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[Charlotte Kendall]

Christopher Kendall sat in his study, hunched over his papers, brow furrowed, his sweaty glasses sliding down his nose. A few steps behind him was his wife. She had a book in her hand, but it was closed. Charlotte was done reading for the evening. She had been watching her husband for a good while and found this a good time to move in.
"I’m tired," she announced.
"And well you might be," he replied, not looking up from his work.
"What ever do you mean?" she chirped, knowing full well what he was insinuating.
"Only that you have good reason to be tired," he said, obviously also tired, or too occupied for her games.
"Will you come to bed?"
"Yes, in a while.This must be ready in time for a meeting tomorrow morning."
She moved closer and put her book on his desk.
"Do it tomorrow. Come to bed."
"Not quite yet."

She moaned impatiently. Only now did he turn to look at her for a moment, his eyebrows raised. He had finally understood what it was that she really wanted, and it surprised him. It had not been long since the two of them had last snuck away for some very private time together. Perhaps three hours, perhaps four. He shook his head incredulously and turned back to his papers without saying anything. Charlotte stomped her foot like a small entitled child.
"Christopher!"
"I am right here, my love. I am busy. And very tired." His voice sounded so mild that it was impossible for her to stay annoyed at him. She wanted him.
"I’m hot," she panted into his ear. He sighed, but she could see him trying to hide a smile, and a small noise in his nose told her he had just let out a small laugh. Perhaps he was not too tired for games after all? Now she wrapped her arms around his neck and practically danced up against him, singing softly.
"My Christopher, my Christopher, he works and he worries – aaall daaay throoough," she sang.
"If you would..." he muttered, waving an arm. She paid this no heed.
"My Christopher, my Christopher, he will not come to me, ever busy, ever busy."
"Ever busy? It has been but a few hours since I was last with you," he mumbled. "Was it that insignificant – have you forgotten already?"
"Oh, I have not forgotten," she crooned, rubbing his shoulders now. "I have not forgotten."
"I need to finish this before morning. I will be in bed within the hour." He put a hand on one of hers, gently rubbing it. "Now, off you go."
"An hour!" she exclaimed dramatically. "An hour - that long I could never wait!"
"Charlotte..." he said impatiently.
"Christopher..." she mimicked him.
He sighed and continued working. She imitated his sigh and continued carressing him. "Double, double, toil and trouble," she whispered in his ear, kissing it gently.
"I must finish this," he repeated.
"He must finish, he must finish," she sang. She saw him close his eyes for a few seconds and draw his breath, but then he continued working, as if unaffected.

She needed him. More now than ever. He was making her beg, but there was no way she would give up now. If begging was what he wanted, begging was what he would get.
"Christopher..." she breathed intensely, sinking to her knees beside him. "Come to me!" she coaxed.

He faced her now, propping his elbows on his knees and pushing his glasses even further down his nose so that he could peer over them at her. She looked back up at him, hopeful.
"Is it really that bad?" he asked, his face serious, but something in his eyes still twinkling with amusement. It was bad. It really was.
"I want you," she complained. This made his crooked little smile appear, giving him an overbearing yet compassionate and loving expression.
"What ever am I to do with you?" he asked her, resigned. She crawled forward and began climbing his lap. He let her.

[Anna Sutcliffe]

Anna was in the library.

She was very nearly swallowed by an armchair in the upper gallery, silently reading a book of essays by Thomas de Quincey. She neither shifted position nor made a sound, noiselessly turning the pages. This was just Anna’s way; she was a very quiet person, having learned very early in life that it never paid to be noisy. Discretion, silence, and total submission were how she had survived her early years, and the ingrained habit carried over to her adulthood. Despite Charlotte’s enthusiastic support for it, she still felt odd—as if she were bad or mad, slightly wicked even—asserting herself or making excess noise. The most common phrase in her daily vocabulary was, “I’m sorry,” and it often was uttered after having cause some unnecessary noise, such as shutting a door too loudly or accidentally clanking the dishes at table. It was simply habit for her to be silent and sorry.

Tonight she was silent, but not particularly sorry. She was slouched low in the armchair, very ungracefully, with her feet curled up beside her, and she was indulging herself in considerations of murder. The subject of her thoughts had naturally followed from what she was reading: Thomas de Quincey’s essay On Murder, Considered As One Of The Fine Arts. She knew that it was a satire, of course; one could hardly miss that. She imagined from the perspective of a person who had never committed murder, nor seriously thought of it, who was entirely free of it by association as well, the essay was an amusing and well-received criticism on a great many social issues connected to murder. But she was not such a person, being very intimately acquainted with a murderer and further wholeheartedly approving of the person in question.

