Doctor Belcome says there is nothing wrong with Miss Walker and that if she had to work for a living, she’d be fine. He writes down her maladies as nervousness and weak muscles. He agrees that travel will do her good and tells me not to pet her too much. He speaks to me as if I am her husband. I rather like it. I just wish I had a less nervous and weak-muscled wife to present to him. I wonder if Mariana ever confided in him about us? I wonder what a doctor would make of it? Would he suggest a cure? Or as a scientist, make no judgement? He is a married man with children, an educated man, who sees all people at their most vulnerable. But even so, I decide that our secrets will remain secret.

Miss Walker and I agreed beforehand that she could speak about anything except for our intimacy. For that alone would no doubt be deemed the reason for her melancholy, despite taking place long after her worst bouts of ‘turmoil’ as she calls it. Any doctor, even a kind one like Doctor Belcome may latch onto any deviation, any sin as he may see it, as the cause for all woes, regardless of the chronology. Men’s sexual deviation is a problem of the mind, they say, that should be stopped and punished. What would they think of our deviation? I have it settled in my own mind that what we do as two single women cannot possibly be in the same realm as happenings between two men, which is expressly forbidden by law. With Mariana it became complicated when she married, for then what we did was wrong: we were having an affair and committing adultery. I was with a married woman, and even though we had had a marriage ceremony of our own, her marriage to Lawton was legally binding and in the eyes of God. Each time I would see her I had to pray for forgiveness. Miss Walker and I are two single ladies seeking pleasure. Mildly sinful perhaps, but not illegal and not adultery.

I wonder if Doctor Belcome knows his sister’s secrets? What would his advice have been? I shall ask her when I next see her if she ever spoke to her brother in openness. I would love to have a confidant like that. For years I was lucky to have Mariana; we shared everything while we were together. However, over the years, despite our travels together, our openness decreased, and I couldn’t very well discuss other lovers with her. I skirt around it with my aunt, who I believe has her suspicions, and as lovely as she is would never ask outright. My father must know, but treats me as a novelty and never comments. Marian, I believe, has no clue at all.