaked long and loud as she swung it wide. She lifted the candle higher and as the room slowly came into focus, she could have sworn she’d stepped back in time. Quickly, she lit the second candle and held it high, and the room was flooded with a pale, muted light.

The room, the furniture and decorations, all looked as if they had been lovingly restored and placed to resemble a museum display. There were even roses in the large oriental vase that sat upon the small writing desk by the window. The drapes, the gilt edged bedspread, even the tassels that held back the bed curtains appeared, in the candlelight, to be authentic.

‘Nancy must have spent a fortune in here,’ she said out loud.

‘Actually, these are mostly my mother’s belongings.’

‘Crap!’ Kelly yelped, almost jumping out of her skin. A bolt of heat surged through her.

John’s voice came from the direction of the dressing table across the room, where a large china pitcher and bowl sat beside a tray that held an ivory brush and comb set. Not without some trepidation did Kelly approach the table. There, within a gold and ivory hand mirror some four inches by six, the image of John Tarrant looked back at her, blocking her own reflection.

For a second she had a vague flashback of a television show from her childhood, where the host used a magic mirror, similar in size and shape, to ‘see’ all the children of her audience. Once the host even said her name.

‘How … ?’ she began, somehow unable to comprehend even though he had told her it was so.

‘As I have said previously, if I knew the how, I might have gained the means to break the spell that holds me. Alas, I do not. It is my fondest hope that you shall, God willing, find the answer to that very question.’

With a slightly shaky hand she reached over to pick up the mirror, a small sigh drifting past her lips when all she felt was the cool metal and ivory of the handle. It was very heavy. Perhaps it contained more than just a thick pane of glass and a layer of highly polished silver?

‘Thank you,’ he said once she had lifted the mirror upright. ‘I rarely use this; whilst the cherubs on the ceiling are well executed they hold little interest after so many years.’

Kelly’s gaze went skyward to see a row of baby-like angels, facing this way and that, scattered along the cornices, joined one to the other by a giant ribbon painted to resemble a length of rich blue satin.

‘My mother was a devout woman. She particularly favoured angels and such.’

The candle fluttered and for a moment Kelly’s breath caught. In the half-light of the flickering flame, she saw the naked vulnerability return to his eyes.

He must have loved her very much.

Again the flame fluttered, nearly extinguishing before it rose brighter than before. ‘There’s a draught in here,’ she murmured with a shiver.

‘Yes, from behind the fire grate. I suspect there are loose bricks in the chimney. I intended to have it seen to the week Elizabeth … ’ He was silent for several seconds before continuing, ‘Edward refused to fix it; Mother’s discomfort was another blow he could not resist … The room has barely been occupied at all since my mother’s death so it likely went unnoticed. I am certain your friends will have it repaired.’

‘Yes, I’m sure they will,’ Kelly replied. ‘So, I’ve seen the mirror, what happens now?’

‘I believe, if you bring the hand mirror from room to room, I should be able to direct the search in places where I cannot normally venture. For example, if you had scrutinised the plans closely, you would have seen that on the first landing of the servants’ stair, there is a small opening which leads to a hidden passage that gives access to all the rooms in the Master’s wing of the manor.’

‘A secret passage?’

‘Indeed.’

She let the mirror drop while she thought about the possibilities. Maybe that was how they did it! But … the rational side of her brain jumped in … if they were using the secret passage to orchestrate this hoax, why would he tell her about it? It didn’t make sense.

‘Kelly!’

‘Oh – sorry,’ she said as she lifted the mirror so he could again see her face.

‘If I might be so bold as to suggest we go to the servants’ stair, I will direct you to the door.’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘Nuh-uh. I came up here in the dark, despite my better judgement, but there is no way I’m going wandering through secret passages tonight. I’ll do that in the broad light of day.’

He grinned at her. ‘You are aware, of course, that it will be dark inside the passages regardless of the time of day.’

‘I don’t care. You’ve distracted me enough as it is.’ She spun the mirror till it faced the floor. To think she was beginning to truly believe his wild stories. I need my head read.

‘Time to get some sleep,’ she announced. But as she went to place the mirror back where she’d found it, she heard John’s plaintive cry.

‘No! Kelly, do not leave the mirror here.’

She flipped it around again. ‘What does it matter tonight? You can go back to the mirror in my room, can’t you?’

