The Medea Complex by Rachel Florence Roberts Page A

Agnus. Her young head peers around the doorframe.
    “Yes, Sir?”
    “Can you escort Anne back to her room, please? And please,
ask Nurse Ruth to contact a Dr Tuke.”
    “'Dr Tuke'. Of course.” She moves into the office, and takes
hold of Lady Stanbury's hand with her own. Surprisingly, Lady Stanbury doesn't
fight her. Instead, she rises willingly; looking behind her as the attendant
leads the way.
    “You confuse me,” she says, looking lost. “Why don't you
tell me how much you want for me? You are a perfectly cruel, awful man.”
     
     

Light A Fire
     
    Beatrix
    November 5th, 1885
    Asquith Manor
     
     
    “Shush!” I whisper in a hiss, pulling Betty down from the
window. “They'll hear us!”
    “They won't Miss, they won’t! But ye' have t' look outside,
I can see tha' Mr Jordan, an' I think 'es stolen somethin'!” she whispers back,
defiantly.
    “Why should you think he has stolen something, Betty?”
    “Cos 'ee has sumthin' under 'is arm, an he' dinnae come wit'
anythin'!
    Putting my hand upon her shoulder, I creep my head slowly
over the window-ledge. Lord, when did I start indulging youngsters in their
childish fantasies again? It seems only yesterday that Anne was a child of
Betty's age, telling me stories about the comings and goings of our visitors.
    Mr Jordan is indeed stood outside.
    “De' ye' see 'im? De' ye'?” She yanks at my arm, tugging
like a monkey.
    “Shush!”I say more forcefully this time, swatting her hand
away.
    “But Miss,” she says, the title comes out as a whine. “He
may'be stelin' Lady Anne's things! P'rhaps Mr Stanbury is sellin' er' stuff, 
ee's a commoner and got ne' money, Miss!”
    I ignore her, unwilling to enter into a debate neither about
Mr Stanbury nor about Anne. Watching Mr Jordan, I almost laugh out loud when
the man's hat is blown off by a gust of wind and he scrabbles for it uselessly.
The hat lands in a wet patch of mud as a carriage enters the main gate.
    “Betty, Mr Jordan is outside because he is waiting for the
carriage to take him home.” I sit back down beside Betty, and take her chin in
my hands. “He's just an old friend of Mr Stanbury's, and there's nothing else
to it.” I push her away playfully and lift myself up from the floor.
    She crosses her arms and stamps her foot.
    “Miss, yer nae listenin'! I'm tellin' ye 'e has sumthin' in
his hands!”
    “No, he doesn't. Now, come on, I'm not getting anything done
today with all this talk of thievery and such.” I give her my stern face and
she relents, letting me pull her to her feet.
    Thinking about Anne, I wonder if she received the letter I
sent.
    “Betty, you did post that letter to Lady Anne, didn't you?”
    “Of course I did, Miss,” she says indignantly, opening the
door and gesturing for me to pass through before her. “I wan' 'er back 'ere
just as much as ye do. I am missing her sumthin' awful. I dannae like Mr
Stanbury, 'ee wants t' have us all fired, ye' know.” She looks at my face, and
notices that I still appear unconvinced. “It's not all stories, Miss! It's
nay!”
    That I do know. We all know. Newman told us the discussion
Mr Stanbury had had with Lord Damsbridge not a week after Anne was taken away.
I was the one he professed to be the worst, 'lounging around' and 'idly
chatting with Anne, as if it is her job simply to be my wife's companion'.
Well, his wife needed a companion, for he was certainly never up to scratch, and
never will be.
    No matter. I have it on good authority he will be gone from
the Manor, soon.
    “It doesn't matter what Mr Stanbury wants, or doesn’t want,
Betty,” I say, as we descend the stairs back to the servant’s quarters. “This
house doesn't belong to him.”
    “How can tha' be, Miss?”
    “Because Lord Damsbridge owns it, not Mr Stanbury.”
    “But Lord Damsbridge doesn't live 'ere anymore Miss, Mr
Stanbury does.”
    “Yes, in this main house. Lord Damsbridge is over in the
dowager house, that's true, but he still owns the Manor,