Lady Emily's Guardian

Lady Emily’s Letters

22 January, 18—

My dearest sir,

As I have written the other letter, the one ‘Mother’ has approved and allowed me to send off to you, I will sit down and write this one, though I know it will be a very long time before it will be in your hands. Still, I must write, for both being able to write out my thoughts, and being able to talk with you, have always helped me to ease my mind.

I miss the children dreadfully. My breasts ached painfully for the first fortnight of my captivity, but since they have received no attention, they have ceased in their swelling and leaking. It pains me to think that my dear son, my sweet little Peter, will never drink of me again. I fear that Lydia’s plans (for now I will address her by her Christian name, as I feel that no loving ‘Mother’ of mine would drag a true mother from her children so cruelly) will keep me from my dear family for quite a long time.

I will explain all, while it is fresh in my mind, in hopes that you will someday have the full explanation for how everything has happened. As I’m sure you will recall, my dear sir, we parted outside of the Santos’s fiesta in Barcelona. My head was swimming with exhaustion and drink, and I thought of nothing but resting in our bed until you returned home to me. Our driver left me at the front door, and I bade him to go back and wait on you. The servants being out at their own fiestas, I was alone in the chateau. Or so I thought.

I went up to the bedchamber, with only a single candle to light the unfamiliar way. When I entered the room, I saw another candle already burning. Alarmed, I turned and saw (who else?) Mrs. Morrison sitting at the small desk in the corner of the large bedchamber. She wore a festive New Year’s gown, and looked as though she had been attending a party herself. She stood slowly to greet me, and though I was more than a little startled by her unexpected presence, I suspected nothing devious afoot.

“Why, my dear ‘Mother,’” I declared, smiling and going to the desk to greet her. “This is most unexpected. How…?”

Lydia gave me a strange smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, my pet,” she said. “I’ve been waiting such a long time for you. It’s time for us to go now.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Go? What do you mean, dear?”

“I’ve come to claim you, Lady Emily,” Lydia said calmly, though her words sent chills through me. “You’re going to belong to me now. It’s how it should be.”

“Mrs. Morrison!” I declared, uncertain of what to do. I backed away from her, but she stepped from behind the desk and advanced toward me.

“You will come with me, my pet,” she said. “I would hate to have to do anything…regrettable.”

I stopped and stared at her. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice trembling, but sir, I believe that even at that moment, I knew the truth.

Lydia explained her plans of blackmail, and I was dumbstruck by her treachery. “But…how did you learn of this?” I asked.

Lydia gave me a briefly pouty look. “It hurts me that you would not divulge this information to me, my pet,” she said in a hurt tone. “Do you not trust your dear ‘Mother’?”

“Yet you would use this information against me,” I snapped back. “It is hateful.”

“What is truly hateful,” Lydia retorted, “Is the treatment that your poor friend, Mrs. Gainsley, has received at the hands of your husband. To be used for his sexual gratification, and to be lied to about her own husband’s death. And you do not deny your part in this.”

“How did you learn of this?” I asked again, my voice trembling now.  I nearly dropped the candle, and to overcompensate, I held it tightly in my grasp, some wax dribbling down onto my hand.

“Why, Mrs. Gainsley herself informed me,” Lydia replied, looking a bit pleased with herself. I found this to be quite a shock, as I was not aware that Mrs. Gainsley knew. Did you, sir? Anyway, Lydia told me that one afternoon, during her visit at Wainwright Hall, she had been walking alone in the garden. I believe that I had been writing in my diary that afternoon…if I had been more attentive to our guest, sir, do you think that this would not have occurred? But I ease my guilt with this thought: she would have found some way to perform her terrible deeds, and I had merely offered her one additional opportunity to do so.

Anyway, on her walk in the garden, she came upon Mrs. Gainsley, who was sitting alone in sullen reflection. Lydia sat with our friend, and eventually, the two ladies made their way to the parlor for a couple of rounds of drinks. According to Lydia, drunkenness made our normally quiet friend quite talkative, as she divulged all of this to Lydia’s eager ears. Lydia confessed to me that, even then, she was planning some way to have me for herself. This had been a cause of contention between her and her late husband (whom she confesses to murdering, by the by…do not think to use this information against her in some way, as she has threatened suicide, and to still sully our names in the process).

Lydia not only threatened to expose Miss Howard’s crime and our involvement, but as I wrote in the other letter, she also revealed that a coconspirator was prepared to do harm to our home. When I demanded to know the identity of the villain, she laughed at me. “That information is mine alone, my little pet. But if you are a good girl, it will not matter. I will feel no need to call upon this friend if you’ll only do as I say.”

I swallowed hard at that moment, sir. Oh, I was so afraid! I knew what was a stake, and I imagined the consequences of my disobedience to ‘Mother.’ Miss Howard, hanged. You and I, separated and imprisoned, perhaps executed as “accessories to the murder.” Our children, orphaned and stripped of the Wainwright title, poor and destitute. I could not allow any of that to happen. So I asked my blackmailer, “What do you want of me, Mrs. Morrison?”