‘Certainly. Nonetheless, this mirror will be very useful for your searches. I can direct you in the passages, as well as other rooms in the master wing. You should keep this with you at all times.’

‘But that’d be stealing.’

‘Why ever do you believe that? This house, and everything in it, is my property.’

‘Was your property. It belongs to Tom and Nancy now.’

He appeared to sigh. ‘I expect you are correct. Nevertheless, this mirror will assist us. I am certain your friends will not take offence if you borrow it for the duration of our quest.’

Pursing her lips, she couldn’t deny it. She’d check with Nancy in the morning, although her reasons might be a little difficult to explain. She dearly wished she knew for certain whether her friends were involved in the hoax. Until she knew, she couldn’t dare share her suspicions, or tell them about her contact with John. In this she was alone, and would be until she found some kind of irrefutable proof that her phantom was an actor, or, though extremely unlikely, the real thing.

‘C’mon then,’ she said to the man in the mirror. ‘I really need to get some sleep. Maybe you should do the same.’

‘Alas, I cannot sleep. I fear I never will until I leave this dreaded place.’

Again, an unbidden spurt of compassion rose in her breast. She couldn’t imagine what a hundred and forty years of sleeplessness would be like – if, in fact, he told the truth.

She began the journey back to her room, feeling strangely comforted by his presence.

‘Tell me about the “dreaded place” where you exist. What is it like?’

‘Like? It is like nothing. I see outward and I feel my own person, but beyond that – nothing.’

She stopped walking. ‘How do you mean nothing? Is it hot or cold?’

‘I have discovered there is some difficulty in explaining nothingness. There is no sense of temperature other than the cold emptiness that exists within my heart. I can feel my own hand, but I cannot see it, or any other part of myself. All I can discern is what lies beyond the mirrors, which is like looking into a pond after the rain. Though I have a vague awareness of being, I do not know if I even resemble the man I was before becoming imprisoned.’

‘Well, that’s easy. I can see you. You are rather tall with dark hair to here.’ She gestured just below her ears. ‘You’re wearing black trousers and a flowing white shirt with lacy cuffs and you look very much like a pirate.’

She smiled at the mirror when he gave her a decidedly haughty stare.

‘I will have you know, Madam, that I have never, in all my days, engaged in any illegal activity!’ He paused for several slow beats, before his face fell and he whispered sadly, ‘That is if one does not include murder.’

Kelly didn’t get the opportunity to respond, an instant later the only face she saw in the hand mirror was her own. With a scowl at her own unexpected reflection she hopped over the low barrier that the painters had set in place.

As she turned the corner, a strange feeling of coldness came over her – a frisson of fear. She hurried along and all but ran the last few paces to her room. The candles snuffed out in the breeze that stirred when she swung her door wide.

Before she could even turn on the light, someone barged into her, knocking the breath from her lungs as she went sprawling back against the wall. The hand mirror crashed to the floor. Her own scream was almost drowned out by a wail of protest as the intruder pushed past her and out the door. It was a girl. Kelly stumbled after her to the stairs but stopped when the girl paused on the landing and turned to face her.

‘Deanna?’

‘Go back to America!’ Deanna snarled before bounding down the stairs and out of sight.

Stunned, Kelly turned back to her room and groped for the light switch. The hand mirror lay just inside her doorway; the cushioned backing had partly come away. With care she picked the mirror up and flipped it over, fearing the glass would be broken. She sighed with relief to see it still intact. Her own reflection greeted her – no sign of John. Again she turned it gently in the hope she could fix the backing, only to find a thin piece of parchment-like paper protruding from between the wadding and the frame. As carefully as she could, she slowly pried the yellowed paper out.

All thought of Deanna fled as she set the mirror aside and unfolded the sheet with a feeling of reverence. It looked old and the script appeared fancy as if written by a calligrapher. It was dated October 12, 1861.

Dear Mr. Ditchley,

Sir, I have been keeping watch as you instructed and I regret to inform you that I suspect there is a misdeed afoot within your cousin’s house. Lord Stanthorpe and your good wife remain within, however, the viscount has dismissed all the servants, myself also, and will not permit anyone to enter the house. I have, on a number of occasions, sought to espy within to discover what is happening there, but all the windows are covered and all the doors are locked. In the evenings, only one lamp burns, in the master bedroom.

I have hidden myself in the barn by the stables, and will remain to watch until you instruct otherwise.