And thus, she was allowing herself to read it not simply as a satire and social commentary, but also as if the surface ideas presented had some value to them. Obviously, some things could not be taken seriously at all, such as the preposterous conclusion that a philosopher must be murdered, or at least the attempt made, in order to prove that his thoughts were of any substance. But the part she was currently considering might have more merit, she thought. The world in general, gentlemen, are very bloody-minded; and all they want in a murder is a copious effusion of blood; gaudy display in this point is enough for them. But the enlightened connoisseur is more refined in his taste; and from our art, as from all the other liberal arts when thoroughly cultivated, the result is—to improve and to humanize the heart…

There was no doubt in Anna’s mind that Charlotte’s murders had greatly improved and humanized the collective heart of society. That two such as Ormsby and Humperdink were missing from the world could only be seen as a great good thing; a connoisseur of murder as depicted by de Quincey would be more than satisfied on that point. Additionally, she thought wryly, the world in general ought to have been quite happy, for there had been quite copious effusions of blood involved, possibly even to the point of gaudy display. Anna read the next part of the essay. A philosophic friend, well known for his philanthropy and general benignity, suggests that the subject chosen ought also to have a family of young children wholly dependent on his exertions, by way of deepening the pathos.

Would de Quincey theorised connoisseur of murder have found a deep pathos in Ormsby’s execution? In Humperdink’s? Anna considered the subject, unbothered by its morbid nature. In the safety of the house, Christopher and Charlotte nearby, both of them knowing, comforting, protective people, the names and memories of Ormsby and Humperdink lost their vivid, immediate threat and became only bugbears and the stuff of nightmares. Ormsby had been a priest and a righteous man of God, of highest charitable character; or that was how he seemed to the world, anyway. He had been responsible for the religious health of hundreds of people, and had worked tirelessly for an entire orphanage. The children had relied on him for many things. Surely his murder would have a great deal of pathos, in de Quincey’s book. Humperdink, too; the selfless guardian of the young girl’s ward. Her gruesome death would inspire pathos in the heart of anybody.

Unless, of course, the body in question had known about the other lives those two had led. Anna wondered if a person who took de Quincey seriously, who failed to recognise the satire and believed in the surface message of the essay only, might not find their deaths lacking a certain character. She was distracted from her consideration of the matter when Charlotte’s voice came from below. Anna glanced over the arm of the large armchair. Charlotte was down at Christopher’s desk, talking to him. She was tired, and trying to get him to come to bed. Anna wondered if Charlotte was very tired why she didn’t sleep in her private room, since Christopher wouldn’t disturb her in there, but then realised it must be a ploy. She thought Christopher worked too hard and was attempting to get him to leave over and take an early night off.

Charlotte was being rather more persistent than she usually was about such things, though. Anna had heard her ask him to leave off his work before, but today she seemed much more determined to get him away from his work. Anna smiled, thinking it was cute, and was about to go back to her book when she heard Christopher comment, “I am right here, my love. I am busy. And very tired.” Well, if he was tired, why wasn’t he going to bed then? It must be something very important he was working on to make him keep saying that he wasn’t going to bed when he was so tired. Anna shrugged to herself. It was not her concern, seeing as how she was neither tired nor engaged in working. She turned back to her book, content to let her sister persuade Christopher that going to bed now would be better for his health, when she caught the soft words. “I’m hot.”

What has that got to do with him being tired… oh. Oh.

Realising that this was a private conversation of a very… private nature, as opposed to a private conversation about universal topics, Anna quickly stopped paying attention and looked for the nearest exit. It was halfway around the gallery, and she felt her heart sink. That left her with three options. She could stay here and be forced to listen as Christopher… as things unfolded, which would be both highly uncomfortable for her and invasive of her sister’s presumed privacy. She could try and sneak out, and she might make it all the way to the door without being seen if she went on hands and knees, but certainly they would catch the door up here opening and closing, seeing as it was in full view of the desk. Or she could stand and announce herself, which might be uncomfortable at the first, but seemed like in the long run would be the best option.

But once she had decided on it, she waffled on the best way to do it. Would Charlotte and Christopher be offended if she just stood up and walked out? Charlotte’s singsong voice rose from below, distracting her train of thought. What was Charlotte so happy about anyway? If that was going to happen, Anna would have thought that Charlotte would be a little more sober about it. Had she forgotten what Ormsby had done, what it was like?
Christopher’s voice was murmured but audible to Anna, given the utter lack of ambient noise. “Ever busy? It has been but a few hours since I was last with you.” Aaagh! Gross! Why did he have to say things like that in front of her! “Was it that insignificant – have you forgotten already?” And that was very unkind of him to try and remind Charlotte. These things were best forgotten, if one was able to do it.
“Oh, I have not forgotten,” Charlotte cooed to him. “I have not forgotten.” I bet not. Anna had no doubt that Charlotte was a dutiful wife and tried very hard to oblige Christopher while erasing the more sordid parts of marriage from her mind as fast as they occurred, but even Charlotte would be hard-pressed to recover so soon after such a personal invasion as that.

Christopher said he would come to bed within an hour and Anna put her book down and pressed her hands over her ears, wishing she’d never heard. Now she would have to know that… that… Oh, poor Charlotte. It must be so much worse for her, personally involved in it and with a time set for her dread.
Charlotte’s loud exclamation cut through the hands Anna had over her ears. “An hour!” Anna sunk deeper into her chair. Poor Charlotte. But there was nothing Anna could do; Charlotte had chosen to marry Christopher, know that this would be part of it. Anna couldn’t interfere.
“An hour - that long I could never wait!” Wait, what? She didn’t want to wait?
“Charlotte...”
This was an exceedingly odd situation. It almost sounded like Charlotte was the one pestering for… for that. Christopher had a very distinct tone of impatience in his voice, as if he did not want to be bothered at this moment. Weren’t men supposed to be… er, well… that just wasn’t the way it went. Mrs Humperdink had said not. Although Mrs Humperdink was wrong about nearly everything, Anna reminded herself. But Charlotte had never said anything on the subject because Anna had never dared to ask, and so Anna had no better knowledge to replace the old assumptions with.

