The Man Who Killed Hitler and Then the Bigfoot (Aidan Turner)



Poldark’s shining superstar is moving onto the big screens again: Aidan Turner will play the lead role together with Sam Elliott in THE MAN WHO KILLED HITLER AND THEN THE BIGFOOT movie from  Robert D. Krzykowski! As ‘Deadline’ reports today, the film tells the story of American soldier Calvin Barr (Aidan Turner), who leaves his true love behind to infiltrate enemy lines and kill Adolph Hitler in the heart of World War II. Decades later, Barr (now Elliott) is needed again, this time to hunt the legendary Bigfoot — carrier of a deadly plague hidden deep in the Canadian wilderness. The third season of Poldark is currently airing in UK and in  USA from October.




British ITV  have found the lead for their ultra lavish television series adaptation of Thackeray’s Victorian saga VANITY FAIR! The seven episode epic series will also stream on Amazon. Mammoth Screen who is producing Poldark and Victoria will be doing this one as well!
Olivia Cooke (who recently went Victorian in Limehouse Golem) will take the lead role of Becky Sharp in the series that follows her stoic and unscrupulous attempts to make her way in English society in the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars and the rule of King George IV! The shooting starts this September in London and Budapest, so expect other casting updates this summer!

Roman Empire : Reign of Blood Netflix Now.

Now here’s something new that you can watch as of today over at Netflix!

November 11th marks the beginning of season one for ROMAN EMPIRE: REIGN OF BLOOD a stylish mix of documentary and historical epic that chronicles the reign of Commodus, the emperor whose rule marked the beginning of Rome’s fall. The series features Sean Bean, who’s no stranger to epic adventure but here he is only a narrator, that hunky elven prince Aaron Jakubenko from MTV’s godawful epic series Shannara here upgraded as the emperor himself, Jared Turner and Edwin Wright!


In the first, opening episode of the six hour series, that airs today, titled Born in Purple, fighting an implacable enemy in Germany, Marcus Aurelius trains his decadent son Commodus to succeed him,

while rumour and intrigues brew back in Rome. The Germanic tribes strike as Marcus Aurelius succumbs to disease, leaving a skeptical Emperor Commodus to prosecute a war that doesn’t interest him. The death of Marcus Aurelius brings a century of Roman triumphs and victories to an end, transferring power to his spoiled, unprepared son Commodus. He rises to power as Rome’s new emperor, but not everyone supports his

ascent. Among those conspiring against him: his older sister Lucilla. Commodus defeats his sister’s coup but withdraws from governing, allowing others to amass power while he engages in an affair and banishes his wife. Later on a disastrous grain shortage leaves Commodus isolated, inspiring him to train as a gladiator in a bid to unite Rome. Lavish imperial games at the Colosseum are highlighted by the emperor’s bloody victories, but his paranoid abuses of power lead to a final betrayal.






Opening Sequence


John Thornton, Look Back at Me – pt 14

Chapter 14

     A Gentleman’s  Agreement


Margaret strolled over and closed the door to his library, forbidding even the warmth in the room, while she read the letters.  “Why am I doing this?” she wondered.  “This would not have happened with the old Margaret,” she told herself.

Sitting down, she pulled out the little pile of letters from the drawer, all addressed to her.  She noticed a mixture of dates and wondered why John had never sent them.  Two were before their London meeting on the veranda, and the rest were after that day.  None of them were finished.  Why had they lain in wait to be completed?

The ink on two of the earlier ones seemed to have been smeared, and she assumed this was the reason he had never sent them.  However, as she began reading, she realized they had been wet with his tears, and he had poured out his devastated life, and his need of her, with his pen and paper.  Her eyes filled in spite of herself, adding additional tear stains to the inked words.


Dearest Margaret

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . that snowy day.  .  .  .  .  . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . if you looked back.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . .  .  . took my heart .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . alone with only memories .  .  .  .  .  . .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  love you more than .  .  .  .  .  . breath of my life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . able to go on . . .


John’s heart and soul were  wrung from his body onto those pages.  Margaret lost herself in his words of love and emotional disaster.  She wept, adding more of her own tears, to the words describing the desecration that she had caused in John’s life.

