The year was 1826 and the respected gentleman, Mr. Rochester dé Crann, was in the wood-paneled study of his secluded mansion in Whitby, when he heard the first knock. Setting down his dog-eared book he rang a brass bell to signal the kitchen staff to see to the visitors needs. Content with this outcome he picked his book back up and continued reading. Five minutes in he heard yet another knock, this time on the thick oak door, sighed and opened the door to greet his visitor.

“Hello, Franklin,” a familiar voice snapped “, enjoying your book were you?” The voice belonged to none other the Mrs. Nor, his sister.

“Yes, very much.” he retorted in what he hoped was a biting tone (he had never been very good at such things, more his sister's department) and, stepped aside, so she could enter.

“, Is it ready?” she asked.

He shuddered. He hated what his sister was doing, but he hadn’t the nerve to stop it.

“, Yes.” He replied. Nothing more.