But now Christopher was protesting that he needed to work. He wasn’t eagerly standing up to take advantage of his wife, he was insisting that he needed to finish with his business matters. Anna peered down at her only family in the world as Charlotte sang at Christopher again. They didn’t know she was up here, otherwise they would not have brought up such a subject; they were very good about avoiding uncomfortable topics around her. Thus there was no reason for them to be anything other than honest to one another, and Charlotte was never shy about it in any case, so it was reasonable to assume that this was a legitimate conversation, not some odd play-acting that Charlotte was putting on for Christopher’s benefit. All of which ended up implying that it really was Charlotte that was instigating this. It was her doing the pestering.

Why, though? Why would she do that?
Movement from below caught Anna’s attention and she looked just in time to see Charlotte kneel beside Christopher. Anna stared. Charlotte was kneeling beside Christopher… begging. That was the only thing that Anna could think it must be; she had seen Charlotte kneel to Christopher a couple times before, most recently when they had told him about their early lives, and each time she had begged him for something. “Christopher... Come to me!”
“Is it really that bad?” Anna, less panicky now that she was beginning to become accustomed to the idea that Charlotte was not simply passively allowing that to happen, but actively seeking it, realised that Christopher’s question meant that this had happened in some fashion before; if it had not, he would have had no basis of comparison. He could not have asked is it that bad. She goggled at Charlotte. How long had Charlotte been doing this sort of thing?
“I want you.” Why? It was a question that Anna had never dared to ask Charlotte. It was too personal; it betrayed that she didn’t understand why Charlotte had married Christopher. It was all very well to have Christopher for a friend, and Anna could understand why Charlotte let him hold her (even if he did it in a different manner than when he was holding Anna like a brother should). That was comforting. But you could have that without marrying someone, a very good friend would do that for you, and so what if he happened to be male (although in Anna’s case the said friend would never be male, she knew, as she didn’t trust them enough)? But marriage… it encompassed some rituals that Charlotte would have been aware of, and she had gone and done it anyway. Why?
“What ever am I to do with you?” Christopher asked as Charlotte climbed onto his lap. Anna wondered the same thing, only about the both of them.

She supposed that this would just have to be one of those things she didn’t understand but accepted, like kissing. She had seen Christopher kiss Charlotte, and vice versa, many times. The first time she had seen it she hadn’t been brave enough to stop him, but had maintained her silence and snuck away to cry. But the very next time it happened, Charlotte had been the one starting it, and Anna had watched, dumbfounded. Gradually the shock of it had worn off, and she had been able to identify certain markers about her sister’s face; she liked to kiss Christopher. That had made it all right, even if Anna didn’t understand, and over the years she had grown more accustomed to it—even enough, she thought, that seeing other people kiss, providing they both had similar expressions to what Charlotte and Christopher while kissing, did not bother her. Lord Wothersham and Nora were a good example of that…

Nora! Anna brightened. She could ask Nora! It wouldn’t be a case of her not trusting Charlotte, as it had been before when she had thought about asking Nora’s advice, so this time it would be acceptable. It was just because she didn’t want Charlotte to know what she thought. And besides, Nora would know. She did that for a living; she must be able to explain why Charlotte would want it. And she wouldn’t be shy talking about it, because it was normal for her. She would be the perfect person to ask! Oh, but Anna couldn’t stay hidden up here until then, of course. She stood up. “Um, excuse me?” Anna said hesitantly, not wanting to draw any irritation upon herself for interrupting but at the same time thinking that it was the only decent thing. “Should I go away?”

[Charlotte Kendall]

Their lips met in a kiss that was more intense from Charlotte’s side than Christopher’s. He lifted his hands gently to her face, while hers roamed his back up and down, restlessly, and one of them found its way under his waistcoat and then his shirt. Feeling the bare skin of his back against her hand only caused the fire that was already there to blaze up full force, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself against him with all her strength.

“Um, excuse me?" They were both immensely startled when the sound of Anna’s voice made them realize that there was someone else in the room. Christopher reflexively shoved Charlotte away from himself at the very same moment as Charlotte tried to stand up, resulting in a very unelegant display as she fell to the floor and landed firmly on her backside. "Should I go away?”

"Anna!" Charlotte breathed, scrambling to her feet with some difficulty. Christopher took her hand and helped her up, standing up from his chair also.
"We thought you were already in bed, darling," he said, sounding calmer than his wife.
"No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t."
"Ohh..." Charlotte straightened her messed up hair and rubbed her burning neck where she could feel that she was flushed. "Well, uh..." she said, trying to gather enough thoughts to actually say something useful. "Well..."

