SCANDAL! At Hay-Lorret

SCANDAL! At Hay-Lorret

SALUTATIONS and well-wishes, my most lovely readers!

I must apologise for my long absence. I know well that many among you had concerns as to my health and well-being after the revelations of two months prior! I admit, I myself was concerned for a moment. Speaking out loud that which is oft whispered would seem to make one a mite unpopular in the halls of the mighty! Methinks, perhaps, they should tend better to the cleanliness their affairs, than seek the silence of those who shed light upon them.

Regardless, dear readers, rest assured I am well, and quite safe from the efforts of the debauched. I write to you today from a most lovely vantage, sitting in comfort high above the ton. The sunset washes the city with such colours as to paint a landscape of urbain loveliness. The beauty here is unmatched anywhere in the empire. It is a pity then, that it must play host to such scandalous figures as will, hereafter, be discussed.

You may well be asking yourselves to whom I am referring… patience! All will be revealed, but first, this raconteur must set her scene!

The events of this sordid story take place to the north of the ton, in and around the estate of Hay-Lorret in Hertfordshire. Readers may recall the estate as the abode of one Lady Mary Jonqula, who was accompanied by her husband, the Lord Hugo Jonqula, in the presentation of her daughter Mercy here at court. This writer must admit, the young Mercy was quite dazzling a sight, and turned more than a few heads that evening. Oh, but how it hurts my heart to recount what follows.

You see, dear readers, the estate of Hay-Lorret is home to more than just the respectable lady and her lovely daughter, but also to a creature most vile and repugnant to the senses. I speak, of course, of the foul doctor, Emilio Lorus.

Those of you who are familiar with the less-than-good doctor may find yourselves shocked at my admittedly uncouth words; however, I implore you to continue reading. I am certain that you will share in my distaste before long.

Dr. Lorus, who heretofore was the personal physician of Lady Mary, may find himself in poor standing with her ladyship in the coming days. It has come to the attention of this purveyor of truths that the respectable doctor is, in fact, a lecherous heel.

How have I come to such a conclusion? It has come to my attention, through the testimony of witnesses to, and objects of, his lasciviousness, that he has seduced and victimised at least two women, whilst keeping a third as his supposed betrothed!

Readers may recall the unfortunate passing, three years prior to now, of the good Duke Radigan. His widow, Duchess Viola Radigan, is the first of the scoundrel Lorus’ victims. Whispers have reached my ears that the wretch brought forth petition to marry the widowed Duchess, to whom a large part of the lands and wealth of the late Duke have passed.

His good standing, both in the eyes of the crown and fair Lady Mary, friend to the entreated, have, most unfortunately, brought his petition to fruition. Now betrothed, and poised to acquire considerable riches and further status, it would seem that Lorus has done quite well for himself.

But do not be gulled, dear readers, for the tale is far from finished.

I wrote before of two women, the affections of whom Lorus has sought and gained, and I will relate their tales in due time. First, I must introduce to you the setting of these woeful affairs.

Hay-Lorret is a fair estate, but not a home for all. If a weary traveller should wish to lay down their head, one may find themself in good stead at the Goodhoose Inn, not three miles from Hay-Lorret. It is here that our story continues, with the woeful tale of one Lila Hartock.

Ms. Hartock’s ruination is a subject all should be familiar with. Her former husband, the villain Trent Fallin, was incarcerated by the order of Her Majesty herself, after the revelation of his hideous treatment of children in his orphanage. This act of justice was facilitated by Ms. Hartock, then Mrs. Fallin, and another character all should know, that lovable rogue Schlaton deCamballais.

The Frenchman (who is both handsome and courageous, in the opinion of this writer) and the wife gathered proofs against the husband, sufficient in the eyes of Lady Mary, herself a patron of the orphanage, to be brought before the throne.

But alas, a happy ending was not had. Ms. Hartock’s marriage was over, dissolved in the eyes of God through the grace of Her Majesty. What, then, was she to do? To whom could she turn? Ahh, but our bold Frenchman came to her rescue!

