In the quiet dimness of my chamber my long-lost friend began to tell me her story. It is the story of how she went from pauper to princess, and how she changed from a kind, gentle child to a monster. It is a story filled with horror and wonder, miracles and madness, and it is not for children. In many fashions it is a tragedy, and yet in others it is a victory. But in either case it is a sorrowful tale, a tale of shame and bitter pride.

"After I left Triten we went to Sheraton, to our relatives there. My father began to travel in search of work and was often gone for months at a time. My brother and I were left with my Aunt, a vicious old widow full of spite whose own children were older than us and quite mean. She always treated them with respect and reward and us with scorn and punishment.

"She beat us often. I had always thought my father was severe but he was nothing compared to my Aunt. She whipped us daily if for no other reason than she felt like it. Even worse, our cousins, her own three children, were constantly blaming us for their own wrongs and she would never doubt their word. If we protested or denied the charge the whipping was always worse.

"Still, we had plenty to eat--my Aunt was quite wealthy, inheriting money from her dead husband, though she abhorred spending any of it--and all in all it was not such a miserable life. In many ways we were better off than Triten, for life was not such a struggle. But I hated my Aunt and missed my mother terribly. I longed to see her again, to feel her warm arms around me, holding me, protecting me. But I was alone. My brother began to make friends with my cousins and he soon turned against me. Looking back I suspect that he was the more miserable of the two of us--he was never completely accepted by our cousins or Aunt and he had rejected me--but at the time I felt bitter and betrayed.

"Life was harsh and lonely, but I managed. I was forced to attend school, though I hated it, and Aunt was most diligent in making sure I kept up with my studies. This, in a way, became a good thing. Though I did not make any friends in school--my cousins saw to that--I did find escape in books and study, and drove myself hard.

"It was the following summer--I was to turn fourteen in the fall--when something happened that changed everything. My oldest cousin was named Alfred. He was large boy, rude and rather unintelligent. He delighted in torturing his siblings and of course, his cousins, especially me. He was the sort that enjoyed pulling the wings off of flies or cutting the legs off frogs. Extremely crass. He was supposedly seventeen years old but he acted more like eight or nine.

"He loved to poke fun at me and get me into any sort of trouble. I swear I tasted more of my Aunt's cane because of Alfred than for anything else. Let me give you a few examples of his character. The first time I met him, while I was naive and trusting, he offered me a sweet. It was a dastardly sticky one and the way he'd pressed it into my palm meant that my hands were quite covered with goo by the time I managed to consume the treat.

"At the time, though, I thought he was trying to be friends and didn't mind. Moments later, however, my horrified Aunt emerged from the kitchen waving an enormous cane and threatening to whip all the children until she found the scoundrel responsible for devouring a whole plateful of the sweets she made specially for the recently widowed Reverend Wendle. (My Aunt was eternally frustrated by the Reverend--I'm certain he abhorred her though he treated her with the utmost respect and politeness and certainly never gave her affections any encouragement.)

"Us children were carefully questioned and soon, of course, it was revealed that my hands were sticky with juices from the sweet and my Aunt was furious but only half as much as my father. He'd never caned me before--but that day he borrowed Aunt's cane and thrashed me soundly right there before the others, knickers down and all. I wailed and protested and tried to tell them Alfred had given me the sweet and that just made my father even more angry for he thought I was attempting to blame an innocent party for my crime. 'We are guests in this house!' he shouted at me as he struck me again and again. 'Guests do not steal from their hosts!'

"After that, needless to say, my relationship with Alfred had taken a particularly unpleasant turn. I hated him with all my being and vowed for my mission in life to be nothing more than to see Alfred pay every chance I could get.

"At first Alfred was content to let others do the thrashing, but later, after my father had gone, he began to torture me himself. Often when we were outside playing he would drag me down by the creek where his mother couldn't hear my cries and threaten to drown me if I didn't submit to a thrashing. I was very afraid of him and usually submitted though I hated him for it. He would make me fetch him a good branch from one of the trees and bring it to him and bend over and lift up my skirt for my thrashing. At first he let me keep my knickers on, preferring to whip my bare legs, but later he became more adventurous and confident in his power and he whipped me bare.