She asked me to go away with her. “I am a single woman, and I am not so old yet,” she said joyfully. “I have quite a lot of money. I convinced Mr. Morrison to cash out our accounts, so I have more than enough cash to allow us to live the comfortable lives that we so deserve.”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked in dread.

“I crave adventure,” Lydia exclaimed. “I wish to go somewhere and begin all over again…with my little pet right by my side. My darling, we are going to America.”

I had no choice. I hastily fled with her into the night, and in our party gowns, we blended in quite nicely with the other partygoers, and we passed unnoticed through the crowded streets. How I longed to reach out and ask for help! But if I did so, Lydia would certainly find some way of contacting her coconspirator…and that would be the end of us, my dear sir.

She led me to a carriage parked two streets over from our rented chateau. She ushered me in, and instructed the driver back to her lodging place. She was renting a small house, smaller than our rented chateau, and she led me to the larger of the two bedrooms. She ordered me naked, and I stripped down for her, shedding my red undergarments as well. She stood before me, still clothed, and ran a hand gently down my bare side before grasping my hip.

“You belong to me now,” she said again, looking into my eyes. “My dearest, sweetest pet…for years I have craved your cunt. I will have you now, any way I please. And I know that you want this.”

Oh, sir, I confess to you that a very tiny part of me has always wanted this attention from Mrs. Morrison. I do not begrudge you for keeping my cunt all to yourself…indeed, you are my husband, and I have been glad to follow your every order and fulfill your every desire, as you have made me so happy. I tried to defend myself against Lydia that night. I first told her that I would always belong to you, my dear husband, but she first laughed at this, then slapped me.

“Understand this, little pet,” she snapped as I held my cheek, reeling in shock from the violation. “I have given up much to have you as my own. I do not want to hear mention of your husband again.”

I know that she does not always play nicely, as you have witnessed yourself, but her cruelty over the next couple of days would have shocked you. She kept me tied down to her bed (which we have done as well, of course, but this was quite different), and delighted in the anguish that I was in from not being permitted to use the bathroom. In addition to this, she tormented my clit and cunt, of course. I wish to forget these events, but I also know that, though it will pain you, you will want to know these things for yourself. It is better for us to be honest with one another, is it not?

She lapped at me, like a mother cat cleaning her kitten, and I, gagged and exhausted in every sense of the word, moaned helplessly. She brought me to the brink of an orgasm, and though I’d been holding back, not wanting to allow her to give me the pleasure that I’d always willingly received from you, I finally gave in and relaxed, only for her to stop, stand, take off her own gown, and straddle my head, removing my gag and shoving her pussy into my face. “Mother first, that’s a good little pet…”

What else could I do, sir? But it felt a bit more comfortable, as it was something that you’d always allowed me to do before. Though I still cried, I ate her with the same enthusiasm as always, imagining that you were watching me with approval. For a brief moment, I wondered if you yourself were not her coconspirator, if the two of you had not set up this elaborate ruse, a New Year’s Eve surprise for me. Hope fluttered in my heart…but no. No, if you were conspiring with Mrs. Morrison to tease me, and were secretly witnessing our activities, I know that you would not allow her to strike me, or to taste of my cunt. Nor would you have any part in the murder of your old friend Mr. Morrison. May the dear man rest in peace!

My thoughts are scattered, so I will continue with my narrative. With ease, I ate Lydia to what, from her cries, seemed to be a very satisfying orgasm. After crying out and instructing me to clean her thoroughly, she gagged me again and touched my face, wiping away the tears that continued to silently flow. “Poor pet,” she teased, smiling cheerfully. “Little pet wants her pleasure?” She plunged her head between my legs again, and again, I tried to resist…

And the game went on as such for what felt like ages. She would pleasure me, but would ultimately deny me an orgasm, only to force me to please her again and again. When she had exhausted herself, she gagged me once more and placed a hand on my swollen clit. It burned painfully as she rubbed it with a gentle finger. I wriggled and moaned, and sir, I was so desperate for release. I had even stopped resisting, and still she denied me.

Lydia laughed at me. “You’ll get plenty of pleasure, my pet…when you show Mother what a good girl you can be for her.” She yawned dramatically. “It has been such a long night, my pet. Let us sleep as long as we please; tomorrow night, we will be leaving Barcelona, so we must be well-rested.” Still naked, she kept me bound and wrapped herself around me, covering us with the soft blankets before extinguishing the single candle that burned. I was still gagged as she kissed my cheek. “Goodnight, my sweet pet. Mother loves you so much. I hope you understand how much I do.”

