In every woman, there is a part of Eve, which is why they can hardly resist Satan when he addresses them.

*******

Lenora Ross proceeded with small, hasty steps across a long hallway and eagerly opened the door that led out of Margaret Stafford's house. Feeling instant relief, she paused on the top of the staircase at the entrance and drew in a deep breath. Cold, musty air, saturated with the odour of human and animal excrement, filled her nostrils.

All of a sudden, the white stairs below her seemed to be moving. She leaned on the entrance door and pulled out a silver, heart-shaped pomander from beneath her shoulder cape. She placed it under her nose and inhaled. A strong smell of vinegar and musk cleared her thoughts.

She tucked in the blond curls, which escaped her bun, and covered her head with a small hat. Her bright green eyes scanned the street, whereupon she quickly descended the stairs and walked away.

A headache was the excuse she used to leave another tedious tea party of Margaret Stafford. As usual, she attended it only to please her husband. Keeping good relations with the wife of undersheriff Stafford is important for both of us, Henry told her. Several times.

And she had tried, she really had, but today the pretentious politeness and the never-ending, mindless gossip of Margaret's circle of women, was too much to bear. Even the dirty centre town with its horrid stench felt oddly liberating when compared to the tacky red-pink sofa, kitschy porcelain from the Far East, and other gaudy pieces of furniture in Margaret's living room.

She didn't regret leaving, but it weighed down her heart knowing her husband was going to be upset.

She married Henry when she was twenty years old, at her father's insistence. A young, good-looking lawyer of a reputable family was a good bargain for a daughter of a law clerk. Seven years passed since and not much had changed in their relationship. They had no children, which suited her more than she was willing to admit, she was well provided for, and she felt safe in her marriage. She found comfort in the routine life without too much excitement. Since her mother's death, Lenora was five at the time, she had always been looking for stability rather than eventfulness.

But Henry was ambitious and she, as his wife, had no choice but to help him realize his aspirations. Leaving the tea party of Margaret Stafford instead of using the opportunity to advance her husband's name at the undersheriff's household was hardly a good way to do it.

Had Henry had to sit there instead of her, he would surely understand. He would, she comforted herself. Absorbed in her thoughts she bumped into a man, who unexpectedly appeared before her. The lady holding onto his arm glared at her with contempt, while the man growled something indistinct. Lenora apologized and at the first opportunity turned into a small side street to avoid similar encounters.

The smell of boiled fat and beer spread from workshops and pubs she passed on the way. A man stumbled out of a pub, giving Lenora a lustful glance. "Heey, Missy, what's the hurry?" his gravelly voice echoed behind her.

Her elegant, dark-green dress and her gentle face with rich blonde curls restrained under the small, fashionable hat, attracted quite some attention in the narrow alley. She buttoned up her shoulder cape, pulled the hat lower over her forehead, and quickened her pace. An uneasy feeling that someone was following her prompted her to turn her head a couple of times, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

She was relieved when she made it out of the alley and found herself once more on one of the busier streets in the City of London. Swept along by an unusually large crowd, she arrived all the way to the main square. The square and all the streets around it were packed with people.

Bits from the conversation at Margaret's began to drip into her consciousness.

"…she poisoned him with arsenic…the poor Baron was writhing in agony on the floor, while she sat on the sofa, drank her tea, and observed him calmly, as if nothing had happened….."

"…she of course claims her family to be a noble one, but all her relatives are already dead. How convenient, isn't it?.....and all those rumours about her infidelity ..."

"If you ask me, she lied to her husband and cheated on him, and when he found out, she murdered him…"

"…that vile mob will surely swarm the square… they take special pleasure in watching someone from the upper class hang…"

Baroness Victoria Blackwood had been the main topic of the gossip-hungry ladies at the tea party and her execution was scheduled on this very day. Margaret had boasted about her husband getting a seat with the best view of the gallows and continued to speculate on the murder. The other ladies had eagerly joined in with their own opinions, all of them biased by the fact that none of them, but especially Margaret, did not like the Baroness.

Lenora had subconsciously blocked out most of their twaddle. She could not stand the devious pleasure those so-called classy, self-righteous ladies felt at the misfortune of one of their own. She also hated public executions and the whole circus around them and she had to smile at the irony of fate when she realized she ended up right in the middle of one.