THE UNFINISHED LETTERS OF LADY M.

I'm trying to write a letter to you, my dear. But unfortunately I'm constantly distracted by my servants, who don't have a clue about manners. On top of that the porters are moving at a snail's pace and because of that I haven't been able to surprise James with my latest Parisian corset. The Governor will be visiting soon. I pray he will not be offended by the plain local crockery I will have to use.
Eternally yours, Lady M.

Although I hired only two cooks, there are suddenly eight of them preparing huge pots of odd smelling mush in my kitchen. James declines to interfere, claiming he is too busy measuring the heads and extremities of the natives for his impending presentation at the National Geographic Society.
Eternally yours, Lady M.

How I miss our leisurely strolls in the garden. The delicious moments when wafts of lilac blossom mingled with jasmine and pungent notes of peringulas. When you recited your poetry I almost fainted from ecstasy and pure joy. How I long for our quiet evenings, when you played the most exquisite improvisations on my harpsichord.
Eternally yours. Lady M.

James was just coming down the stairs in his bordeaux red frock coat, when a boy ran up to me with a message from the governor. I glanced it over and instantly gathered the pompous twit had found some lame excuse to leave me in the lurch once again. Just when I had opened my last jar of Devonshire cream and sacrificed our Christmas plum pudding.
Eternally yours. Lady M.

Yesterdays tea-time debacle left me with a hellish case of mal-de-tĂȘte. I retired to my private quarters and heard the servants go amok downstairs. No doubt in my mind that several pieces of precious silverware would go missing the next day. Late at night James scratched at my door. It's his way of letting me know he wants to consume his conjugal privileges. I didn't concede.
Eternally yours , Lady M.

I spent considerable time in my boudoir with the collection of exotic perfumes and stimulating ointments the Sultan had sent me as a birthday gift. I even dabbed my tongue with a home made concoction of Spanish Fly and oil of opium. Soon I felt like a kettle of water that has been boiling on the stove too long. In the bedroom I fashioned the duvet into your likeness, and, although there is an ocean between us, tonight you are mine and mine alone.
Eternally yours , Lady M.

O, how I wish...

Marc Susan
The Hague, Netherlands, August 2010