I remained thus tied to the bed until the following night. As Lydia dressed and hastily packed away her things (along with my gown from the previous night, the one thing that I had brought with me), I let out cries of distress behind my gag. I was so hungry, and I so badly needed to relieve my bladder. Lydia glanced over at me once, smiling sweetly. “Wait a moment, little pet. Mother’s almost finished packing.”

When she finally removed the gag, I whimpered, “Please, I really need to use the toilet…”

Lydia laughed softly. “The poor little pet has to go potty, does she? Well, little pet, we don’t have much time to waste, so if you must go, you better just go where you are.”

It took me a moment to comprehend her meaning. “Do…do you mean for me to urinate in this bed?”

Lydia grinned at me, and her gleefulness at my humiliation frightened me the most. “You’ll just have to be a dirty little pet for this trip, because you will be traveling in this large trunk right here.” She gestured to an open trunk on the floor, which had been lined with blankets.

I balked at this. I cried and tried to reason with her. She merely smiled, gagging me again and looking down at me with that same grin. “I’ll give you five minutes, my pet. If you haven’t gone by then, you’ll just have to go in the trunk. And the train ride to Madrid is by no means a short one, my naughty little pet.”

It shames me to confess my humiliation to you, sir, but I imagine that you would not judge me for it. I did urinate in that bed, and I cried, and Lydia was quite deviously pleased. She then proceeded to tie me up in a folded and quite uncomfortable position. She forced me to place the bottoms of my feet on my backs of my thighs, bending my legs in half, before restraining them in this uncomfortable position with thin ropes. She bound my arms behind my back, my elbows nearly touching, and my shoulders were terribly strained. The gag stayed on, of course.

Lydia dragged the trunk to the side of the bed. You would be surprised by her strength, sir, as she picked me up (bundle that I was) and placed me inside. Belly-down, I struggled to look up at her as she smiled at me, with a look of mock benevolence. “Be a quiet little pet, now,” she instructed. “If you’re a good little girl all the way to Madrid, Mother will have a nice surprise for you.” Before I could make any tiny noise of protest, she slammed the lid of the trunk, and I heard the click of the heavy lock.

Terrified, and exhausted from hunger and dehydration, I was silent when Lydia’s hired driver came and picked up her luggage, including me in the trunk. Needless to say, sir, the entire trip (the bumpy ride in the carriage, then the train ride, during which my trunk served as Lydia’s footrest) was most unpleasant. But I was preoccupied by my worried thoughts. What was going to happen? To me, to you, to our children…all of these worries clouded my mind as I waited in terrible discomfort in the darkness of the trunk.

Having taken a night train, we arrived in Madrid in the morning (though time stretched on for me as I lay helpless and bound). I felt the train stopping, then I was being picked up and moved a ways, to another carriage. On the bumpy ride I heard no voices, and for a moment I feared that Lydia had tricked me again, and had handed off my trunk to a stranger, who would treat me even more cruelly than she.

I willed myself not to panic. The large trunk only had a small opening to allow for the flow of oxygen, and if I were to hyperventilate, I would surely lose consciousness. I think you would be proud, sir, of how calm I remained in the situation, all things considered. I imagined (and still do) that you are always watching me, which gives me pause to wonder how you would think of each and every one of my actions. Ever far away from you, and I still crave your approval as desperately as I did as a little girl!

When the trunk was finally laid down and opened, I found myself in an expensive hotel room in Madrid. Lydia looked down at me, smiling wickedly again. “Well, little pet, the first part of our journey is complete.” Hearing me whimper involuntarily, she cooed, “Poor little dear. Such a stinky little pet; you’ll be very good while Mother gives you a bath, won’t you?”

I was terribly thirsty by then, and my head ached. But I would have done anything to get out of that trunk and stretch my limbs. I nodded pathetically, and she hoisted me from the trunk, placing me unceremoniously on the floor. “Mother’s going to untie you, and you’ll be very good, won’t you, pet?”

I nodded again, and let out a loud moan into my gag as my restraints were removed. When Lydia helped me to stand, I cautiously stretched. When she reached out to touch my face, I involuntarily recoiled…until I realized she was going to remove the horrid gag. This particular gag, sir, was in the shape of a large cock, and Lydia had forced it all the way down my throat! I coughed after she’d extracted it, and my coughs became dry spasms. Unable to support myself on my weak legs, I dropped to my hands and knees and resumed to have quite a coughing fit. When I had a brief reprieve, I looked up with bleary eyes and saw Lydia standing over me with a glass of water. “Here, pet,” she said gently. “Take a drink, slowly, that’s a good little girl.”

After slowly drinking half of the water glass, I handed it back to her. “Thank you,” I said softly, my throat scratchy.

“You’re welcome, my pet,” Lydia said, her voice dripping with honey. I dissolved into sobs again.

“Oh, Mrs. Morrison,” I cried. “Why are you doing this? You’ve always been a kind friend to me, but now you…” I sobbed, so confused and frightened by the whole ordeal. I only wanted to feel your arms around me again, I wanted you to hold me close and tell me that everything was fine, as you always do, sir.

