I Am the Woman in White

The Lost Letter of Anne Catherick

My dearest Marian,

I am writing this letter to you to explain some of the thoughts I had during those awful days when I was a resident of the Asylum, starting in the year 1854.

As the allowance provided to me by Sir Percival Glyde (the man whom I shall always detest) bordered on the excessive, I was able to bribe the nurses in charge of my care to take me on day-trips from the Asylum. The nurses were happy to provide this service. The fee I pushed their way sometimes meant that they earned more from me on their official day of rest than they did working six days for the Asylum on their pitiful wages.

As there were many nurses at the Asylum, I was able to have day trips as often as I pleased. It was many a day that I visited the outskirts of Limmeridge House and saw you, my dearest Marian, and your half-sister, Laura, in each other's company. I knew straightway that you had a special love for each other.

The way you looked at each other, the way you walked arm-in-arm, led me to the inescapable conclusion that you were both truly in love.

The servants at Limmeridge House, in turn, were able to secrete me and the attending nurses into divers chambers to observe your nightly sleeps. We could see inside your bedroom. Observe the interior thereof from the next room, which you thought at the time to be empty. For hour after hour we watched the interior of your bedroom, through the crack in the wooden recess above the fireplace. Please forgive me Marian for the intrusion into your personal affairs, but we in no way intended to pry where we were not welcome.

The first time the attending nurse and I watched therein and saw you prepare for bed. Your tall body from behind was masculine, with your small bottom and broad shoulders. But as you turned round, we saw the perfect breasts which only Our Lord could have made. I saw that the private parts between your legs looked beautiful and strange -- much like the marble Classical statues in the private collection of our foremost Museums. Between your legs was a smoothness of white skin, with a small slit betraying the conclusiveness of your sex.

Our beautiful Laura would enter your room after the house servants had gone to bed. As your bedrooms were adjoining, she would enter your bedroom as Eve was in the Garden of Eden. Exactly like Eve, except there was no fig leave to cover her shame, because there was no shame. She was not a 'Laura' or a 'woman' in my sight, but Aphrodite herself. As if Aphrodite split in two and now produced Venus, now there were two goddesses to replace the one. I would see you both make love.

Please. Please. Do not admonish me for using the word 'love' for describing the beauty of what we saw. The way you kissed each others breasts, the way that you stroked her hair and spoke to her gently.

Early evening turned into late night as we saw your fingers probe Laura, giving her pleasures of delight. Long hours where Laura would kneel between your legs, as if saying her evening prayers. Her lips would move, not in silent prayer, but in speaking love to your private regions. I would see you, as if possessed, breathe shallowly. Experience the rapture of a loved one being loved. Of violent movements being replaced by release, stillness and repose.

The beauty of your love-making (see! I use the word again) disturbed my body till my private parts became agitated. The Asylum nurse attending me whispered that two women laying together often happened at the Asylum, although the Regulations forbade it. Her medical training advised that once the private parts become agitated, it is risky to not allow for the discharge of the excess energy. Such congestion could lead to painful troubles in life and lead to a risk of mental disturbance.

While I watched you, the attending nurse moved her hand between my legs, telling me to be still and to allow her to give the necessary attention. My beautiful Marian, I watched you make love to Laura as the nurse stimulated me. I focused on the beauty of what I could see in the candle light, while the nurse's hand applied itself expertly to where I needed the relief.

As I saw you, my dearest Marian, stimulate Laura by candlelight, the nurse stimulated me in darkness. The nurse and I were in darkness, as there was no candle to shine a light on our sin (if sin it was). My insides built up an energy as if my body was about to become convulsed in ways I have seen with patients at the Asylum.  The small convulsion occurred, followed by a release, and this settled my nervous affliction.

That night, my dearest, was the first of many nights where I saw you make love with Laura. It was the first night of many where an attending nurse helped me with my affliction. From that moment I knew that I loved you and Laura.

And I love Limmeridge House. The loving evening memories of which help me during my daylight hours in the Asylum.

[Apologies to Wilkie Collins]