"These whippings were never very long or even that painful--Alfred was strong and cruel but rather stupid, and I put on such a fuss at just a few of his strokes that he thought I was in great pain and failed to realize his mother often whipped me much harder and I hardly whimpered. But I hated getting whipped by Alfred far worse than from his mother. His mother was an adult and had authority over me. Alfred was my peer, albeit a much stronger one, and his punishments were for nothing but his own pleasure. He treated me with disdain and told me I was a trashy whore, a commoner, a low-class slut. Though I scarcely knew what such words meant I knew their intent and I believed him, mistakenly thinking their family so much better than ours.

"Well, one day two critical things happened. The first was that I managed to get myself thrashed by Alfred early in the morning. It was a fair thrashing, and I was legitimately crying when it was finished. I noticed that Alfred appeared strange to me, more violent and rude than usual, almost mad in his rage. He ran off immediately after my whipping as though he had something urgent to take care off. I remember thinking that maybe he needed to urinate. Curious, I followed at a distance.

"My Aunt's property was quite extensive, surrounded on three sides by woods and fields. I followed Alfred for perhaps a quarter-mile through brambles and weeds until we came to a small clearing. Here there was obvious signs of someone having been there before--it was set up almost like a camping ground. There was small pyre of stones where a fire had previously been lit, and the grassy weeds had been cleared away from most of the camp. A small stream passed quite close to this and I saw Alfred kneel before this and take down his trousers.

"This embarrassed me at first, for I thought he was going to defecate or urinate, but I could not help but watch, having never a seen a man do either. Instead Alfred began to touch himself between his legs. His back was to me so I could not see him clearly, but both of his hands were in front of him and he was puffing and blowing with great exertion.

"Finally he turned slightly, and I saw a large purplish finger gripped tightly in his hands. I blushed instantly, knowing what it was, but amazed that it looked nothing like what I had seen on little boys. As I watched his body began to shudder and I saw a white creamy substance emerge from the tip of his cock and drip down into the dirt. He shuddered and moaned loudly and I saw more and more of the white stuff spit and spatter about. Finally he seemed drained and with a deep sigh he let go of his organ and stood, it bobbing in the wind. He pulled his trousers up and kicked dirt over the little puddle of white cream and turned and sat down.

"He was mumbling to him now, and it took me a while to understand him. He mentioned 'that bitch' a few times, and then I finally heard him clearly say, 'God I love whipping her ass!' and I knew he was talking about me! A shiver went down my spine when he said, 'Tomorrow she gets it even worse! Maybe I'll borrow Mum's cane.'

"I noticed then that I felt strange inside. It wasn't my stomach, but lower, between my thighs. I put my hand there and it felt good. It was warm and slightly moist and I could feel a sort of an excitement bubbling inside me. I knew suddenly what it was and a flush came over me and I slunk away knowing that I was doing wrong to spy on my cousin in this manner. I thought of how he had looked, naked, his 'thing' in his hand, and I felt hot and sweaty. I hurried back toward the house, touching myself as I went.

"Of course I had felt this way before--late at night, in my bed, in my dreams. But this was the first time I had associated that feeling with men, or with anything sexual. I guess deep inside I had known it to be that, but I had never consciously admitted it until that moment.

"Later that afternoon my Aunt discovered, to her annoyance, that Alfred had not completed the chores she had assigned him to do. I knew this was because he had told my brother to do them. Why my brother had not I'll never know--surely he could expect a thrashing from Alfred in consequence.

"Anyhow, my Aunt was furious and asked where Alfred was. No one had seen him and I certainly was not going to tell where I had watched him go. It was almost dark when he returned, sauntering casually as though he had not abandoned his chores and been gone all day. Immediately his mother took him outside for the cane.

"I was delighted. Though I knew Alfred had been caned at least a couple of times since my arrival, I had never seen him take his medicine. My joy knew no bounds when I saw Aunt rushing toward him as he halted in astonishment, his face turning to frantic pleading and begging. She quickly took down his trousers, exposing that same organ I had seen earlier that day and then turned him so his bare bottom faced us kids, his audience, and began to cane him soundly.

"I am certain any one of us children today would still go pale just at the mention of that memory. Alfred was a big, tough lad, and the caning far more severe than any we'd ever seen. To watch Alfred blubber and howl like a child was delightful but it was also frightening--for we knew that he must be in incredible agony to react like that.

