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M ercury Gandt was not having the best day of his life. But hey, the cards are dealt and we see what we have to work with, eh?.

He was hoping that the day was going to improve, but in all honesty, his expectations were pretty low. He did in fact, have some information for the Sbirri, but he was unsure that it was going to be enough to keep those bastards happy for a while...it was just some odd snippets he had overheard about the Conte Foscari and some cannons that were being cast...no big deal, but maybe it would mean something to Cristofoli.

Mercury involuntarily sighed, squared his shoulders, and resolutely strolled into the main entranceway of the Sbirri headquarters.

When he came out a short while later, he felt considerably better than he had. Things were looking up. That smarmy little weasel he was reporting to had seemed very interested in the cannon story..and of course Mercury had embellished things only slightly to make for an enhanced, more dramatic narrative.

It felt about right: he had improved the story just enough to make the situation seem a bit more sinister...a bit more like there was something there. But at the same time, he had not gone overboard with the embellishments. If the story turned out to be something insignificant, it wouldn't seem like he had fabricated the whole thing. That was the trick: to get a nice mix of truth and artful embroidery, not unlike what worked well with certain ladies who were blessed with a tad more navetthan was good for them. He was feeling rather pleased with himself, and decided he deserved a little reward in the form of a drink or two at one of his favorite haunts.

In his enthusiasm to go collect his reward, he did not notice that he was being watched from across the street.There, in the shawdows by a fruit vendor's stall, was a figure that -- had Mercury been a little more observant at the time -- he would have easily recognized as someone he knew.

**********************************

Achille Giglio was reading some letters from the Padrone when he heard a key being inserted in the lock on the ancient door. Having decided it was unwise to return to the House of Foscari, He and Devi had established thier headquarters in a moldering little medieval house on a side street just off the Fondamente Nove, not far from the former Jesuit church of Santa Maria Assunta. Although he had a pretty good idea of who it was, Achille quietly stood up and moved to a darkened corner of the room that was at an angle to the door, and gently pulled the hammer of his blunderbuss back to full cock.

As he expected, Devi came in...and there was no one with her, so he unobtrusively let the hammer back to half cock and set it against the wall in the corner.

Devi took off her cloak and and threw it over the back of a chair and stood by the mantel, staring into the fire that was fighting a losing battle against the damp from the nearby lagoon that seemed to permeate everything in the vicinity.

You look thoughtful," said Achille. "I can tell you have learned something of interest...and perhaps of concern?

Devi still looked into the fire. Finally she spoke.

"Yes, I have...In fact, I have had a very interesting discussion, with Fiorino Pera.

Achille arched an eyebrow. Fiorino...you mean Fio, the apprentice from Rocca Sorrentina?

She nodded. The same.

A good fellow. And, I would think, a source for reliable and useful information, no?

Yes...certainly...and what he told me was indeed of both interest and concern. He was actually looking for me or the Contessa...to let us know that he and one of his friends had seen Mercury Gandt coming out of the offices of the Sbirri not terribly long ago. And it's not the first time, they have seen him there.

Now it was Achilles turn to look thoughtful. What did Fio offer in the way of details? Did Signor Gandt appear as if he had been locked up for awhile...any visible injuries...disheveled-looking and so on?

No...and that is what is of concern...he came out the front door, unescorted by guards, looking hale and hearty...dapper as ever...like he had just made a social call...

Achilles face showed no emotion whatsoever. Or a business call, he offered drily.

Devis eyes flashed with anger. Hes sold someone out. Or hes working for them now...or both. And I have a bad feeling who he has ..or is going to be trying to sell out.

Achille still looked remarkably unperturbed, which Devi found irritating for only a moment. She suddenly realized how much she preferred this kind of thoughtful, measured reaction, rather than the over-dramatic theatrics that most men she knew would have responded with. She laughed and asked sweetly,You are already cooking up a plan, aren't you?

There are a number of possibilities.," he replied. "But I assume you have a few ideas of your own, yes?