Lydia made her attempt. She helped me from the floor and sat with me on the soft bed. She stoked my hair and held me in her lap. “Emily,” she said gently, “I told you a long time ago how much I love you. You know that I’ve dreamed of being with you…I haven’t made this a secret, have I?”

“No,” I said hesitantly. Sir, I’m sure that you’ll have read all about it in my diary before you have the chance to receive this letter. I know that you’re already aware of the fact that Lydia is in love with me, and I know that, in some ways, this has been upsetting to you. I swear to you, sir, as I declared to Lydia that morning, I always knew of her feelings toward me, but I never dreamed that it would drive her to take such desperate and deplorable measures!

“You also know,” Lydia went on, her voice still warm and comforting, “That I have not truly been happy since the days when I was with your mother. And that being with you again has brought back all of those feelings in me…your mother made me feel beautiful, and strong, when all of my life I have been made to feel helpless. Well, I most certainly am not helpless. I have money, which is a power in itself, and I have my little pet, and that is all I will ever need, Emily.”

“But what about what I need?” I dared to ask, though I spoke with a weak timidity. “What about my h…my family? My children, Mrs. Morrison? I know what it is to have grown up without a mother…”

“You said it yourself, in Calcutta, that you have fared quite well under your guardian,” Lydia said, almost a little mockingly, though with a tone that one might interpret as being envious. “If he can raise you up himself, I’m sure that he can handle his own children, with the help of your other friends. As long as you are cooperative and do not force me to contact my own friend, of course.”

Ah, yes. She had to remind me that the threat lay over my head constantly. But I couldn’t help remarking, “You are quite heartless to do this to me, Mrs. Morrison. I would never dream that a friend of mine would betray me in such a way.”

Lydia helped me to stand, untroubled by my words. “In time, my pet, you will be happy with me again. Do not forget the fun that we’ve had before, and not just the sex. You’ll learn to enjoy being Mother’s spoiled little pet.”

But as she bathed me in the large tub, I vowed to never address her as ‘Mother’ again. She still uses this in reference to herself while we play, but the sentiment only fills me with disgust. That I could become so intimately involved with one so cruel…and I imagine, sir, that if you have been successful in identifying her by now, you are grappling with your own guilt. How were we to know, sir? We meant no harm in our games, but look what I have done. I have not only brought about the end of one poor man’s life, but have placed the lives of others, the ones I hold most dear, in danger. I would do anything to bring Mr. Morrison back, and to make up for what l have unknowingly done.

Lydia fingered me as she bathed me, but again denied me release. The burning pain returned to my clit, and I still moaned as she helped me from the tub, slowly drying me and spreading lotion on my skin, fingering me still, denying me, tormenting me. “Please…” I whimpered at one point, and she grinned again.

“Be a good girl, and you’ll get what you need,” Lydia reminded me. She took me to the bed (I, still naked), and tied me down. She gagged me (this time, thankfully, with a gag that did not go down my throat) and touched me face, smiling lovingly, the same way I would smile at our precious children after tucking them in to sleep. “I bet this little pet is very hungry,” she said, and though I’d forgotten my hunger, it returned, ravenous. My stomach even growled audibly, and Lydia laughed. “I will go downstairs and get some lunch for us. Pretty pet…close your eyes and rest for a minute, that’s it…”

I heard her leave the room, and opened my eyes. Alone, I sobbed again, wondering how long her cruel treatment would continue.

We stayed in Madrid for a fortnight. Lydia admitted to me that she heard tell of an investigation, seeking out a missing Englishwoman who had disappeared from Barcelona on New Years. When she said this, hope fluttered in my heart briefly once again, but she dashed my hopes by adding that, until we have left Europe, I will be kept locked away. Her treatment of me has continued much in the same way that I have described. When she is gone, I am tied down and gagged; when she is present, I am forced to satisfy her perverse pleasures, while mine are still denied. When she eats, I am at her feet, taking the little scraps that she offers, and finally eating what is left over from her plate after she places it on the floor, dipping my head in like a housedog. Lydia is doing everything possible to turn me into her “little pet,” and though it makes me burn with indignation, I am obedient in hopes that my family will continue to be safe.

When we took the train from Madrid to Porto, I was forced to travel again in the trunk. I didn’t even try to beg Lydia not to put me in it; I have found that, when she is determined in something, there is very little that will sway her. She promised that it would be the last time, and that when we board the ship to New York, I will not be so viciously confined…as long as I am a “good girl,” of course.

Feeling a bit more secure in Portugal, Lydia has allowed me to go out on the streets with her, and sometimes it feels a little like the old days, when we were in Calcutta or London together, just two lady friends out for an afternoon of lunch and shopping. She put in a rush-order on some dresses for me to wear while we are traveling. She has decided that she will introduce me as her daughter, and I persuaded her to allow me to go by “Mrs. Singer.”