"Don’t be sorry," Christopher said, because he knew that was what his wife would have said in this situation if she could find her tongue. "We are sorry to have made you uncomfortable."
"Yes!" Charlotte pointed stupidly at her husband as if to say what he said.
"Oh, it's all right," Anna said understandingly. "I wasn't very uncomfortable. Except you know, because you might want some privacy. I'm sorry for interrupting."
"No, no, we shouldn’t have... Er..." Charlotte began, now straightening her dress out and looking at Christopher for assistance. To her great surprise she could see a blush on his face as well. Calm, collected Christopher, blushing!

"Er..." she said again. "I’m... We sh – it won’t happen again. I promise." She took a few breaths and then gave a little laugh. She was calmer now, while Christopher looked mortified.
"Yes, it will never happen again, Anna. We didn’t know you were here."
"Right... Right." Charlotte smiled at her little sister. "So, er... Is there something you would like to talk about, maybe? Should I... I’ll come with you, I’ll..." She cast a look at Christopher, who nodded. "I’ll come upstairs with you."

[Anna Sutcliffe]

As soon as Anna spoke there was a very undignified scuffle on the lower level of the library. Christopher shoved Charlotte away from him, and she fell straight off his lap onto the floor. Anna gave a reflexive wince; it was never very comfortable to land on your bum on a hard floor. At the same time, however, it was very hard not to laugh at how guilty they both looked. Charlotte exclaimed, “Anna!” as she tried to pick herself off the floor. Christopher leaned down to help her, probably sorry that he had pushed her in the first place. Anna wondered why they were so very guilty, when it was her that had interrupted them. Did they think it was a guilty thing to be doing in the first place? If so, why would they do it at all? Christopher called up to her, “We thought you were already in bed, darling.”

Well, he looked less flustered than Charlotte. In fact, except for initially pushing his wife off him, he didn’t look that embarrassed at all. Only Charlotte looked very guilty. Feeling bad for having made her sister feel so awkward, Anna said, “No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t.”
This only served to make her sister even more flustered; Charlotte looked very embarrassed indeed, and Anna was very careful not to smile. She did feel bad, but still, it was funny in a way.
Charlotte tried to stammer something, but it wasn’t anything Anna could make out, and Christopher took over for her. “Don’t be sorry. We are sorry to have made you uncomfortable.”
“Yes!” Charlotte agreed with him, as if he had just said something inspiring.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Anna tried to reassure them. “I wasn’t very uncomfortable. Except you know, because you might want some privacy. I’m sorry for interrupting.” It was true, too. Once she had realised that the situation had not risen of Christopher’s instigation, but rather at Charlotte’s, she had not felt uncomfortable, except for the feeling of intruding on their privacy.
Charlotte, however, seemed too upset with herself to pick up on this. She stuttered, “No, no, we shouldn’t have... Er… Er… I’m... We sh – it won’t happen again. I promise.”
Anna smiled gently, trying to tell her sister that it was all right, but immediately confirmed what his wife said, “Yes, it will never happen again, Anna. We didn’t know you were here.”
Charlotte hastily confirmed this, in turn. “Right... Right.”

They were being too embarrassed, Anna thought, and also slightly patronising because of it. Of course it would happen again, she knew that! They didn’t have to pretend for her sake. So when Charlotte smiled and said, “So, er... Is there something you would like to talk about, maybe? Should I... I’ll come with you, I’ll...” Anna was just a little bit put out. “I’ll come upstairs with you,” Charlotte finished.
Peeved but at the same time understanding that this was all her fault in the first place for being in the library at an inconvenient time, Anna said airily, “All right, if you want. You don’t have to.” Then she thought she might clear up their mistake regarding her understanding of this sort of thing. “But I’m sure it will happen again. Not in front of me or anything. But it will. I’m not stupid, you know.”
Charlotte laughed. “I know. We meant it wouldn’t happen again like this.”

Oh. Anna immediately felt contrite for having ever been peeved at all. How horrible of her to assume they were being patronising when they were just trying to make her more comfortable. She felt like saying sorry, but Charlotte had said so many times that she didn’t need to, and she never accepted Anna’s apologies anyway. She always said they were unnecessary. Now embarrassed herself, Anna watched Charlotte come up the stairs, and glanced over at Christopher, who was standing around a bit uselessly. When Charlotte was at the top of the stairs, Anna bent down to scoop her book up from the armchair. Her sister came over and put a hand on Anna’s back, leading her towards the door. She said quietly, “Did we frighten you?”

Anna noticed that she said it softly, so that Christopher wouldn’t overhear. Did she not want Christopher to think that… that… he was frightening in any way? “No,” Anna replied just as softly, cradling On Murder, Considered As One Of The Fine Arts to her chest with both arms. She hadn’t been frightened, exactly. Just very uncomfortable and sorry that she could not do anything for Charlotte, and then confused but accepting when it turned out that Charlotte was the one who was responsible for the situation. “I don’t think so, anyway. Should I have been?”
Charlotte assured her at once, “No, no, of course not. I’m glad if you weren’t.” They were at the library door now, and Anna turned to wave to Christopher, who smiled and waved back. Charlotte continued in the corridor, “But I know you have not always been comfortable when it comes to... this issue.”