Oh, of course...my first thought was that we could see how well Signor Gandt can swim with some masonry blocks tied to his feet...but I am guessing you have something more subtle in mind?

Achille smiled a little. Well, as a matter of fact, I do think pushing him off the Fondamente Nove into the lagoon would be a wasted opportunity.... especially as Don Aldo has written me to let us know that he has got his hands on two low-level agents of the Sbirri down on la Rocca....he and the Conte are going to feed them with false intelligence and then arrange for them to make an escape...we could augment what those idiots have to say to their boss with some information through Don Mercurio.

Now it was Devis turn to smile a little. As long as we dont make things too complex...the best plans are simple ones.

Yes, of course. But we have the chance here to do something that not only could misdirect Cristofoli away from the Conte and his activities...we also might be able to buy some leverage to help us find out what happened to one of our friends...the sacristan at the old cathedral in Casserta, who is still missing.

And after that, THEN we can push Signor Gandt into the lagoon?

Achille sighed. The Padrone seems to have some inexplicable fondness for Don Mercurio...I do not entirely understand it, but hey, the Padrone usually knows what hes doing. I suspect he has some other role planned for Signor Gandt.

I hurried down the stairs and through the halls as the first of the carriages arrived. No sooner had the footmen taken the trunks from it, and the carriage rolled off than it was replaced with another, and then another, until the front gate was buzzing with conversation. The sun moved behind some ominous clouds, and we were all lucky enough to make it to the picnic under the tent before the skies opened up. All manner of delicacies were laid out by my cook and we feasted on cured venison, local cheeses, freshly baked loaves of bread, fruits and berries, and of course, with champagne. Laughter rang out as we all were given names of gods and goddesses, making our hilltop retreat into Mount Olympus itself.

The rain soon cleared and we stood, somewhat unsteadily after being seated for so long (it could not have been the freely-flowing champagne), and made our way into the house. I gave a brief tour of the house to familiarize the guests and then they were shown to their quarters. Some, who had endured longer journeys, chose to rest while others, more adventurous, joined me for a ride around the grounds. Lady Merry's horse was more interested in grazing than galloping, and so she refereed a race between Monsieur Gandt and myself and I lost the first, but am happy to report that I won back my losses with the second. Soon, others came to join us, and sweet Jean-Matisse atop his pony, made a wonderful third to the riders. Lady Aphrodite and Mr. Ewan Bonham joined us, but alas their horses were too skittish atop the high hill above the lake.

Soon enough it was time to hand the horses over to the stable boys and we all went to wash and change for dinner. Many of the guests slept right through, so I made sure to tell the housemaids to have some food prepared in the larder in case they should awaken late in the night, hungry. Myself, Mr. Bonham, Signore Stern, Ladies Merry and Aphrodite joined me in the dining hall to have a taste, first of some casks of wine my mother sent to me just in time. A lovely claret that we only get in once every 3 or so years, so it was quite the timely treat.

Hungry from our ride, we sat down straight away and enjoyed quite the feast. Oysters and lobster, succulent beef and ham, and sweets to complete the meal. A wonderful compliment to my cook, whom I kept hidden from Lady Merry (who threatened to try to bribe her from my service! The nerve :P ).

Finally satisfied, we all made our way into the gaming room, where Lady Merry read our fortunes. Lady Aphrodite's was very well received. Mine was a bit perplexing, and not just a little bit frightening! And Signore Stern's was enlightening and helpful. Lady Merry was very proficient in explaining the possible meanings of each card!

All in all, a wonderful first night of a house full of guests, and much merriment was had by those of us with a stronger constitution. The others had the constant soothing sound of the rain on the roof and windows to lull them into much needed rest.

Versailles, 30 June 1774

My dearest friend,

Customarily, even though you know my love for it, the mentions to hunting in my letters to you and to Josephine are carried with detrimental connotation, as they are always accompanied by a lamentation about the deplorable state of my marriage.