We have been here but a week. Yesterday, I convinced Lydia to allow me to write you the vague letter that I sent off to you just this afternoon. “My family may think that I am dead,” I argued. “Please, Lydia, if you have ever truly loved me, allow me this one small thing.” And she relented, leaving me tied to go and procure the necessary supplies for letter-writing. She also gifted me this notebook in which I write now, and is sitting and reading while allowing me, for the first time since she claimed me, to sort out my thoughts on paper.

Tomorrow, very early, we will be on our way to America. My imagination is filled with scenarios of my escape, and there is a small hope in me that I will find some way to slip away from Lydia, and to make my way home to you while she is bound on the ship. But even now, sir, I know that I cannot take such a risk. I think only of my loved ones, including you, in this decision. I will continue to be a “good pet,” and will satisfy Lydia’s whims and desires, in hopes that she will find it in her heart to allow me to return to my children.

I am quite exhausted, sir, and I know that Lydia will have me satisfy her far into the night. I hope that I can find some way to send this to you soon, but for the time being, I will simply continue to write, in hopes that someday, sooner or later, you will read this and understand the hardships that I have endured. I love you very much, sir, with all of my heart, and each time I think of you or our children or even our dear friends the sisters, my heart breaks again and again.

Love,

Your Emily

18 February, 18—

My dearest sir,

We are arrived in America this past week, after several weeks onboard the ship. I constantly thought of the trips that you and I have taken to far away places, especially the ones after you claimed me as your lover. This trip was certainly not so fun, and each day I reflected that I was traveling further and further away from my home, from you and my loves.

An idea came into my head that we might make our way to Boston. I remember your mother’s address there, as I have kept contact with her over the years (moreso than you have, as she never failed to note), and I felt if I could find some way to her, I could get help…or at least find a way to get further word to you. But alas, Lydia has revealed that we will not be making our way to Boston any time soon, and as I am never allowed from her side in public, I find it difficult to execute any plans to procure my freedom.

Lydia’s treatment of me has improved since we boarded the ship in Porto, though she still keeps me restrained when she must leave me alone. She no longer denies me pleasure, and sir (for the sake of full disclosure), though the climaxes that she allows me are as intense as any I’ve ever experienced, I find that it is joyless. I must often hold back my tears as Lydia extracts the violating phallus from my cunt, or uses her tongue to clean the mess of my juices from my pussy and thighs. She has no patience for my sorrow, once delivering a sound thrashing (more brutal than any she ever delivered to me in our previous play, and certainly more heartless than any beating you’d ever given to me out of love and pleasure) after I began sobbing uncontrollably onboard the ship. She truly does not care for my feelings, and so I mourn in private.

While in public, Lydia treats me as she did before: as her companion, her friend, with the same open affection as ever. I try to smile and be as polite as ever. We have made few acquaintances in New York (though Lydia’s social circle is wider than I’d suspected, which I will explain soon). But in private, in the lavish hotel room that we are sharing, I am her pet. I wear nothing but the new nipple clips that she gave me (they hurt terribly when she first put them on me, though I find that I do enjoy the constant pull and dull stinging pain), and the collar that she gifted to me. It is as uncomfortable as the first collar that you gave to me, sir, in the early days of my servitude to you. But I know she would not be so understanding if it were to go missing.

I am forced to crawl upon my hands and knees throughout the suite. When Lydia takes her afternoon tea, she pours a bit into a saucer for me, and I unwillingly lap it up like a spoiled cat. She feeds me a pastry from her own hand, stroking my hair as I lick the remains from her fingers. This degradation, at first, made me cry silent tears as I ate, so pitiful I felt. But I am numb to it now, though I am always relieved when Lydia suggests going out for a meal, which allows me to dine like a human being.

Lydia enjoys going out in the evening, taking in a show or going to a social club to have drinks and flirt with gentlemen. I find that I am in no mood to be flirtacious, as I once so enjoyed (and you have witnessed countless times), and I sit in stony silence, smiling little, speaking less, knowing that at the end of the evening I will be dragged back to our hotel room to resume my role as Mother’s pet.

It would appear that, even as a good little pet, I do not satisfy all of Lydia’s needs. Just this evening, Lydia had decided to go out on her own, and had tied me down to the bed, of course. She stooped to kiss me softly. “I will not be out too late, my little pet. I will see you very soon.” I dozed uneasily as the time passed, for by now I am used to my restraints (after all, I have had years of practice under your care, though you had never kept me restrained for such long periods of time), and was rudely awoken by Lydia’s return.

“Hello, my dear little pet,” she said, closing the door leading into the main room behind her as she entered our bedchamber. She was clearly a little drunk. “Mother has brought home a gentleman friend for the evening. Would this little pet care to join us?” She sat down on the side of the bed and removed my gag.

