Secret Reflection by Jennifer Brassel

allow her a little time to digest his tale. Already he had placed his cause in jeopardy by behaving rashly. No matter how eager he was to garner her help, he knew that a steady onslaught would be the only way to successfully breach Kelly’s wall of disbelief.
    He wanted to laugh whenever she mentioned the possibility that he was an actor – an imposter. Never in all his days would he have lowered himself to such an occupation. From the moment of his birth he had been bound for the life of a titled gentleman, and in time would have inherited the earldom in his sire’s place; master of a number of estates situated in various English counties, had he not succumbed to this dreaded torment.
    He remembered seeing the fragility in his mother’s face when she arrived from London and Edward announced John’s fate so callously. Even then Edward’s madness had begun.
    At first, Edward lied to her … saying that his death had been an unfortunate accident. But he knew she never really believed the tale that he had fallen into the deepest well on the estate.
    As the weeks passed, and the madness set in, Edward couldn’t resist slipping hints – snatches of information – that suggested John had firstly raped then murdered Elizabeth, before taking his own life.
    John had railed against the mirrors, again and again, wanting desperately to tell her it wasn’t all true. Yes he had caused Elizabeth’s death, and yes he should remain in hell forever for his sin – but he did not rape her! He’d loved Elizabeth like a sister and would never have touched her in that way. And he did not take his own life. But Edward was the only one who could see him, and his cousin relished the anguish that he caused both mother and son.
    After Edward’s demise, his mother remained in her rooms, steeped in her grief that her son was a murderer and worse. Over time she grew paler and more reclusive, refusing all but the most basic necessities of life.
    He would have traded anything to make her smile once more.
    John’s greatest regret was that his mother had gone to her Maker still believing that he had done all the things Edward implied. If and when he ever escaped this hell, John vowed to seek out his mother’s spirit and set the record to rights.
    With a defeated sigh, he again listened for the shallow breaths of the woman who was destined to either save him, or condemn him to another twenty years of waiting.
    Kelly’s earlier conversation had awakened in him the yearning to see London once more. How different it must be now if the marvels he had seen, just within this house, were indications of the happenings in the world beyond. The people who had frequented these halls in the hundred and forty years that had since passed not only dressed differently, but they spoke differently. Gentlemen had ceased to be polite with their ladies … and the women – for they could no longer be considered ladies in the true sense of the word – were loosely spoken and far less mindful of their husbands’ wishes. A man like him would doubtless be ill-fitted to survive in the world as it had become. But – just once before his own death, if that were ever to occur – he would dearly love to walk about in this new world and learn what had become of the society he knew and understood.
    Journal of Edward James Ditchley ,
    Stanthorpe House, Oxfordshire, England .
    November 16, 1861
    My Elizabeth, I again must beg your forgiveness. If you were watching, please believe that I did what I did to avenge you. I have no tender feeling for Anne. She is merely a tool to torment your foul murderer. I wish you had seen his face when I waylaid her upon the stairs. It was obvious he had never so much as touched her as the passion of my kiss left her quite pliable in my arms, despite her initial protests of mourning. She even allowed me to caress her breast before she regained her wits. I assure you, my love, that her body does not hold any attraction but I am determined to