But this time I shall tell you through this letter about a most pleasant hunt I attended in the woods of Versailles. It was interesting to noticed that the majority of the courtiers there were ladies, being the King - after he arrived, not exactly on time I would add- the only gentleman among us, which seemed to disturb him deeply.

As the hunting began, I surprised not only myself but those surrounding me with my skills, which I was ignorant to until then. Louise was pretty good as well, but all eyes were set upon Mlle de Honfleur, a bourgeoisie lady as you can tell by the last name, which alone brings me such sweet memories. Some noble ladies seemed annoyed, but you know better than anyone how I have no problems with the bourgeoisie, much the contrary in fact.

She quickly surpassed me, and was the winner of the day. The king personally complimented her, and I was most happy for her achievement. His majesty spoke briefly and uncomfortably about the Queen, and at one point, spoke proudly of a watch, and as the Comtesse d'Artois, the ladies pretended to be very interested in that little piece. Clearly nervous the whole time he was talking to anyone, His Majesty left in a most rude manner, rushing away without a proper adieu. But alas, he seems so uncomfortable under the courtiers ever-judging stares that I cannot blame him at all.

About the Comtesse, she arrived without the Comte, and even latter than the King. It makes one wonder if d'Artois succeed in seducing that young Tancarville, as rumors said they met in secret in the gardens of Versailles. This makes me think if the marriages among the nobility are fated to be those of sadness and lovers.

I shall go rest now mon cherie, I kiss you and Josephine most affectionately.

Forever yours,

( previous letter )

I know not what brought me from my sewing to the window. Perhaps it was the constant tapping on the panes; the endless rain of England, beckoning me to watch it paint the landscape in watercolor.

As I stood and gazed upon the beauty of nature's artistry, I noticed that two eyes stared back at me from 'neath the canopy of night. Squinting, leaning forward, nose to glass the eyes stayed true to their target, and as my vision grew accustomed to the darkness, a nose, a mouth, a shock of hair beneath a tri-corn'd hat.

He was revealed to me, little by little, as if a curtain of rain were parting. Strong chin and charcoal eyes, his stature that of health and prosperity.

A lady (barely a woman) should have gasped or run to fetch a footman to interrogate this brash stranger, question his intentions, and inform him that the storm must have put him off his path, advise him that he stood on my grounds, and yet...

My eyes and his were sealed; a key to a lock, not yet turned. He did not smile, nor bow, nor did he make any motion to come forward or retreat, but stood there still. Transfixed.

I cannot tell you how long I stood there, though time seemed to stretch out like an endless bolt of silk coming from a loom, until I felt an overwhelming need to seek him out and ask his name.

I turned, rushing through the hall and entry, and through the front doors, out into the teeming rain and over the foot bridge to where I had seen him. Trying to see where he had gone to as the storm lashed against me, turning my gown to a tight-fitting layer of plaster: a statue standing in the grass, looking upon the spot where he had been, as if upon a sacred object, blinking rapidly against a mixture of the rain and my own tears of disappointment.

Where could he have gone to, so quickly?

I stood stock-still in the pouring rain, seeking out a dream.

My maid ran out, calling my name, holding out a blanket to wrap around my shoulders, and lead me back, as I looked over my shoulder, eyes searching every shadow and finding nothing.

Finally, dressed in my night clothes, I sat before the hearth watching the sparks dance, and then deeper, into the charcoal eyes of the fire.

B eatrice writes in her journal, sitting at the desk in her new home on La Rocca Sorrentina and looks out the window at the brilliant sunset over the Mediterranean.