I certainly had no interest in joining Lydia and a strange man for any cruel games, and wondered if she would force me to play along. “No, thank you,” I said softly, adding, “Please don’t make me…”

“Oh, come, come,” Lydia said lightly. “You are my little pet, and if you wish to save yourself just for my enjoyment, I take no issue with it.” I was tempted to correct her, sir, and explain that I was saving myself for you, as best I could considering the circumstances. “You are not hurt that I would bring a gentleman into our suite, are you, pet?”

“No, Lydia,” I assured her. I hope that she finds some wealthy American gentleman to love, and perhaps allows me my freedom after finding new happiness. But I don’t believe that she is seeking out love or companionship from her gentleman caller this evening…simply a cock to play with.

“I hope that you will wish to join me sometime,” Lydia said in an offhand way as she untied my restraints. “Well, little pet, I will be entertaining my guest in the sitting room, and I will tell you honestly that we will be making our way into the other bedchamber. I’m going to lock the door and leave you untied, my pretty little pet. Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you,” I said again. I am still surprised, sir, that she did not leave me tied for the evening.

Lydia kissed me softly before leaving me alone. “Goodnight, my pretty little pet. Mother loves you.”

“Goodnight, Lydia,” I said. Though I have told her that I love her in the past, I find that I cannot say it now. I will confess, sir, that though she has wronged me terribly, I do not hate her. I cannot hate her. It is quite difficult for me to explain, but I do feel certain that you will somehow understand me. You always understood me best, sir, and I do miss you terribly.

I realize that I will be sleeping unrestrained and alone for the first time since my captivity began. I will try to enjoy my private rest tonight, though I know that, as always, I will be disturbed by my restless thoughts. I think of you always, sir, and I know that you lay awake at night, as troubled as I, thinking on me and worrying as I do. I try to remind myself that it could be worse, much worse, and each morning I remind myself that I am alive. As long as I am living, I will find my way home to you.

Love,

Your Emily

2 March, 18—

My dearest sir,

The situation has gotten stranger, as if that were possible! Allow me to explain what has happened.

We have remained in our hotel suite in New York these past few weeks. Perhaps two or three evenings a week, Lydia goes out alone to meet with a gentleman, bringing him back to our hotel suite to play. I have not joined in any of her games, and am kept locked away in the other bedchamber as before. Prior to the events of this afternoon, I did not know if Lydia was consistently seeing the same gentleman, or had multiple playmates already. I have purposefully not asked her about this, simply for the fact that I know she wants me to. It has been my one little source of power in my subordinate position.

But this afternoon, I learned the true nature of these little playtime sessions. You see, sir, I had talked Lydia into allowing me to sit down and go through her finances for her. As you already know, Lydia has never been the most responsible with money, and she spends more on me than ever before. I already have a ridiculously enormous wardrobe of clothing (most of which I haven’t even had the chance to wear yet), everything that we consume is ordered in from the hotel or from nice restaurants, not to mention the cost to stay in our suite…I know that the Morrisons had a fortune, but I feared that Lydia was mindlessly squandering away her money, and we would be penniless in a strange country, so far from home and from you.

When I asked Lydia about the finances, she laughed at me at first. “My silly little pet,” she cooed, “Why do you need to worry about the money? Did I not say that Mother would take good care of you?”

“It would ease my mind to know the financial situation,” I said. And so, Lydia agreed to provide me with her bank records and receipts, and I sat down and made lists and calculations, the same way you taught me to when I was a little girl. As I worked, I thought of the first time that you sat me down in front of the records of my fortune and made me go over everything with you.

“Why do I need to know this?” I remember whining. At 10, I was much more interested in reading my fantasy stories and playing on the grounds and riding horses. You had given me a patient smile.

“My dear child, you possess a moderate fortune. You must be responsible for knowing what is happening to your money. Otherwise, what would stop someone from taking advantage of your ignorance?”

Your logic made sense, but I frowned. “But sir…you always said that you’d take care of my finances.”

“Quite true,” you replied. “But Emily, what if I were no longer here to do that?” Upon seeing the tears of worry brim in my eyes (for any thought of losing you frightened me more than anything), you smiled again. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, my child. But it is my responsibility, as your guardian and friend, to teach you how to be independent. Sit down, my dear, and let me show you what you own.”

I listened with rapt attention as you showed me all of the records of my fortune. My inheritance had been divided into two different accounts. One account was for the maintenance of Wainwright Hall, and the money there was used to pay the taxes and the servants’ salaries, among other things. “Do you see what I’ve done with this account?” you asked. “I have listed out the costs of maintenance for each year, and the rest of it, I have invested to make more, rather than just letting it sit.” You showed me how you would dip into these investments to pay the next year’s expenses, and how the investments that you made actually allowed the account to grow, even though money was constantly drawn from it. You showed me the final tally of my account as it stood at that point.