“Oh, to be sure,” Anna said. “But… but, I don’t think Christopher would hurt you. Um. You know. Er. I-I can’t say it very well, but, but, but…” Anna could feel herself start to quiver. It was never easy to talk about this subject. “But. Um. He would be… less. You know. Um. Less v-violent. H-he w-w-w-would…” Anna took a deep breath to calm herself down. “Try to be c-careful.” Unable to say anything more about such things, even to Charlotte, Anna suddenly held out the book she was carrying to Charlotte with both hands. “This is a very good book, you know!”

[Charlotte Kendall]

“All right, if you want." Anna sounded indifferent. "You don’t have to.” Then she continued, “But I’m sure it will happen again. Not in front of me or anything. But it will. I’m not stupid, you know.” Charlotte smiled, and could not hold back a small laugh. Of course she did not think her sister dumb enough not to realise that a wife and husband will do they things they do. She liked the fact that Anna told her off for it if she thought that was Charlotte's opinion of her, though. "I'm not stupid, you know." It was liberating and frankly a little bit relieving to know that her sister could say that.
“I know. We meant it wouldn’t happen again like this.” They had been careless – or rather she had been. It would not happen again like this. Granted, it was good for Anna to see some things, and to learn that it was natural and okay, but they had gone a bit too far, especially seeing as Anna had already had to deal with a lot of drama lately.

Charlotte had started up the stairs, leaving Christopher behind her in the library. “Did we frighten you?” she asked her sister softly as she reached her and put a hand gently on her back.
“No. I don’t think so, anyway. Should I have been?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m glad if you weren’t.” They were on their way out of the library, Anna with a book in her arms and Charlotte with Anna in hers. Her sister turned before they left, waving to Christoper. Charlotte saw her husband wave back with a smile on his face that was hard to interpret. The poor man was probably as embarrassed as he had ever been. “But I know you have not always been comfortable when it comes to... this issue.”
“Oh, to be sure. But… but, I don’t think Christopher would hurt you." Charlotte shook her head in agreement. "Um. You know. Er. I-I can’t say it very well, but, but, but…”

Charlotte noticed that her sister was trembling slightly. This was hard for her to talk about, but it was important that she did it, so Charlotte waited patiently for the words to come. “But. Um. He would be… less. You know. Um. Less v-violent. H-he w-w-w-would…” She paused to breathe. “Try to be c-careful.” Charlotte drew a breath as if to speak, but before she could say anything, she had a book in her face. “This is a very good book, you know!” Anna erupted. Charlotte took it out of Anna's grasp and lowered it without looking at it.
"Do you remember, Anna, what we talked about at the ball, when that couple was dancing?" She did not wait for an answer, but helped her sister out at once. "That men and women like to be touched in that manner sometimes? It is not just the men who like it. I have told you this before too, remember?" Anna looked a bit unfocused for a second, and Charlotte leaned down to look her straight into the eyes. "You listen to me, not to those old lies she served you." She might have sounded strict, but was careful not to seem angry. "Listen to me." They had reached Anna's bedroom by now, and Charlotte opened the door and continued in without asking for permission.

"You are right that Christopher would never hurt me. He is never violent, not at all. He does what he does only to be good to me, and only when I want him to. That is how it works between us, and that is how it would work if you find a husband for yourself, little Anna of mine." It stung in Charlotte's heart to think of Anna married. Not because she would be jealous – although she would probably be that, too - but because if Anna married, Charlotte would no longer be able to be there for her all the time; to take care of her, to be close to her. She would worry her wits away! She kissed her sister's head, sat down on the bed and patted the sheets beside her. Anna sat, and Charlotte wrapped an arm around her. But if she were happy... If Anna was happy. Nothing would be better.

"Of course Christopher is careful," she continued, her voice more gentle now than before. "Let me tell you a secret." Charlotte was unsure of whether it would be right of her to tell Anna this. She was supposed to be the strong one, always. Hearing about her being afraid and crying; would that make her feel less safe with her? But the story gave a picture of Christopher that was what had made Charlotte trust him fully and wholly in the first place. "We did nothing on our wedding night. I was frightened. I even cried a little, and Christopher noticed. And he said he would not have his bride cry on her wedding night. So nothing happened. I was the one who came to his bed the first time. And he never hurt me, he never made me cry that way. He's always careful."

This was intimate to talk about even for Charlotte. And for Anna it was definitely on the verge of being too much now. So Charlotte lifted the book that she was still holding in her hand and looked at the title. On Murder, Considered As One Of The Fine Arts. Right. What befitting reading. Not only was Anna the sister of a murderess, but she also had an impressionable mind, and there were murders going on in the city. Charlotte raised her eyebrows at her sister. "Really? This one?" It was a window of opportunity for Anna to get out of the rest of the conversation, and they would only continue if she felt up to it.

[Anna Sutcliffe]

Charlotte was not distracted by De Quincey at all, as Anna had rather feared might happen. Instead her sister very gently took the book and just held it, going back to the previous uncomfortable topic. “Do you remember, Anna, what we talked about at the ball, when that couple was dancing?”

Charlotte reminded her anyway, but of course Anna remembered. She tried to remember everything Charlotte said, storing up the words like precious gems in the vault of her heart. In this instance, however, it would be hard to forget what Charlotte had said, given that it had been about that horrible man at the ball, torturing that poor innocent girl. Except he wasn’t torturing her, that was what Charlotte had said. “You know men and women alike want to be touched in that manner sometimes. You know I let Christopher touch me that way, don’t you? And he lets me do the same to him, and we do it to be good to each other, because we like it, and because we like each other.”

