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response I anticipated when I told her I must take an extended leave of absence from Milady’s Ruby Vase so I might journey into the dreariest parish in Devon to sit by the side of my former guardian while he lies gasping out his last upon his deathbed.
    To stay once again under the gabled roof of Calipash Manor, after being so unceremoniously chucked out a decade ago … I have mixed feelings about this journey, to say the least. I am certain Susan believes I am going to encounter a country house full of secret passages, drafty towers, mysterious mysteries, and handsome cousins. Well, that will happen in the pornography, of course, and to be fair, Calipash Manor does have a tower. And, I suppose, its share of silly rumors about the family. But the reality is far more boring: An old man in his tidy house, wasting away with few to comfort him, having alienated himself during his life from those who might have loved him unto death.
    I suppose there is something rather Wuthering Heights about that, but not like any of the better parts, like when So-and-So threatens to cut off the boy’s ears or whatever it is that happens.
     
    ***
     
    Later —Funny, how I had thought to include a handsome stranger- cum -deflowerer in my story; I just met a rather natty fellow that will do nicely as a model! I should liked to have had some sport with him myself, except, it was so queer. He apologized for approaching me without a proper introduction, but asked if I was by chance related to the Calipash family. I told him I wasn’t—which isn’t strictly true, of course, but we illegitimate children of the noblesse are trained to be discreet—but he would not let the matter go. He shook his head and apologized, with the excuse that he was a native of Ivybridge, so knew “the Calipash look,” and said I had a serious case of it.
    “The Calipash look!” I exclaimed, delighted. “Surely you must be referring to the Calipash Curse?”
    “I suppose I am,” said he. I was surprised by how alarmed he seemed by my amusement. “You know of the curse, miss?”
    “Of course I do, but I have not heard anybody mention it for nigh ten years!”
    “You may smile,” he said, furrowing his brow at me as if his very life depended on it, “but we Ivybridge folk know nothing connected with that family is a laughing matter. Bad blood, they have—diabolists, deviants, and necromancers all!”
    “I am acquainted with the Lord Calipash, and a better man I have rarely met.” Well, it was a true enough statement. I let him take it as he would.
    “He’s a good sort, true enough, but they go bad easy. I’d be on the lookout, miss. You surely look like a Calipash, perhaps you were … well, I won’t curse you by suggesting you have a twin lurking somewhere—but best to stay out of the ponds, just the same!”
    I told him I had every intention of staying out of ponds, lakes, rivers, streams, sloughs, and for that matter, lagoons. He seemed relieved, but the way such a dapper young man took notice of piffling country legends, well, it gave me pause.
    Of course when I used to go into the village as a girl I heard tell of the Calipash family curse—when twins are born, the devil is their father, and something about taking to the sea, or to ponds, and something about frog people maybe, of all the outlandish claims! I may not be remembering it all correctly; as a girl once I came home enquiring about it, but Lizzie, the housekeeper, reprimanded me for repeating such twaddle and I never again mentioned it. I am glad I was taught at a young age to be skeptical of supernatural nonsense.
    Really, what family that lives in a manor-house rather than a cottage doesn’t have some sort of rumor or another hanging over them like the sword of Damocles?
    Rum analogy to use when going to see a dying man, perhaps.
    Ooh—but we are slowing, and there is the whistle! I must ready myself.
     
    ***
     
    Evening. In my old room— The dolls I left behind are still here,