Please help me I beg of you for I find myself in the most parlous of states. I fear that my very sanity will be at stake if you cannot bring me succour in this most distressing of matters.
I am but a simple country girl, low born and of yeoman stock. I was raised in a rather pretty cottage on the Yorkshire moors called Wuthering Heights with my parents, my brother Hindley and an adopted foundling, Heathcliff.
As the years passed my affection for my adopted brother grew into a deep and passionate regard. He grew to become a taciturn and even a cruel man on occasion but my love for him deepened and flourished for all that.
Following a bitter quarrel one evening, during which I spitefully lied about my love for another gentleman, he stormed out into the night, disappearing from my life for many years.
During his absence I married another. A well born kindly gentleman of a most gentle and trusting mien. Although I held my husband in great affection I could not forget my first and most enduring love. During those long nights when my husband held me in his embrace it was Heathcliff’s arms that enfolded me and his warm lips that were pressed to my own.
Just as I had begun to believe that I had lost him for good, he returned! He had made a great fortune overseas and has now purchased my former home, my beloved Wuthering Heights where he now resides with my sister, Isabella, whom he uses most cruelly and in the most base manner imaginable.
Despite this I ache for his embraces and yearn for him to come to me and for him to make me his own. My heart is being torn asunder and I am at my wit’s end. I beg you to counsel me in this matter my dearest madame for I fear that if I can’t have him I shall have no recourse other than to put an end to my forlorn and loveless existence on this earth.
Try feigning a life-threatening ague and take to your bed. Then simply get a servant girl to summon the gentleman to your bedside under the pretext of attending your imminent death. As soon as he bends over your wan, feverish body, pretend to have some kind of fit and throw off all the bedclothes affording him a cracking view of your tits and growler. After a couple of days have passed, pretend to have recovered and then summon him back to your bed chamber for a rattling good bunk up.
I wish you every success and the utmost health and happiness for the future.
I remain your most humble confidante madam
Jane and a myriad of other odious characters can now be found in the April issue of this disreputable rag. http://sozsatire.wix.com/soz-satire So don’t delay, give it a miss today!