The other account held the funds set aside for me personally. This money was never touched, unless you drew from it for further investments. You even showed me the paperwork for a trading ship that I owned, as well as the certificates for my investments in trading companies based in London, India, and Canada. I was wonderstruck by the time you showed me how much more I had than when my father had died a few years before. “You were already wealthy, my child, but look how much you have now.”

From then on, I looked forward to sitting with you every season and going over my accounts. I have no doubt that, even in my absence, you attend to my fortune with the same care as ever. Using the skills that you’d taught me, I went through Lydia’s records, and found that, while she still had the majority of the money that she’d started with, it would all be gone before too long if she kept spending as she did.

I explained this to her patiently, hoping that, in seeing her situation, she would see the light and change her plans. “With no money coming in, Lydia, you’re going to drive yourself to financial ruin.”

But she smiled at that. “Oh, but my pet, there is money coming in.”

I was puzzled. “Really?” Perhaps she had investments that I was not aware of.

She grinned. “The gentlemen that I’ve been seeing have been very generous to me.” She went to the safe in our suite and brought me the stack of money. In only a few short weeks, she had procured hundreds of dollars.

“Lydia!” I exclaimed. “All of this from your suitors?”

She smiled again. “They’re all wealthy gentlemen who will pay a high price for…my specialties.” I realized then what was happening. She was not seeing these men strictly for the fun of it, but was whoring herself. She revealed to me that all of these men (her “clients”) are powerful in their fields of work, but are submissive when it comes to sexual activities. She dominates them in the same way that she dominates me, and they pay her for the pleasure of serving her!

After getting over the initial shock of this new information, I counted the money. “Well,” I said, “This resolves some of the issue. But Lydia, you’re still spending the money faster than you’re bringing it in…”

“Yes,” Lydia said with a sigh, “I know. That’s why I’ve been considering how I might take my talents and turn them into a money-making venture.” She has dreams of opening up a “gentlemen’s parlour,” one that would specialize in the sort of activities that you and I have enjoyed for so many years. She had even been talking about it with one of her clients, a gentleman with investments in mines in California. “Such places as I wish to open are all over New York,” she said. “I have been thinking on it, my little pet, and I think that we will soon be making our way to California.”

I was dismayed by this news, to say the least, sir. There is already an entire ocean between us, and now there will be a continent between us as well!  But Lydia has already set her plans into motion to travel to San Francisco. Her client, an older gentleman by the name of Robert Lagrange, will accompany us, paying for all of our traveling expenses, in exchange for Lydia’s company.

She assures me that my company is not part of the bargain. I believe, sir, I have made it clear to her that I have no wish to be involved in her games. As cruel as she has been to me, she has respected me in this regard, though I do fear that she will expect me to take on a role in her new business.

My head spins with everything that has happened in only a few weeks. After our discussion this afternoon, I sat alone and sobbed pitifully, thinking again of you and our dear children. Lydia left me alone to sob as she cheerfully began going over her own plans for her adventure. I am unwillingly being dragged along on this wild ride, and I fear where it may lead.

I am exhausted, and I find, sir, for the very first time, that I have gained no relief from my writing, though thinking about the happier times with you does cheer me up some. I pray that you are creating happy memories with our children, memories that you will be able to share with me upon my return (I pray to God that it will be sooner rather than later!). Until then and always, my dear sir, I am ever,

Your Emily

27 March, 18—

My dearest sir,

The dye is cast. We are on our way to San Francisco on the morrow. I still tremble with fear as we continue this ill-fated adventure. I do feel that we are bound for catastrophe.

Lydia and I had the most ferocious fight last night. I was sitting at her feet in the sitting room of the hotel suite, as she put aside our final boarding passes for the train and other necessary documents for our trip. I tried, one last time, to change her mind. “Lydia,” I said quietly (when I am at her feet, sir, I do feel quite powerless, and it is involuntarily expressed in my countenance and tone), “My dear friend, what would it take for you to reconsider this?”

She glanced down at me with a look of mild impatience, but smiled a little. “What are you chattering on about, little pet? Come now, we’re going on an adventure. I thought you were an adventurous little girl.”

As you’ve read in my diary, sir, I used to dream of dashing off to far away places and seeing the whole world. You fulfilled enough of that with our own little adventures, and I thank you heartily for giving me exposure to the world, for I feel that it has made me a more conscious and complete person. Again, words fail me to describe the good that you’ve done for me, in so many ways…it brings tears to my eyes to think of it, especially in my current pitiful state, but I will write on.

I said to Lydia, “I used to crave adventure, my friend, and you know this to be true. But Lydia…I have children and a family…”

“Oh, that again!” she said with a flippant wave of her hand. “My dear pet, I have no doubt that they are faring well without you.”