"During that caning, I did not snicker and laugh like the others. I was glad that Alfred was being punished, but I was more focused upon the reactions of my own body. The stirring between my legs had begun when my Aunt had first begun carrying the cane and I knew that Alfred was going to get it. I felt another stirring when I saw him approach and she went to greet him. The surge when I saw his trousers come down and his cock spring forth was almost more than I could bear. Then the caning began and I felt tremendous spasms of heat passing through me. I wanted him to be hurt, to really feel each stroke, and my mind envisioned his naked buttocks covered with weals and welts in far more explicit detail than I could actually see, considering it was twilight and he was twenty yards away.

"Without even realizing what I was doing my hand had slipped up inside my dress and I was massaging myself. Waves of exquisite pleasure flooded through me and think I moaned loudly. Fortunately my Aunt was still busy with my cousin and had not turned around, but I was lost to the world and could not stop myself.

"My hand was inside me, pumping, my face red and pulsing. My thighs dripped juices and I was only vaguely aware of the other children pointing at me and I think someone ran and got my Aunt because suddenly I heard a shriek and felt a white-hot pain across my face. My eyes opened and I realized she had struck me with the cane. The pain was blinding and tears filled my eyes and in a daze I fell to the ground and felt the cane begin to cut into me.

"I have no idea how many strokes she gave me--it was by far the worse I'd received, though I suppose it wasn't as bad as Alfred's. The worst, however, was not understanding what had happened. I felt confused and terrified and guilty and yet I was not even certain as to why. I knew my sex ached it was so hungry and I longed to touch myself but I dared not. So even as the blows rained down I felt flooded with a wonderful sense of wholeness, of rightness, and suddenly, in a blinding flash like lightening, I was free. I think I screamed and screamed but it didn't matter. I no longer felt the cane but only felt pleasure, wonderful pleasure pulsing between my legs.

"And then, like a sunset you only catch for a moment, the feeling was gone. I lay half-naked, my dress pulled up and knickers missing, my buttocks, legs, back, shoulders, and arms aching and throbbing. My face hurt and could feel a thick welt pounding there. I could hear my Aunt's heavy breathing and could hear the cane cracking down in a fury but I could not feel anything. Slowly I raised my head and saw that she was caning Alfred now, his naked body still causing some kind of a change inside of me.

"It was days later before the matter was settled. Aunt would not have me in her house any longer. Alfred had told her I had taunted and teased him, whoring him away from the house and his duties, and she had believed him. My father had been sent for and soon he arrived, exhausted, terrified, and angry. He and Aunt argued and argued for days it seemed, and I slunk around quiet as a mouse and did not even react when one of the other children spat at me or cuffed me.

"My Aunt must have truly hated me, for she agreed to part with some of her precious money to get rid of me. She would pay my way to boarding school. It was an exclusive school in London, far away, extremely strict and proper, and very expensive. I should stay there until I was eighteen at which time I would be on my own. I should never be permitted to return home. I was an outcast, banned, and only my father presence had managed to wrest that much from his older sister.

"I will not bore you with the details of my school life. Suffice it to say that it was lonely, extremely rigid, and not much fun. While it was bad enough for the other girls, life was much more miserable for me, for I had nowhere to go during the holidays and even my summer was spent in study and learning at the Catherine Porterman School for Girls.

"Discipline was harsh for most girls and far worse for me--I basically had no parents who would complain at my treatment. Spending so much time at school made things worse, too, because the teachers and staff thought they had a higher duty than just being responsible for my academic upbringing, and took care of my moral and emotional upbringing as well.

"My relations with the other girls were not the best. I made a few friends, but many of the girls came from such high-class families that they would scarcely speak to me, though they had no problem bullying me. The stories I could tell regarding the abuses of the seniors girls would curl your hair. Trust it enough for me to say that I hated and was hated and I walked very gingerly around others.

"I did have one friend when I was fifteen. She was also fifteen, a blonde girl from the east along the coast. Her name was Dorothy and she and I spent all our free time together. For the first time since I had left Triten I had a friend, a real friend I could trust. Slowly I opened up to her. I told her my secrets, my innermost feelings, my secret desires. Finally one night when we were in bed after lights-out I went to her bed and told her that I had had a dream about her. This was only half-true. I had indeed dreamt of her, of her lovely face and long, curly hair, but I had been fully awake when I had dreamt that dream.