Did that mean that the poor girl had not been innocent? Anna shuddered to think that there could be someone who would be like that, who would want to be… to do… who would do that with someone that wasn’t like Christopher. That man had looked very unlike Christopher. It must surely be very degraded and evil to do things like that with un-Christopher-like men. Anna could not fathom how such a person could exist, how anyone could possibly bear to be with someone they weren’t married to. Then she thought of Nora, and she felt tears behind her eyes. Nora had to do that all the time, that was how she made her way in the world. Poor Nora! How awful it must be for her… and how horrible a person Anna was for thinking the thoughts she had been about evil and degraded women. Nora was not either of those things, and Anna amended her previous opinion to include the qualification if you didn’t have to.

Charlotte seemed to notice that Anna’s thoughts were tracking away from the subject at hand and leaned to stare right at her, where Anna could not possibly avoid her gaze. “You listen to me, not to those old lies she served you. Listen to me.”
Anna wanted to tell her sister that she wasn’t exactly thinking of what Humperdink had said, but… it wasn’t in fact true. It had been Humperdink that said that it was only the men that enjoyed such things, and that was the origin of Anna’s entire philosophy of sex. Did Charlotte know how hard it was for Anna to try and disbelieve something that she had been taught since she was old enough to think?
Of course she did, Anna reminded herself sternly. Charlotte had been through a very similar experience. Charlotte was the only one that really understood her. They went into Anna’s bedroom, and Anna tried to make herself believe that it was possible for a woman to enjoy being touched by a man that was not like Christopher. But… did Charlotte really know anything about that? Had she ever been touched by anyone other than Ormsby and Christopher? Again, Anna decided that she would have to ask Nora for her advice on that. Hopefully Nora would not mine telling Anna about it… it was a very personal question and subject. But then, Anna and Charlotte and Nora already knew more personal things about each other than anyone else in the world than Christopher. Maybe she would be willing.
Charlotte said, “You are right that Christopher would never hurt me. He is never violent, not at all. He does what he does only to be good to me, and only when I want him to. That is how it works between us, and that is how it would work if you find a husband for yourself, little Anna of mine.”
Yes, that was how Christopher was. But he was a special case. He was different. Charlotte sat down and patted the bed beside her, and Anna sat, using the motion to prevent herself from thinking about ever getting a husband herself. What an awful notion! The feel of her sister’s arm going around her shoulders chased away the momentary nightmare, however, and Anna leaned against Charlotte as her sister said gently, “Of course Christopher is careful. Let me tell you a secret.”
A secret? Charlotte was going to tell Anna a secret, was going to trust her with it? Anna stopped leaning against Charlotte, trying to appear like she deserved to be told. A secret! She couldn’t appear to be small or a little sneak or anything like that if Charlotte was going to trust her with a secret. Anna determined at once to never tell anyone to her dying day, not even Nora.
Charlotte said, “We did nothing on our wedding night. I was frightened. I even cried a little, and Christopher noticed. And he said he would not have his bride cry on her wedding night. So nothing happened. I was the one who came to his bed the first time. And he never hurt me, he never made me cry that way. He’s always careful.”

Anna was dumbfounded at the absolute goodness that Charlotte had just revealed about Christopher. He had… not… when it was his right as a husband? He had—they had—when they were married—and it was—wow. How good Christopher was. But… why was that a secret? Anna did not understand for a moment why Charlotte would have wanted to keep such a saintly quality of Christopher’s hidden from her, until she realised that Charlotte had confessed to crying a little. She sent her sister a warm smile. Like she would have blamed her for crying when she thought that was about to happen! But it hadn’t. Because Christopher was a good enough man to not. Wow, again. Just wow.

Charlotte spoke into Anna’s amazement, breaking her thoughts. “Really? This one?”
Really this one what? Oh, the book. What about the book? Oh, it was a good book, right. Anna said vaguely, “Oh yes, it’s lovely. I think that a Connoisseur of Murder such as he hypothesizes to exist would have very much liked Mr Mallister’s murder.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully as she absently remarked, “I think that he would also have liked Ormsby’s and Humperdink’s deaths, at least if he didn’t know the truth about them. It’s a very artistic sort of reckoning of murder.” She was not really thinking about the book at all, merely saying what she had been thinking of it before. She was actually occupied with a wholly different subject, a subject that Charlotte’s previous words had brought to mind.

That was how it would work if she found a husband for herself. But was it really? The idea of finding someone as good as Christopher, someone who would not make her… would not force her… would not take his right, his God-given right as a husband, until she wanted him to… was that even possible? Were there two people that good in the world? Or more specifically two men, since Charlotte was obviously better than Christopher? Even if there were, would she really want a husband at all? Why subject herself to that sort of thing if she didn’t have to? Christopher would support her forever, she would never have to do anything like that ever. Except… Charlotte. She said it was nice. With a man like Christopher anyway. Would it be all right for Anna… would she herself be fine with the right man? Anything was possible, wasn’t it? Except, that didn’t seem very possible at all. The very thought of something going up there… it was awful.