Ever your servant,

William Plunket Esq.

Kelly sat on the floor and studied the letter, reading it over and over. Could it be real? Or just another part of an elaborate set-up? After all, John had lured her out of the room to his mother’s suite. He’d suggested she take the mirror back to her room. Had he placed Deanna there to wait for her return … bump into her, making certain to knock the mirror out of her hand and break? Ensuring the letter would protrude?

Apart from the bit with the letter, it would have been easy enough to orchestrate. Deanna could have slipped into her room once Kelly had left and simply awaited her return.

Picking up the mirror she again examined it. The glass still contained only her reflection. The back didn’t appear to hide anything other than cotton wadding but perhaps there was a transmitter of some sort … one that could project John’s image. She’d definitely have to get it looked at by a professional. The letter, too.

She went straight to the large mirror. ‘John? Can you hear me?’

Frustration rose within her as she waited for him to appear, but after several minutes she realised he would not. Perhaps it was for the best. Whatever she had planned to say wouldn’t have mattered anyway since he wasn’t really real. She wondered what it was that made her fall under his spell so easily, because again, back in the Dowager’s Suite she had come close to believing his outrageous tales.

But this proved it. It was definitely a hoax. She left the mirror face down on the writing desk and with a tired sigh, went to the bathroom and prepared for bed. Somehow she knew her phantom wouldn’t invade the privacy of her room tonight.

Of greater concern right now was what Deanna might have been doing in her room if not to deliberately crash into her and make her discover the note in the mirror? Kelly checked the bathroom and bedroom carefully. Nothing had been disturbed as far as she could tell. She spread her hand on the lid of the laptop but it was cool to the touch so Deanna mustn’t have been snooping there.

After discovering that there was no cash or cards missing from her purse, she could only surmise that the girl’s purpose had been as she’d first thought. A well-orchestrated stunt. Kelly smiled to herself. Deanna and her accomplices underestimated her.

Watching her sleep gave him pleasure. In many ways she reminded him of Elizabeth: she had a strength of spirit and a stubborn will yet her compassion was evident in every word and action, almost in spite of her disbelief. But she was coming around. He could tell by the look in her eyes when she didn’t guard herself too closely.

Though it was extreme folly to even think it, his mind played with the notion of courting her. Kelly. Not a name used for women of his own time, yet, the more he knew of her, the more it seemed to suit her personality. If they’d existed in the same world, he would have found it difficult to resist her charms – indeed, even as he watched her snore quietly with one hand curled beneath her delicate chin, he felt his body stirring in the age-old way.

Think of other things!

Clearly, whatever desire she sparked within him was just another of God’s punishments and he feared, with the trepidation of a man who had survived in utter loneliness for such a long time, that the attraction would render him destroyed before his eighteen days of hope passed.

When she had called his name before retiring, he suddenly understood the jeopardy. Unlike her predecessors, Kelly had the innate ability to make him feel, a circumstance from which he had been able to protect himself all these years. But the contrasts she presented him – strength versus vulnerability, compassion and disbelief – made it impossible to maintain the distance he had achieved with the others. Oh, yes, this would be his cousin’s ultimate victory.

Tired of his own melancholy, John decided to inspect the other rooms to be certain all remained as it should. He didn’t know why he even cared but as long as this netherworld continued to be his home, he felt compelled to watch over it and its occupants. He had been derelict with Elizabeth and he vowed he would never be so again.

Journal of Edward James Ditchley,

Stanthorpe House, Oxfordshire, England.

November 22, 1861

My Dearest One, I have won her over, though it galls me to marry again. No other woman could ever compare but our vengeance cannot be thwarted. At first she determined to resist my suit … but I made it impossible for her to refuse me.

Please don’t be disappointed my love, that I am forced into actions you would deplore. Be assured, my darling one, I only do as is necessary. Anne has already forgiven my indiscretion. It took little persuasion to convince her that I was but overcome by great passion and therefore could not withhold myself from her charms. She understands the consequences of her actions and has agreed that her only recourse is to consent to marriage.

Thus, my love, he is cuckolded as he cuckolded me! It gave me immense pleasure to see him thrash about his prison, impotent to prevent me stealing away his beloved’s virtue. I do not know which of them begged longest or loudest.

’Tis said vengeance is a sweet meat, and, my darling, I must concur.