She is feeling safer now, safer than she has felt in a long time. Perhaps she finally has found a home - a place where she can relax and establish herself among the kind and friendly people she has recently met there. Thanks to Hugo's generosity, she has new clothes and newly styled hair has received a number of compliments - especially her about curls en papillots so very fashionable these days. She is happy that Elisabetta is here with her, slowly eating herself back to health. And Hugo - how wonderful he has been, so attentive and affectionate - although she has a nervous feeling he is worried about something, not quite settled here. He finally wrote to Snr. Gandt thanking him for his letter of introduction to the Island (it took a bit of encouragement from Beatrice) but for some reason he seemed uneasy about this. Something is worrying him. Beatrice has observed that Hugo often goes walking around the grounds at night and constantly paces back and forth in his room. She hears him in the small hours of the morning despite the muffling of carpeted floors. She writes:

"I have finally had the time to engage in good conversation with Elisabetta. I had wondered how she was bearing up under all these changes - she is so young and vulnerable. We have has such an unsettled few years together. First, our flight south to Venezia, then gradually settling in, learning the Venetian language and customs and finding work; then her being siezed by the sbirri and put in jail, (what an ordeal!) Then her release, thanks to Hugo, and but then being attacked on the high seas on our way to Rocca Sorrentina. What adventures! She has been very reslilient.

Perhaps, we can f inally f ind a new life on this friendly island. During the past week we have spent many hours reminiscing about the good and bad times: playing as children in the gardens of SansSouci under the loving eyes of our parents, their bitter fight with old Fritz and our family's expulsion out of Prussia and into Austria where we were protected by Joseph II and played with his pretty little sister Marie Antoinette. There followed Elisabetta's education in Vienna, my failed marriage with the Duc (Dear Leopold, he used to call me "Blissful") and his tragic death followed by our long, arduous flight by coach through the mountains passes to Venezia. We have been through a lot together,my sister and I! It was good to talk about all this again and to hear the story from her perspective. She is still a little sad about leaving the cosmopolitan centre of La Serenissima and its whirl of social life - I believe she left a boy behind - but she also realizes she is safer living here now."

Beatrice puts down her pen, gets up, and moves around her room. She looks at the few worn books she brought with her when she left for Venice: Voltaire's Candide, Goethe's Sorrows of Young Werther and Cartier's recent revision of the Bible. Most of the rest of her belongings were left behind in Venice. She had no time to properly pack but spent the last few days there looking after Elisabetta. Now she needs to pull her thoughts together and decide how she will make a living. There is no need for a courtesan on this small island and she can't always depend on Hugo for support, no matter how generous he has been.

Beatrice walks down to the doorway of the villa, framed by massive marble columns and gazes out at the harbour, at the green expanse of lawn bisected by the long shadow of the Egyptian obelisk, and at the terra cotta roofs of the town beyond, glowing in the setting sun. How beautiful it is! She decides that tomorrow she will walk down to the cafe in town and ask if she can help Lady Macbain in the kitchen or serving the customers. That might bring in a small but regular income. Perhaps there is work to be done in the kitchen garden; she will ask. How my circumstances have changed, she reflects, in the past ten years !

Beatrice climbs the stairs to her room and prepares for bed. Hugo's footsteps begin their regular rhythm on the other side of the wall.

Hugo strolls along the cool stone walkways of Rocca Sorrentina. He regrets being remiss in certain duties, or rather, his manners but only a bit. A letter should have been written much sooner than this, yet Hugo has let his business dealings and especially the raven haired beauty, Beatrice, happily distract him. Hes been thoroughly enjoying some leisure time and her company.

Hugo also cant help the feelings hes been having of late, as if a dark stone is in the pit of his stomach. Its time to get thisletter finished as he arrives at his destination and sits down, putting quill to paper. He is not quite sure what to write, but he doesnt wish to keep Beatrice waiting too long. Beatrice stands nearby, patiently waiting, as Hugo is steadfast in his task.

Quickly perusing his writing, Hugo lays down the quill and is somewhat happy that the letter has been written. He looks up and smiles at Beatrice and she looks back at him expectantly. Hugo hasnt shared his doubts about their new friend with her, and he certainly isnt about to ruin the plans for this night either.

Ready for an evening stroll Hugo? Its another lovely night and the air will do us some good. Beatrice asks and then smiles sweetly.