Charlotte said, “That sounds… interesting?”
Anna nodded, but it was mostly in agreement with her own thoughts and not what Charlotte said. She twisted her hands together. This was an uncomfortable subject, an uncomfortable thing to be thinking about. Maybe she should just give up. But then, she might have to think about it again some other time. It would be better to put her mind at rest now. She said hesitantly, “Um… Charlotte?”
“Mhm?”
“Do you think that I would ever get a husband?” That wasn’t quite what she meant. She meant would she ever find one, would she ever like a man like that. Would she ever trust him.
Charlotte said, “Of course. When you are ready for it. He will show up if you want him to.”
But that was so confusing. There would be another man like Christopher if Anna wanted there to be? She wanted all men to be like Christopher and yet they most definitely were not. But Charlotte was always right. It must just be because Anna didn’t really want a husband that she’d never met another man like Christopher. There was silence for a moment while she thought about it.

Then another question that Anna had often wondered came to mind and she decided that, if they were discussing uncomfortable subjects anyway, she might as well add that one in. How, precisely, did that work? Humperdink had put in carrots and courgettes and candles and the handles of whips and all sorts of things, but… how did it work? Certainly Christopher didn’t do that to Charlotte, since she vehemently asserted that it was evil for Humperdink to have done it to Anna, plus, how on earth would that make babies? Humperdink had mentioned that men had a part that was stiff and long like that, that women didn’t have, and that it would hurt—she said she had been “speared” many times when she was little, too—but where was it? Anna had only ever seen pictures of one part that it could be, but she knew for a fact from having been shown it by little boys in the orphanage, that it was a floppy part.

Even more hesitantly, Anna asked, “Um… Charlotte? H-how… how does it happen? I-I mean… w-what d-d-does a h-husband d-do?”

[Charlotte Kendall]

“Oh yes, it’s lovely. I think that a Connoisseur of Murder such as he hypothesizes to exist would have very much liked Mr Mallister’s murder.” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. A Connoisseur of Murder? Would have liked Mallister's murder? What exactly was her little sister reading? “I think that he would also have liked Ormsby’s and Humperdink’s deaths, at least if he didn’t know the truth about them. It’s a very artistic sort of reckoning of murder.” Lovely, indeed. What a word to use! She had been influenced by Christopher, no doubt. It was his favourite word in the world, evidently.
“That sounds… interesting?” Charlotte attempted to be ambient. In reality it sounded morbid and slightly disturbing, and she was surprised that her sister was so enthusiastic about it. Of course, if Anna was really very interested in subjects such as this, then it was ultimately Charlotte's fault for introducing them in her life, but she would have liked to protect Anna's mind from more than she was able to. She could not forbid the girl to read what she wanted. But she was so fragile! Perhaps it had been a mistake to even tell her what had happened to their two childhood "guardians."

Now her sister was twisting her hands together in a nervous fashion and seemed to have something she wanted to ask.
“Um… Charlotte?”
“Mhm?”
“Do you think that I would ever get a husband?” Charlotte's heart went soft and tender – or rather even more than it usually was when things concerned Anna.
“Of course," she assured the girl. "When you are ready for it. He will show up if you want him to.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all she could think of right then. She wanted to reassure Anna, but was uncertain how to do it when it came to this. Would Anna ever be ready for a husband? If she was, would anyone measure up to the part? The question Anna had posed was not at all one that warranted an "of course" sort of answer. There was nothing "of course" about it. And if – against all odds – there turned out to be someone fit for the role of Anna's husband, it was not likely that he would pop into their lives simply because Anna wanted it to happen. That was wishful thinking of the sort belonging to fairy-tales and childhood dreams. Besides, she did not want her sister to feel the painful notion that she simply did not want something enough, that Charlotte had felt so many times as a young girl. It had been the wrong thing to say, so completely inane, but she found no way to correct herself, not just now anyway. She wanted to believe it.

Or did she really? Could anyone take care of Anna the way Charlotte could? What would that make Charlotte? Would she be dispensible – even useless? Her life would practically lose its meaning! But she was selfish to think that way. Anna deserved to have someone love her above all else, someone besides Charlotte. She deserved to have everything life had to offer, including a loving husband.

“Um… Charlotte?" Anna repeated, sounding even more hesitant than before. "H-how… how does it happen? I-I mean… w-what d-d-does a h-husband d-do?” Oh, dear. That was some question! Charlotte looked at her sister. How much was she ready for? She must really wonder, to be brave enough to ask the question. Normally she did not like to talk about such things at all. Or even think about them. Now she wanted details. And of course, whatever Anna wanted, Anna would have. There was no question, really, of whether or not Charlotte would answer her. The question was rather: How would she answer? How to explain this? How descriptive, how graphic? She could not go for the extremely censored and softly disguised version that you would give a child. Anna was not a child anymore, though she could seem like one at times. She was a grown woman, and soon enough (hopefully not very soon, however) these things would be something that she would have to learn. It was crucial that Anna had other images about it than the ones instilled in her by a mad woman in her childhood. Her previous experiences and instructions were horrible and terrifying. Charlotte had tried so often to refute them, but Anna was still afraid. She would panic on her wedding night if she had not already learned what would really happen.

