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I, who have never lain beneath a man, am capable of discussing the sexual act in great detail.
    “A wife cannot refuse her husband,” she admits in defeat.
    “So you allow him to lie on top of you.”
    Her eyes widen, and no sound comes from her open mouth.
    “You let him slide his member into you.”
    She folds her arms against her chest, as if to shield herself from me, and averts her eyes. “Y-yes. I must. It is a wife’s duty.”
    It pleases me to pry this intimate information from her. I thirst for first-hand carnal knowledge but am forced to rely on vicarious experiences that I capture with my Panoptoscope. “How does it make you feel to have relations with him when he has lain with a man?”
    “Stop!”
    “Do you know where his manhood has been?” I recall Aldridge ramming his stiffened cock into Tewkesbury’s puckered hole. “He is guilty of sodomy!”
    “Enough!”
    “Imagine where his tongue has been. Think of the crevices it has explored,” I whisper harshly. “It is the same tongue he uses on you.”
    Her hands press against her ears. “He disgusts me! I can’t stand for him to touch me, but he does! And I can do nothing to prevent him! I am his wife. I belong to him!” she shrills.
    “Quiet,” I soothe, placing my arm around her shoulder. Antagonizing her was not a good idea, but Lady Aldridge must learn that she does not have to be a victim. There is a way for her to take control of her marriage. “Do you want him to pay for his sins?”
    “Yes!” she utters with ferocity.
    Never have I involved a third party in my activities before, but perhaps this time I should. Why not? It might make matters far more stimulating, and increasing Lord Aldridge’s torment is definitely of interest to me. “If you wish your husband to suffer, leave your home on Sunday morning. Allow your staff to leave for the day.” Undoubtedly, one or two will remain, but not enough to interfere with my plans.
    “All right.”
    “If you wish to witness his suffering, return promptly at two.”
    “Witness his suffering?” she repeats, uncomprehending.
    “Yes, if you wish to participate, to punish him for his transgressions, return home at two. If not, I will carry on with my judgment without your aid.”
    “Judgment?”
    She need not know the details. “If you do not have the stomach for it, stay away. Return in the early evening after I have finished with my disciplinary action.”
    She nods.
    “If you wish to exact revenge against your husband, do not share the details of our conversation with anyone.” My earlier thought about secrets resurfaces. I am taking a risk by involving someone else. Yet the more I look at her, at the fury on her face, the anger, the betrayal, I believe I have found a kindred spirit.
    “I will speak to no one.” She takes a long breath, wipes the tear from her cheek and clasps my hand in both of hers. “Why are you helping me? Who are you, Camilla Covington?”
    A righter of wrongs. A bitter crusader. A woman searching for love, a pure, honorable love. “A mystery,” I answer. “Goodbye, Lady Aldridge. I hope to see you Sunday.”
    “Perhaps.” She returns to the tea house, scattering petals as she walks. Her strides are longer, more confident, her shoulders no longer hunched.
    The bonds of marriage should never be broken, such is my belief. Both parties must love and honor one another. If not, I will impose my own rules to rectify the situation, rules that must be obeyed.
    * * * * *
    The housekeeper, a shapely girl in a modest gray uniform, examines my visiting card. She looks at me and then back at the card, probably thinking it is highly unusual for an unmarried woman to call upon a married man.
    “Lord Aldridge is expecting me,” I lie.
    “He is?” She sounds doubtful and scrutinizes me from head to toe.
    My attire is rather dour, but I prefer to wear black on these occasions. There is something to be said for black, which I associate with power and revenge. “We