But I did not see this at the time, although I think I was prepared to listen openly and frankly to any explanation she might offer. The next day after a sleepless night during which I wished fervently that I might be spared the encounter, I told Sarah to sit down when she came into my room, and said I wanted to speak to her on a matter of grave importance.

She sat quietly, and waited. I had noticed that in previous days she had not been her usual self, and had worked less hard, and been less cheerful than was her wont. I had not paid a great deal of attention, as all women are prone to these moods, and scarcely noticed that for her it was out of her normal character. I did not know then, and did not discover until I read Jack Prestcott’s memoir, that this was due to his cruel violation of her. Naturally, she could not tell any of this—what woman’s reputation could endure such shame?—but she would not easily forget an offense once committed. I understand fully why Prestcott submitted to the delusion that she had bewitched him in revenge, however ridiculous the belief. For her hatred of the malice of others was implacable, so much had she been schooled by her upbringing to expect justice.

I had also noticed that she had spurned my affections, and moved out of reach quickly on the one occasion when I had tried to touch her, shrugging her shoulder in what appeared to be disgust at my hand on her shoulder. I was hurt by this initially, then I put it down as more evidence that she was turning away from me for the richer rewards offered by Dr. Grove. Again, I did not know the exact truth until I saw it, scribbled down in Prestcott’s hand.

“I must talk to you on a matter of the gravest importance,” I said when I had prepared myself properly. I noticed, and remember well, that I had a strange pressure in my breast as I began to talk, and my words came breathlessly, as though I had run a great distance. “I have heard some terrible reports, which must be dealt with instantly.”

She sat and looked at me blankly, with scarcely any interest in her face at all. I believe I stuttered and tripped on my words as I forced myself to continue with the interview, and even turned to examine my shelves of books, so I would not have to look her in the face.

“I have received a grave complaint about your behavior. Which is that you offered yourself brazenly and coarsely to a man of the university, and have been fornicating in the most disgusting fashion.”

Again, there was a silence of some duration before she replied—“That is true,” she said.

That my suspicions and the reports seemed confirmed did not comfort me. I had hoped that she would indignantly refute the charges, allowing me to forgive her, so we might continue as before. Even at that stage, however, I did not jump to conclusions. Evidence must be confirmed independently.

“And who is this man?” I asked.

“A so-called gentleman,” she said. “Called Anthony Wood.”

“Do not be impudent with me,” I cried in anger. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You have abused my generosity by seducing Dr. Grove, of New College, and not content with that alone, you also threw yourself on an undergraduate, Mr. Prestcott, and tried to get him to satisfy you as well. Do not deny it, for I heard it from his lips.”

She turned pale, and I take it as an indication of the foolishness of those who believe character can be read in the face that I assumed this to be shock at the discovery of her wiles. “You heard that?” she said, her face white. “From his lips indeed?”

“I did.”

“Then it must be true. For a fine young man like Mr. Prestcott could surely never lie. And he is a gentleman, while I am merely a soldier’s daughter.”

“Is it true? Is it?”

“Why do you ask me? You think it so. You have known me for what? Near four years now, and you believe it so.”

“How can I not? Your behavior is all of a piece. How can I trust you in your denial?”

“I have not denied anything,” she said. “I think it none of your affair.”

“I am your employer,” I said. “In the eyes of the law, your father, responsible for your behavior in all particulars. So tell me—who was that man I saw coming out of your house yesterday?”

She looked puzzled for a moment, then realized who I was referring to. “He was an Irishman, who came to see me. He traveled a long way.”

“Why?”

“That is not your affair either.”

“It is. It is my duty to myself as much as it is to you to prevent you from bringing shame on this family. What will people say if it becomes common currency that the Woods are employing a whore in their house?”

“Maybe they will say that the master, Mr. Anthony Wood, also lies with the slut whenever he can? That he takes her to Paradise Fields and there fornicates awhile before taking himself off to the library and making speeches about the behavior of others?”

“That is different.”

“Why?”

“I am not having an argument with you about abstract matters. This is serious. But if you can act thus with me, you can do so with others. That is obviously the case.”

“So how many other sluts do you know, Mr. Wood?”

I was red with anger at this time, and blamed her absolutely for what happened next. All I had desired was some sort of frank and open response. I would have liked her to deny everything, so that I might generously exonerate her. Or confess it frankly, and beg my forgiveness, which I would have willingly conferred. But she would do neither, and instead had the insolence to fling my accusations back in my face. Very swiftly, it seemed, we plunged into the darkness of our association, for whatever may have transpired between us, I was still her master. By her words she made it clear she had forgotten this, and was abusing our intimacy. No man of sense could admit there was any similarity between our behaviors, even had the accusation any substance, for she was beholden to me while I was free of any dependency to her. Nor could any man tolerate the foulness of her speech to me; even in the heat of passion I had never addressed her in anything but the most courteous terms and could not tolerate such language.

I stood up in shock and took a step toward her. She fell back against the wall, eyes wide with anger, and pointed at me, arm outstretched from her shoulder, in a strange, frightening gesture.

“Do not take a single step closer to me,” she hissed.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I do not know what I intended. Certainly I do not think there was any violence in my mind, for I have never been one to behave in such a way. Even the worst of servants has never received a blow from me, however much it was deserved. I do not claim this as any particular quality; and in the case of Sarah I know I would dearly loved to have beaten her black and blue, to revenge myself for the abuse I had suffered. But I am certain I would never have done more than try to frighten.

That fright, however, was enough for her to abandon all the show of docility. I did not know what she might have done had I taken a further step, but I felt then a tremendous will within her, and I did not feel able to challenge it.

“Get out of this house,” I said when she had lowered her arm. “You are dismissed. I will not lay a complaint against you, however much I have a right to do so. But I never want you in here again.”

Without another word, but with a glance of the purest contempt, she walked out of the room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door close.