Property of the Upper Classes

Roaring, flaming embers crackled, drowning out the storm lashing the lead-glass windows of Burtonmere Hall.

His Lordship paced, brandy sloshing from a crystal glass held in a mottled hand. Emily sat nervously, clutching petticoats.

“Damn it,” he cursed, “You will love me!”

Emily fidgeted – finish the brandy, she willed, let the arsenic do its work.

 

Mark Brown.

Property of the Upper Classes is a post from: Adventure and Learning