"When I told Dorothy the dream, however, she shrank from me and became cold and distant. When I tried to talk to her she began to cry out in fear and then she shouted, causing girls to wake up. Not wanting to cause a fuss, I ran back to my bed and slept fitfully, crying to myself and wondering why Dorothy had not understood my feelings.

"The next day Dorothy was not in class and I heard someone say she was not feeling well. I did not see her until supper that evening, and then just for a moment. She would not speak to me. She did not come to bed that night and the next morning I saw her only briefly, when I caught her heading down the corridor carrying a suitcase. 'Dorothy!' I cried. 'Where are you going?' A tall man dressed in a formal suit was escorting her, and he glared at me and told me to run to class or he'd have the headmistress take the stick to me. They left and I never saw Dorothy again. It was later reported that she had left school, and years later I discovered she'd transferred to a different school. I honestly don't know if she left because of what I told her, but I suspect that is what happened. At any rate I felt crushed and betrayed and vowed to never again open my heart to anyone.

"The years drifted by. My father came and visited me twice. In my second year I got word that he had died. I never found out how. For some reason I was not sad. I did not go to the funeral. Fortunately my Aunt kept her promise and did not stop payments to the school. I was to remain until eighteen, and then she never wanted to hear from me again.

"I threw myself into my academic studies with a vigor that astonished and pleased my teachers. I studied and read and got the highest marks in the school, which did nothing to help my social standing.

"When I became a senior girl I was allowed, as was the tradition, to beat the younger girls. I did this with an unheard of viciousness, caning girls whenever I had the opportunity. My reputation became one of fear and loathing, but I did not care. I had discovered tremendous satisfaction in punishing the naive and prissy little girls that arrived at Catherine Porterman. It was part of my dreaded reputation that I always caned on the bare--most of the other seniors gave the girl a choice of an extra stroke in exchange for keeping their knickers on. I was often brutal, and even earned a few stiff canings myself for abuse of power.

"But I didn't care. A caning to me meant little, I was so used to them. What was significant for me was that for the first time in my life I was in control. I had power and I liked it. There was nothing quite like the feeling of walking into the dorm late at night and hearing all the breathing stop as I wandered about tapping my cane gently, gently, gently, just waiting to find the perfect victim for a session downstairs in the old cellar.

"Beatings were always done down there--it was quiet and private and no one could hear the screams. Many times I'd take several girls down there, or have them brought to me, and get them blubbering and whining and almost eager to admit they'd stole or forgotten to do an errand, or whatever I could come up with so they'd have to be caned. The canings were usually six of the best but not always. Sometimes I'd give eight or ten or even twelve, when the crime was severe enough. On rare occasions it would be only three or four. If the victim stood up or squawked, however, that was permission for extra strokes, which never failed to please me.

"There was one occasion I should mention, for not only does it illustrate exactly the nature of these adventures, it was a significant event in my development. This effect occurred during the height of my reign at Catherine Porterman (or CP as we called it). There was a new girl, a transfer, a rather rare event at CP. Her name was Nellie and she was beautiful, with long dark hair that reminded me of Dorothy. On her third night I had her brought before me.

"'Name?' Even though she was sixteen and had been through this sort of thing before, she was very frightened. 'Nellie Biggins, ma'am.' 'Do you know why you are here?' 'No, ma'am.' Her eyes rolled and her fear aroused me greatly. I wanted to cane her very badly. Her bum was large and plump and I knew she could take a good long caning. I resolved to try something new.

"'You are here,' I growled at her, 'to be punished for your failure to salute to a Senior today.' She paled. 'I sorry, ma'am. I didn't know. I'm new--I don't know all the Senior girls yet.' 'Ignorance is not an excuse! You shall be _punished_ for this.' I placed the long senior school cane on my desk and glared at the petrified girl. Her mouth opened and she worked her jaw but did not speak. She was too frightened to speak.

"'How many strokes do you think, girls?' I glanced around at several of my cronies, all big senior girls, and girls who shared a similar taste to mine. I was not close to them--I did not truly trust them. But I could use them, so I did.

"'Wouldn't six be appropriate?' asked Linda. 'How about ten!' shouted Christina. Nellie was growing paler by the minute. 'I think six of the _best_ should be fine,' I said firmly. 'Do you know what that means, Nellie?' She nodded, swallowing, and I could tell she was braving up for what was to come. She had no idea what I had in mind, though.