So Charlotte, with her hand firmly placed on Anna's back, rubbing it up and down, took a deep breath and searched for the right way to phrase herself.
"Well, first of all," she began "I think it is very important for you to remember that this is only one out of many things that a husband does," she reminded Anna. "It is not all a marriage is." Then she chewed her lip contemplatively for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "You... You have seen pictures and statues, I suppose. You know what a man looks like?" Anna nodded. Charlotte did too. "Well... It's called a penis," she explalined. "What a man has got. And... And when a man – or a woman - ...when they become aroused... Some things happen to their bodies to ready them for..." She paused now and then to make sure she would not say anything that would frighten Anna or otherwise be a misguided handling of the situation. "Well, the act.," she chose to call it. "It can happen to them because of something they see or hear or read. Or think. Very often it happens when they are around a certain person. A person that they find... well, appealing and attractive. You know? Like I do with Christopher? And then something happens. With women it is not visible for the most part, except some can blush a bit." She smiled. "They just feel ready... You know, down in their... They become... well... " This was hard to explain without sounding horribly indecent. "...moist. Wet, really. And sort of... open." She looked at Anna, searching her expression. Was she disgusted? Was she even ready to hear the rest of this? Her sister was rocking back and forth a little. Charlotte followed her movements as she did. "And it feels good, really," she hurried on to assure her. "It is most definately a pleasant feeling. Prickly and warm and... As Christopher would call it: Lovely"

She had continued all the while to rub Anna's back comfortingly. Now she gave a small laugh at the thought of her husband, and her free hand moved to Anna's face to brush away a strand of hair and gently stroke her cheek.
"You all right?" she murmured softly.
"Hee... I'm fine... I'm okay..." Anna giggled nervously.
"Sweet little Anna of mine. Don't be scared." Charlotte leaned in and kissed her sister's forehead. Then she readied herself for the next, and perhaps even more difficult part. "The man, on the other hand, has a more visible sign of his... His lust. His – well, what what they call penis – it sort of... swells and hardens. And rises. So that he is ready as well." She smiled again at her sister, as if they were sharing an amusing secret. Anna looked increasingly anxious now, although she did look as though she was trying to smile back. Her rocking became more agitated. Charlotte decided to quickly bring up a more pleasant aspect of the topic. "And then... They usually go and lie down in a bed together. And embrace each other and caress each other gently and are good and kind to each other. That is how it is supposed to be between a husband and a wife. That is how it is with me and Christopher." She did not know it, but her face had assumed a rather distant, dreamy expression as she said this. The hand on Anna's back paused for a moment, before she caught herself and remembered what she had been about to say.

"I know she told you it hurts," she said bitterly. "I know that she said she was preparing you for the awful pains you would suffer in the future, at the hands of evil men. I have told you before that they were lies. I would never let a man hurt you like that. You trust me, do you not? You know I would not lie to you or want to ever inflict pain on you. Not all men are evil, as you now know well, do you not? You have met good men. Mr Wallace? Mr Pryer? Christopher. Christopher's brother. His brother-in-law, too, yes? And several more. If someone ever tried to be evil towards you, you would tell me? Right?" Anna hesitated. She sat completely still for a moment and her face shifted to one of doubt and trepidation. Charlotte thought about what Anna had only halfway mentioned before she had stopped herself. Something about Mr Raymond – the blasted fool – and a situation in a hallway. If the fat bastard had even tried something with Anna, Charlotte would make him regret it more than anything, and she would never let him forget. Anna resumed her movement; her shoulders swaying lightly from side to side. Charlotte felt grieved and furious at the same time, as she often did whenever there was something bothering her sister. Did she really doubt her, or was it that last question that had made her apprehensive? She had thought – at least she had very much hoped – that Anna really did trust her, even with things that were problematic to deal with. This reaction was troublesome.

But she would have to come back to that later. This conversation was not about that, and she needed to finish what she had started. These kind of subjects were difficult both to initiate and to proceed with, and other occasions would be lacking.
"There is no pain when you are ready and willing. In fact it is just the opposite. It feels very good and even wonderful. When the person is someone you love, you also feel even more closely bound to them than you were already. It brings you together in a very intimate and deep way that I can not explain." Now she let her arm glide from Anna's back to the arm on her opposite side and pulled her closer. "If – or rather when, for you are such a lovely girl – you get a husband, he will be good to you. I promise you that I will be there to make sure he is. He will be someone you love and trust and who loves you, as much as – if in another way – Christopher and I love you." She continued rocking back and forth with Anna for a little while before turning to kiss her sister's head that was now resting on her shoulder. "And if I ever suspected that any suitor of yours did not love you or was not good enough for you, then I would make sure he damn well kept far away from you," she promised, letting out a small laugh. Then, once more serious, she gave her sister a good squeeze, telling her "I know it is hard for you to talk about these things. You have been so brave. I want you to remember. Remember what I told you, and that it can be fantastic. A great earth-shattering experience; something you will want to do again. Something wonderful. "

Now she shifted on the bed to look at Anna, put her hand on her chin and gently tipped her face upwards so that she would meet Charlotte's eyes.
"Do you understand the things I have tried to explain? Did I go too far? Was it what you wanted to know? Was there anything else you wondered about?"