Of course my dear, I needed to finish this letter first, Id like our friend Gandt to not feel as if hes been forgotten. We do owe him some gratitude. We are safe here and Elisabetta is doing so well. Hugo replies with an imperceptible tinge of misgiving. He looks down again at the paper and contemplates what hes just written.

Hugo rises and he and Beatrice start off to wander the island, as they often do in the evening. They pause and look East across the water in the direction of Venezia, unspoken words of the past there and how far they have come. Hugo is overcome with emotion and kneels before Beatrice, kissing her hand and looking up into her beautiful eyes. She smiles and welcomes his touch.

Not many more words are spoken between them, content to walk and just enjoy the peacefulness of Sorrentina. They find a quiet spot and sit on the ground to relax after their meandering walk. Soon after, Beatrice beings to yawn and excuses herself for the night for some blissful slumber. Hugo promises to join her soon enough. She goes off to her chambers while the orange sunset has turned into a purple night.

Hugo is yet restless and fully mulls over the nagging suspicions now that he is alone. Perhaps the delay in writing Gandt is also because of his feelings. He reaches into his pocket and produces his recently written letter, needing to read it once more. It sounds polite enough and without a hint of mistrust.

Sighing loudly, Hugo decides to send the letter to Mercury as soon as possible. If anything Hugo was polite and didnt like to leave any loose ends in any endeavors he attempted. Furrowing his brow and looking around, he makes a decision. He needed information from Venezia but didnt feel comfortable going back there on his own. Many of his own contacts back in Venezia were probably not going to help him. The sbirri and Cristofoli were not going to be too fond of a meeting with Hugo and they were still after the missing Contessa Elena. Hugo simply couldnt stomach the sbirri, he felt he was still paying some penance in his soul for his own dealings with them.

Hugo thought of Don Aldo and Conte Foscari, they were most gracious and welcoming. Many of the valets and servants were forthcoming and helpful. An idea forms in his mind because of a name he has heard spoken around the island very often. A certain gentleman, currently in Venezia, who was known for particular abilities may prove useful. Hugo wonders if a letter to the gentleman to find out about Gandt and a promise of some ducats would prove useful in his quest.

Would circumventing his hosts mean risking expulsion from here? The gentleman in Venezia was known to both the Conte and Don Aldo. Hugo dreaded the thought of going back to England or finding another port if his plan was discovered. But, he needed to know what Mercury Gandt had been up to in Venezia. What of the ladies? Would they suffer for Hugos decision? Beatrice and Elisabetta were settled and happy here, how could Hugo in good conscience jeopardize that?

Thoughts, plots, counter-plots, deceptions and subterfuge were making Hugos head swim and feel as if he were back in Venezia at that moment. Hugo returns to the villa and sits down once again at the desk. This letter begins awkwardly as hes not sure how to proceed. He must know what Gandt is up to but if the Conte or Don Aldo find out, he hopes the repercussions wont be too severe. Again, he puts quill to paper and starts slowly

Hugo stops after writing the last sentence. Hes completely torn and undecided. Placing the letter in the desk drawer under some other papers, he cant write anymore and will think about it again at another time. The letter to Gandt will go out by courier but this one, this letter to Saturnines, the Conte Foscaris own servant, needs careful thought and preparation. Business, Hugos business needed some attention so with the other letter tucked away, he begins tending to other matters long into the night.

Versailles, 22 June 1774

My dearest sister,

Yesterday I attended the Queen's promenade, which was truly delightful. Not only cousine Sophie was there, but also our sister Louise, whom I haven't seem in a long time, and I was most happy to see her after so long.

Her majesty commented on my absence on her private picnic, and I was very honored she noticed it. In fact, that picnic was the object of gossip amongst the older ladies at court, who were somewhat annoyed by the Queen choosing cortiers by their relationship with her rather than inviting them by their titles and ranks.

Antoinette was dressed in a beautiful white polonaise with blue details. I was slightly surprised as she was not wearing a high pouf, but instead a very simple hairstyle with a straw hat. The high poufs are becoming so fashionable at court that I expected our trend-setter to use them, but it seems Her majesty truly enjoys simplicity. Well, that would depend on what one would define as simple, as I am pretty sure that would be some disagreement between the different social classes.