"'Do you?' I asked. 'Are you _sure_? Let me show you the difference between a "best" and a "not-best."' I took up the cane and approached the girl. 'Strip and bend over!' She obeyed quickly, eagerly, frantically, though already I saw tears glinting in her eyes. In a moment she was naked, her night clothes tossed aside. I looked at her naked body, slim, boyish hips, petite swollen breasts, and dark stain between her legs. I walked behind her as she bent over, obviously petrified, and studied her rump. During my time a CP I almost made a study of bottoms--this was one of the best. Her hips weren't quite as curvy as some girls, but her cheeks were plump and well-defined with a deep, distinctive crack. Her skin was smooth and flawless; it had been some time since her last caning. 'Don't give you the stick much at Wittmore, eh?' The girl shook her head, her long hair falling on each side of her face.

"'When was your last caning?' She didn't answer for a moment but when she did her voice was high-pitched and cracked suddenly. 'L-l-last spring, Miss.' 'Well, then, I guess you are out of practice. We shall remedy that, Nellie, trust me. I warrant you shall find yourself down here quite often.' 'Yes, Miss,' she said, her voice suddenly breaking into a choked sob.

"'Now, Nellie, calm yourself. This isn't anything to get so worked up about. We're all friends here. It's just you need a little discipline to keep you in line. Now, I asked you earlier if you knew what "six of the best" was and you said yes, but I'm not convinced. So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to give you two strokes of the cane: one "best" and one "not best" and you are going to tell me which is which, okay?'

"'Oh, please,' said the girl with a sob. 'Alright, then. Since you are so eager let us begin.' I lifted the cane and gave her a light but vicious cut right in the crease of her ass where I know the pain is the greatest. She squealed and moaned but to her credit did not stand up. The cane mark showed up wonderfully well against her pale, unblemished skin, and I felt a familiar stirring beneath my belly.

"'Nellie, was that a "best" or "not best?"' I asked. She shuddered and I could almost smell her hesitation. 'A b-best?' she answered. 'Just as I thought!' I exclaimed with glee. 'This girl does not know the difference!' I promptly delivered a cracking cut that took the girl's breath away. '_That_ was a "best,"' I cried out. 'Do you see the difference now?' She nodded vigorously. 'Of course that one does not count toward your six,' I added. 'That was just for demonstration. They only count when you call them correctly.'

"With that I proceeded to illustrate for her the difference between the two types of strokes. Stroke after stroke fell across those gorgeous bottom cheeks and she was asked after each whether it was a 'best' or 'not-best' and she generally got most of them wrong.

"If it really was a 'best' but she said 'not-best' then we counted it as a 'not-best' and it didn't count toward her six. If it was a 'not-best' and she called it a 'best' I gave her a free reminder of what a 'best' felt like. Only when she called a 'best' a 'best' did we count it. She must have taken over a dozen 'bests' and maybe two dozen 'not-bests' before the evening was over. She was sobbing and could barely stand up when we told her she could go.

"She became my favorite fag after that. I kept her for myself and caned her frequently, though not so much that she was unhappy. I was fair with her, though strict, and she learned to respect my cane as much as God himself.

"It was during one of these private sessions I first had her touch me. She didn't want to do it but I had just given her six and she was in no mood to disagree. She touched me where I told her and quickly learned how to do it the way I liked. That was the first of many sessions, and soon I didn't even have to cane her, and she came willingly, and even let me touch her. I even taught her to lick me, to satisfy me with her tongue, and this she did very well.

"It is important that you understand that my sexual experiences with women were only a substitute for relations with men. I got very few opportunities to meet boys after I entered CP. The few I did meet I found intriguing but I was unable to talk with them. They made me far too nervous. They reminded me of Alfred, for one, and the moment I saw a boy I only could visualize him naked, holding his 'thing' between his hands, spurting white cream and moaning. It both attracted and repelled me, but in either case I found myself tongue-tied and helpless before them. It was only later, after I left CP and was on my own, that I began to meet men in the real world.

"I was eighteen when I left CP. I had no money and only a few clothes my Aunt had bought me. My education, however, proved valuable. I found a position with an attorney who needed someone to run his office. For six years I worked for him. He was a kind but non-descript man, and only a marginal lawyer. _I_ could have won more cases than he. I did learn some details of the law from him, however, that were to prove valuable.