This stung me, sir. Though I do not doubt that it is true (for they have you, and as I said, you always did so much for me), but to hear her say it in such an offhand way…I do not doubt that I have been a good mother and a good wife. I have been attentive to the needs of all of my loves, at least as best I could. The sisters have helped, and I hope that they continue to do so, as long as it fulfills them. I will never doubt that, with their father, our children will be in good hands. But I know that my presence is missed, and Lydia will not be able to persuade me otherwise.

I knew that to argue this point with her would be fruitless, so I replied, “But I am not faring well without them.”

She looked down at me silently for a moment, her pale face contemplatively. “Not happy with me yet, my dear?” she finally asked.

“You know that I am not,” I dared to retort. I winced involuntarily, fearing the back of her hand, but I continued, “My children mean the world to me, Lydia.”

“If it is children that you want, we can arrange for you to have another child,” Lydia suggested. I was enraged by the suggestion, and that is what sparked the fight and the punishment that followed.

“You would have to force me to carry any other man’s child but my husband’s,” I said, finding my ferocity as I rose slowly to my feet. “You may violate me, and I know that I cannot stop you, but I will never be with another man.”

Lydia stood as well, and that is when the slap was delivered. “Do you think that your husband is not enjoying other women in your absence?” she demanded. I, still standing, backed away a little, vulnerable in my nakedness, but I did try to stand my ground.

“I hope it is so,” I replied. And I do, sir, and I know that it is so. I hope your needs are as fulfilled as possible while I am away.

“Stupid pet,” Lydia declared, and she slapped at me again, swinging her arm with such force that I did fall to the floor. She grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the bedchamber. She tied me to one of the tall bedposts, my spine pressed against the thick post in a most uncomfortable manner, my arms forced behind my back and attached from my elbows to my wrists, my ankles forced together and bound. Lydia gagged me, and wrapped the strap around both my head and the post itself, leaving me almost virtually immobile.

“Your husband could never love you the way that I do,” Lydia said as she procured a riding crop from the closet. You see, sir, her largest trunk had contained me…the second-largest trunk contained her implements of pleasure and pain. “I know exactly what this whorish little pet needs. Your husband could not give you all of the attention that you crave, and turned you over to others to do what he should have done for you.”

Oh, sir, I do not believe these ramblings for a second! But her tirade continued as she viciously beat me, whipping my tits and stomach and thighs with that riding crop. You know how much I enjoy punishment, and for a while, I did enjoy this abuse. But Lydia pushed further, continuing to whip me without mercy, and the pain became almost unbearable. She did not comfort me when she had finished exerting herself. She left me alone as silent tears flowed down my face, and I wondered if she would bring in a man to rape me, to further her power over me and take away the one thing that I have left.

No. She did return a time later, with a large glass of water, which she threw in my face. Still gagged, I sputtered in surprise from the harsh treatment, wondering what sort of cruelties she had in store for me now. But she smiled, and removed my gag, and whispered, “It will be easier on you, pet, if you accept what is happening to you. Accept what I am offering to you. Accept your new life. You’ll be so much happier if you do.”

I nodded in compliance, but I refuse to accept anything in my heart. True, we will be on our way to San Francisco tomorrow, and there isn’t anything I can do about it. But I haven’t accepted it. I refuse to give up on finding my way home. But for now, I fear I must continue to cooperate, and continue to be dragged along on Lydia’s adventure.

I will admit, sir, that a very small part of me is excited to see a part of the world where I have never been. Lydia, after untying me and allowing me to put on some undergarments for the evening, provided me with some information about California, and San Francisco itself. The city lies on a large and beautiful bay, and it has grown rapidly in the past few decades…first from gold mining (which Mr. Lagrange, Lydia’s “friend,” has successfully invested in), but railroad production has also led to a population spike. Many immigrants from Asian countries have made their home there. I suppose that, for the time being, I will be making my home there as well.

I do wish that I could send these letters off to you, sir. I do not doubt that I could, at some point, find some way to slip them into the post without Lydia’s knowledge (though no such opportunity has been afforded to me yet). But I also fear the unnamed coconspirator…who’s to say that this person would not have access to the mail for Wainwright Hall? What if this person sees mail come in from America (either from myself, or through some kindly assistant) and informs Lydia of my disobedience? The consequences keep me from the attempt.

I may as well put it to paper, no matter when you’ll be able to read it: I do fear that one of the Howard sisters may be the coconspirator. Oh, yes! Lydia has not herself hinted to this, clever as she is, but I have this fear in my heart that one of our friends has betrayed us. But neither scenario makes sense to me. Miss Howard has so much to lose, as she herself committed the crime that hangs over our heads. And I cannot imagine Mrs. Gainsley to be so treacherous. They have both done so much for us and our children that I hate to have such suspicions. I do believe that they are caused by my absence and strange circumstances, and not by any sort of truth. But if you do receive this letter in a timely manner…do be cautious. I know you will be.

I love you with all of my heart, sir.

Sincerely,

Your Emily