The weather was lovely, and we saw so many beautiful things as we walked around the gardens, with all the ladies finely dressed. Furthermore, the Queen complimented my hair and new polonaise, and I could not help but blush and feel very flattered by such kind words. Among all the ladies, the only man present was Comte d'Artois, who was gallant as usual.He was in fact flirting quite obviously with a new lady at court, a Tancarville if I am not mistaken. I do hope that poor girl does not get stupefied by all that attention, as it will likely disgrace her not even acquired reputation. Don't you think it is sad, mon cherie, that men can flirt almost, if not completely freely without being subject to prejudice, so often targeted to women?

My dear, I am getting extremely anxious about consuming my marriage to Vicomte. None of us is eager about it, but I feel the growing pressure around me to produce a heir, and I am not getting any younger as the time pass. I fear that, if he could, he would ask for an annulment for our marriage, for we have not exchanged letters since he went to the hunting lodge weeks ago.But alas! I do hope, my dearest, that you and Anne will someday find love, as your poor younger sister seems to have ill luck in that subject.

Pray for me mon cherie, as I always pray for you.
Your most devoted sister,

( previous letter )

[Journal entry]

8 June 1773

It has been a week's time since my last entry. So consumed by preparations for my weekend guests, that I have all but abandoned thoughts of detailing my days... until to-night.

My staff have worked tirelessly to see that old beds were brought from the attics, and deliveries have come at least three times this week alone, bringing new feather mattresses, and other supplies necessary for the comfort of my guests. Despite my fatigue, I was awoken early; this time by the cook accepting provisions for the larder. As her menus never disappoint, I shall forgive her for rousing me.

I have earned at least a little more respect from the staff in these preparations; they have become aware that I am quite capable. Yesterday, however, I had a set-back in that progression -and one which pains me. I had hoped to bestow the responsibility of arranging each of the guest quarters to the head house maid. I drew a fairly good diagram of each of the rooms, and detailed where each piece should be set. Upon handing it to her, initially I thought I had provided too much detail (though in cases like this, one should always do too much, than too little) until it dawned upon me. The poor girl could not read. I did my best to cover her shame and replace it with my own, by saying that I had made mistakes, and she was quite right to look at it so oddly. She had a faint expression of relief, but it was mixed with awkwardness and self-consciousness. I have made note of that short-falling in my character, and shall endeavour to commit myself to more forethought in such dealings.

[ The page ends uncharacteristically mid-page, and continues on the next]

Although all of that is necessary to record, and long overdue, it is peripheral in comparison to a discovery that I made.

Such labours took much of my time, and rather than take tea in the garden, I sought refuge in the library. I scanned the titles and finally settled on an old volume, a book of prose, its spine weathered and worn. As I carried it to the chair, something slipped from between the pages and fell to the floor . . . a folded letter. So delicate; yellowed and old. I feared I might shatter the pages like a pane of glass as I opened it. I was in shock that it was addressed to one Robert Chapman, of whom I was told was responsible for the raising of my family from mere merchant caste to nobility. I must relate here, the contents:

Dear Mister Chapman,

I have become acquainted with a mate on your ship The [illegible] who informs me that you or someone you know may be in possession of pages which are of great interest to me. They are written by a dear friend, Anthony Babbington, who has laboured many years on a volume of fiction, and bereft of the pages which you now hold, renders his work nearly useless. As you can well imagine, the re-writing of a book would take more years than a man can hope to live.

I am currently residing at the Rose & Crown pub in Portsmouth, and would very much appreciate if you would bring these missing pages to me at your earliest convenience. For your trouble, I am willing to part with a good sum of silver and with gratitude, would happily recount the plot of the book to you, over a few mugs of ale, should you be interested in such things.

I look forward to receiving word of your acceptance of my offer.