"During this time I saved my money and lived frugally. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life but I knew I did not want to be poor. Studying our society, I discovered that the upper class held all the cards, so to speak. Simply being born into an upper class home meant wealth and power. The reverse was also true: once a pauper, always a pauper. The range of work for someone of my talents was minimal. It was assumed that ladies of breeding would do exactly that: breed. I should have to find myself a rich husband.

"But of course I had no background, no social standing, no class. I was the daughter of a ordinary worker. My Aunt had money, but besides the fact that she wouldn't speak to me, she herself was not a woman of class but had only married into it. I saw the problem clearly--it was the solution that evaded me.

"Some time later I was involved in some research for the attorney and I came across an interesting article in an old newspaper. It told of a certain Henry Westchester who had gone to Ireland in search of a wife and had not returned. He was presumed lost at sea, for he had traveled in a small boat. It had been confirmed that he had indeed found his wife and she had borne him a baby daughter, but it was during the long voyage home that a storm had swept them off course.

"Mr. Westchester it was noted, had royal lineage going back several generations, and was a distant cousin to the Duke of Kent. What caught my attention about this article was that there were rumors that the baby girl had survived, and had been found off the coast of England. Even more significant, the girl would have been about my age. A plan was forming in my mind. It was daring, scandalous, and dreadfully illegal. But I continued to investigate matters.

"On the pretexts of business I made two trips to the coast and discovered that all the rumors of the baby being alive were false. Interestingly, though, the rumors were still being circulated. Many thought the girl had been orphaned and raised in a convent. Convincing these simple villagers that I was that child would not be difficult.

"Soon I had everything prepared. I gave noticed to the lawyer, who was sad to see me go. I left London and two weeks later returned, giving my name as Rosemary Westchester. I rented a luxurious suite at a fancy hotel and bought a series of beautiful gowns. My life savings were almost completely exhausted by this time, but I knew that it was necessary.

"I began to participate in social affairs. I went to balls, I danced with princes, and I pretended that I had money. Everyone was fooled. Many said they had known my father. A few asked me about my past and I let it be known that I had been raised as an orphan in a series of convents up north and had only recently returned to London in search of a husband. No one questioned my story and I was accepted. Any defaults in manners (and there were a few), were thought to be because of my upbringing, and I even had a few of the towns wealthiest ladies giving me tips and advice on how to act like a Lady.

"The men loved me. I was pretty, I was young, and I came from good stock, though everyone knew that my father's wealth had been squandered by distant relations and little had passed on to me. I had little worry about, however. Rich men fed me. Rich men bought me clothes. Rich men gave me money and jewelry and paid my rent. I lived in style and soon I gave little thought to gaining a husband. Why torment myself with that when I could have wealth _and_ my freedom?

"But soon I became aware that the offers were slowing, the money less free. Men I had known were getting married and the younger men wanted younger women. I was growing old. At twenty-six I was no longer a prime catch. Just as this was beginning to concern me I met Julius.

"I fell in love instantly. Julius DeMarrco was already an important name and he was handsome and charming too. He seemed attracted to me and after just a few months we were engaged. I pretended to be very worried that my family was not good enough for him but he put that aside with a laugh. Westchester was a very good name indeed--just respectable enough it got me into the upper class, but not so famous that there were too many questions. After all, the estate was bankrupt--why would anyone pretend to be an heir?

"So I managed to climb up from pauper to princess, and now I had everything. I had a rich, handsome husband, friends, servants, a mansion; everything I could want. And yet I knew there was something missing. I had no real friends, for one. Julius and I never really _talked_. There was an emptiness inside of me that I felt every time I saw someone smile. I was not happy. In fact, I was miserable.

"I didn't notice it at first. In the beginning Julius and I were wonderful in bed. He made me feel things I had never felt before. But after a few years things were quiet in that arena, and I began to look elsewhere.

"My servants proved to be the easiest and most convenient target. I regained my schoolgirl reputation as the strictest mistress, and yet this time it was different, far more severe, less fun and games. In many ways I longed for those innocent days of youth where just a few strokes of the cane brought me such joy and delight and proved such terror. Now even a thorough beating failed to arouse me significantly.