The proprietor of the Goodhoose Inn, the aptly-named Elizabeth Goodhoose, has long been a friend of deCamballais, though she has long rejected his proposals of marriage (madness, dear readers, simple madness!). She agreed to lend a room to the good Ms. Hartock for a period of some months, until such time as she could get back on her feet.

Sadly, Mr. deCamballais departs from our story at this juncture, where the greatest of the scandals begins! Enter once more the wretched Lorus. He, who already is betrothed, seems to fancy himself a Lothario! He was seen, on many occasions, in visitation with Ms. Hartock at her room at Goodhoose, which peaked the interest of this truth-seeker.

What woman would entertain an intended man, a doctor no less, in private? Had the poor wretch taken ill, in addition to her destitution? The answer to that question is greatly shocking.

You see, dear readers, the Dr. Lorus had taken advantage of his station and relative wealth to seduce the poor woman, with promises of love and marriage! He had made no mention of his current engagement, and needless to say, he intended to make no mention of it in the future! I, as an upstanding woman of the community, could not allow such lechery to continue! Thus was the lady informed of the Doctor’s engagement, and he found himself soon out on his behind! In the words of the bard, hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.

It is with a heavy heart, however, that I must inform you that the story doesn’t end there! No, in the course of my investigations into this sordid affair, I found myself frequenting a little hillock behind the Hay-Lorret estate, to keep an eye on the foul Doctor in his more regular abode.

It was there that I was witness to most vile of all his offences. Readers of a more sensitive constitution may wish to stop here, but I must relay this horror to the world. I was there, eye to my spyglass, watching as the young Miss Mercy was walking alone in the gardens of her estate. Hay-Lorret has some of the finest gardens in all of England, and the largest, and the young lady oft enjoyed them in her lonesome moments. At least, she believed herself to be alone.

You see, the demon Lorus was walking the gardens also that day, and was the reason for my observation. I do not know whether it was his plan, or an opportunity that he sought, in his wickedness, to take, but he cast himself at young Mercy, and sought to force himself upon her.

It was by the grace of God that he was unsuccessful in his attack, as, by some miracle, the Frenchman deCamballais happened upon the scene, rescuing the lass and giving flight to the fiend. Why was this incident was not reported to the police, or at the very least his Lordship?

But it was, dear readers; the simple matter is, Lord Jonqula did nothing. It would seem that his lordship has long been friends with the horrid Lorus, before even he was a Lord. Those of us more advanced in age may remember the previous Lord Jonqula, who died in the service of His Majesty, and he who came before that, father of Mary Jonqula. With the deaths of her father and first husband, the Lady Mary was sole inheritor of her family’s wealth, and a most valuable prospect, indeed.

That is most assuredly how Hugo Stoneman must have seen her, for he had her seduced and ring-on-finger before the year was out! With Lorus’ betrothal to Lady Radigan, it would seem that both friends would soon achieve a most high station in the land. Thus, Dr. Lorus was protected, and poor Mercy ordered into silence.

I must speculate that the girl feared for her reputation- indeed, even her life! -should the story be brought to light. I, too, found myself following this line of logic, and had delayed telling this tale. Why, then, do I tell it now?

For a simple reason, dear readers, the simplest of all: love.

It has come to my attention that Miss Jonqula will not carry that name much longer. She has fallen in love with young Lord Fontay, and the two are to be wed before long. The pair spoke to one of my many sources, and agreed to allow me to recount this tale in print.

It falls to us all, now, to call for something to be done about the wretched Lorus, and perhaps even the rotten Lord that protects him. I am but a simple raconteur, I cannot bring such accusations before the crown, but your voices, dear readers, might well shake the halls of the mighty.

I hope my words have brought you some measure of entertainment, and also inspire you to action in these dark matters.

Ever your newswoman,

The Lady Joueuse.