Sincerely,

Edward [illegible]

As I write, I tremble to think what may have become of England, let alone the realization that my very birth would not have occurred should that document have been handed over for a handful of silver and some ale, but what of the letter? Part of me wishes I had never seen it, and so for now, I have replaced it within the volume from which it fell. I shall make arrangements to speak with my father and his wisdom will guide us down the correct path. Should he feel its place is best among the embers of the fire, I shall make this entry its companion.

Paris,5 June 1774

My beloved friend,

Last week I had the chance to host my very own salon at court, and I must tell you how nervous I was about tidying everything up to perfection! Thankfully, a very kind lady helped me, though I could only wish that you, my dearest Jeanne, would be there to help me, with your always gentle and affectionate guidance, from which my heart could never grow tired of.

This evening got me reminding of your secret 3 days long carrier as my lady-in-waiting. Do you remember how absurd it was my dear? Monsieur ttiquete was terrified of Mme Royale discovering it! How ridiculous this whole affair was, but it is now nothing but a sweet memory of our devotion to ourselves.

Later on the same day the Queen was to receive the courtier to show her condolences. I met cousine Sophie, whom I saw previously on my salon, and we both shared our anxiety for we were about to talk in front of Her Majesty! We had to wear mourning grand-habits de cour, which I found rather melancholic and dull. Though we also wore these little black bonnets on top of our hair, and they looked quite silly.I believe I made a great impression on the Queen, and I much hope for a positon on Her Majesty's household,as Mme Victoire's stays on Chteau de Bellevue are becoming more regular, and it is being rumored that Mesdames ought to move there permanently.

After the Queen retired to her private apartments, I got to talk with the intelligent Marquis de Sarlat and the dashing Comte de Cardaillac. After the Marquis left, I spoke briefly with the latter alone, but my good morals do not allow me to write our conversation in this letter without blushing terribly.

But my dear friend, I have to tell you that I am left at the most state of neglect. Not only by my husband, but by our musical friend .I wonder if his brother have anything to do with his decreased presence at court, but nonetheless I do hope he still carries me on his heart -along with that lock of my hair that is- for he will always have a special place on mine.

I kiss you and mon cherie soeur tenderly,

Forever yours,

Leopoldine.

( previous letter )

[Journal entry]

1 June 1773

Two days have passed and still I sleep restlessly, if I sleep at all. My countenance has suffered for it, and I dread sitting before the mirror each day. Katie had commented that perhaps I am suffering from an affliction of some sort. I do not even have the energy to write long, nor paint, nor play a piece. Thus has this lethargy settled in my whole being. I wonder if I shall ever feel the vibrant energies I did before I came to this house...

My dearest wish,
I shall write Mama
Come the morning...

[a series of sentences, begun, crossed out, and abandoned, end the day's entry. No further entry is seen until 3 June]

[Journal entry]

3 June 1773

I have received a parcel from La Rocca. In it is the most wonderful gift from my dear friend Lady Aphrodite Macbain... the gift of sleep! I am almost too exuberant to fully describe the manner of this elixir... such dreams! One moment in gauzy chemise, unabashedly spread in a field of flowers so vibrant, so delicate yet un-crushed, their tendrils and soft blossoms formed to make nature's most fragrant, colorful and exquisite bed. O, and the next, a vivid sunlight, so bright I feared the light would burn my sight away and so fearful was I of missing one single flash of colour... such a riot of hues and shadow! I shall heed my friend's warning that only a small amount of thislaudanum be taken, even though I long to see and lay amongst that field of blossoms once again.

I should be wary of such open admissions and yet I am so giddy for the blessing of a sound and lengthy slumber!

I slept so soundly and so long, I nearly danced down the stair this morning to breakfast, though I was quite long past the set time, and I understand Mrs. Burridge was quite cross with me, but nothing... nothing at all could sour my mood to day! I am taking a turn in the park and will have paper, pen and ink set out on the bench beneath the tree, to write a note in thanks. As the day looks to be quite fine, I shall also set some time aside to select some roses and lavender to make a gift for her in return.