"It was almost as though a part of me had died. I desperately tried to get it back--I whipped harder and more often--both men and women, but it did no good. Nothing changed.

"Then one day we got a new girl. Her name was Janey Morgan. I thought my heart would stop when I heard the name. It had to be her--it had to be! And as soon as I saw you I knew. I was worried you'd see me and know me, but I suspected that I was naturally the last person on earth you'd expect to see married to Master DeMarrco! I hoped the years had disguised my features, and sure enough, you did not recognize me.

"I soon discovered in you that old joy that I had not felt in so long. When I whipped you--especially when I paddled you--I felt so alive and free it was like I was transported to a different world, a world of peace and beauty and pure joy. I could not let you see this, of course, and I was strict with you as I was with all the servants. But truly it was you alone I enjoyed punishing. I knew you were my old friend. Somehow that made the punishment see more severe, more dangerous, more forbidden. I was filled with guilt over your punishments and I punished you more to rid myself of that guilt. I knew you should hate me should you find out who I was, so I resolved to never let you know.

"Then that day came I saw you staring at my Lindsey vase. It's the only thing from the old world I kept; my father didn't even know I had it. I took it when mother died and he was in such grief he appeared to have forgotten about it. When I saw you holding it I knew you knew--you may not have know it immediately but I knew you'd soon figure it out. It was too powerful a symbol from both our pasts for that to be forgotten.

"Suddenly I hated you. I _really_ hated you. Or wanted to. I don't know. I just knew that you were going to ruin everything, destroy my marriage, my life, my passions. Everything I had struggled so long to put together was going to disappear and I would most likely finish my days in prison or on the executioner's stage.

"I resolved then to torment you into leaving. I could not bear to dismiss you--that would ruin you, I knew. I didn't think I had the strength to dismiss you anyway. But no matter what I did you would not leave. That stunt with the ring was the last straw, my final grand attempt to get you to leave. But that was turned around upon me and here I am now, your servant and slave.

"I am sorry for what I have done. I have been exceedingly foolish, I know. You have every right to hate me, every right to beat me day and night, and I shall not complain if you do so. I deserve nothing less.

"But I still long for your friendship. I long for someone to talk to, someone I can trust, someone that will tell me these things I feel are not so strange. I just want to understand, to be accepted, to feel good about myself.

"Perhaps I have ruined it. Perhaps it is too late. I do not know. But I do know that I care about you and I have thought about you more times in my life than I have thought of anyone else. If we had stayed together we could have been great; our lives would have been very different, or at least mine would have been.

"So, the question is, now that you know my story, will you consider forgiving me?"

I looked up into those wide eyes brimming with tears and I could not restrain myself. For the last hour my emotions had been jumping up and down and now I could take it no longer. I threw my arms around my friend and hugged and kissed her and told that I could not _consider_ forgiving her--I _did_ forgive her. I understood why she had made the choices she had--not the same choices I would have made, surely--and yet look at all she had accomplished. A fine home, a wonderful, rich, husband, "who cares for you very much," I added. "And you've found a friend--someone from your past who thought you were lost long ago--and now you can be the best of friends again."

Tears flooded down Sydney's face. "Are you serious, Janey? You aren't just saying this to make me feel better? You really can forgive me for the way I treated you?"

"Absolutely," I said. "It is forgotten. Let us mention it no more."

"But--"

"No more," I whispered and I pointed to the cane in the corner of my chamber. Sydney's mouth clamped shut and her eyes went wide. Then she gave me a soft smile and nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said.

"And Julius?" she asked suddenly.

"What about him?"

"You won't tell him?"

I shook my head. "I won't tell him. _You_ will."

Her jaw dropped and stared at me in horror. "You are not serious."

"A serious as the stroke from a cane," I said.

"But why?"

"He deserves it. He loves you, Sydney, even if you don't. I don't think it will change his mind about you. It can be your secret--the world does not have to know. There's no harm in that. But it is dangerous for there to be secrets between husband and wife, Sydney. Any secrets, especially one this significant."

"But he'll be furious!"

"Maybe. He might even punish you. That's the chance you'll have to take. But I think you want to tell him, you _need_ to tell him the truth. It's been a secret for too long. Tell him."

Sydney's face was sad for a while and then she brightened. "Will you go with me?"

"I can't do that. This is something between a husband and a wife."