The next two letters were equally forlorn, but showed a ray of hope.  She remembered that day on the veranda when she discovered that there was more between them than she had realized before, but he, apparently, had known it for a very long time.  He had written that he understood nothing could be done, and she could not speak to anything, but he left that day, happy that she had come into his arms.  He felt he could cope with a life based only on that one memory.  Still, these letters spoke so much of his heart and his hopes, they would never have been sent.  Continuing to weep, she sought out the last two.

The final letters, written after Booker’s passing, showed a tempered joy, no tears, and much hope in the future with her.  There were many references to his intimate and sensual desires, some of which she had heard of last night.  She almost had to put them down, but she continued reading as she fidgeted in the chair.  Margaret doubted these were ever meant to be sent, as he was speaking most passionately from his heart and body.  She came across a strange reference to a sign from his mother.  “Whatever could that mean, with his mother now being gone?”

Still thinking about John’s strife, Margaret stowed the letters back where they came from and pulled out a sheaf of paper.  Suddenly, he came through the door.

They looked at each other, startled, and Margaret wondered if the guilt was prevalent on her face.

“Good evening, John.  I wasn’t looking for you this early.  I wanted to post a note to Edith; Dixon thought you had paper in your desk.  I hope it was alright to take a piece.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  Take all you like.  I’m sorry to disturb you.  I thought you had retired, so I was coming to look for some correspondence that is stored in my filing cabinets.  It’s of no importance; I shall leave you to your letter.  Would you like the fire lit?”

“No, thank you.  I shall be brief in my writing.”

John walked back to the parlor.  He had sensed a stiffness in Margaret, and wondered why the closed door.  That room was freezing with no fire lit.  Feeling a bit uneasy, he picked up the partially read paper from this morning.  Opening the pages, his mind elsewhere . . .


The letters!  She must have found the letters.


John did not immediately know what to do about it.  He never wanted her to know how bad his life had been without her.  She might think him weak, but it was in every one of those letters.  Why hadn’t he destroyed them since learning of her return to Milton?  As he heard her footsteps coming into the room, John began to pay more attention to his paper.  Eventually, he looked over at Margaret’s quiet form, sitting across the room from him.  She was perched on the couch, looking a bit awkward, as though she wanted to speak, but didn’t know how to begin.

“You look like you have something to say.  Is anything bothering you, Margaret?”  Now, he thought, was as good a time as any to discuss last night.

“Yes, there is John, but first I must summon my courage.”

“Summon courage?”  John thought.  He was certain she was going to bring up the letters.  Aside from the matter of harboring her brother when he was in the country and under an arrest warrant, which he, himself, never understood at the time, she was almost totally defenseless in the use of deception.  However, how was he to explain them, he wondered.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, clearing throats and shifting in their seats, when John, not being able to wait any longer, said, “Margaret, if it’s about the letters in my desk, you need no courage to summon.  They should have been destroyed a month ago when I knew you were returning.  I am quite ashamed and embarrassed for you to know the state of mind that I have been in since you left Milton.  They do not matter.  That is all water under the bridge.  They are just ramblings of a man who loved and lost.  And the later letters are the delusions of a man in love still, never for your eyes or anyone’s but my own.  They were like a catharsis for me; instead of reliving all those moments of hopes and dreams, putting them to paper helped me not to dwell on my situation every minute.”  He could not bring himself to look directly at her.

“John, how can I apologize for looking at your private writings?  I, too, am ashamed about what I did and I knew I had to speak to you right away, but I wanted to form my response with some thought.  It was accidentally done.  I was looking for paper, but when I opened the drawer, I saw papers addressed ‘Dearest Margaret’,’ and I wondered why you had never sent them.  I can understand the why in each one of them, now.  I will not speak to the contents, but I want to talk with you about me . . . and you.

Silence was suspended in the room; the wait for Margaret to begin was almost intolerable for John.  He had much to say tonight, himself.

“Foremost, let me say that I am sorrier than you will ever know, for the misery I have caused in your life.  It’s been devastating to read.  I have never known of such love from one person to another as you expressed in those letters and last night.  I didn’t see, or know, of that depth with my parents, or in my own marriage, but I am slowly coming to know of it on my own.  You and I have fought our own demons and were lost, but now, we may be found.  My demons were self-imposed, and yours were also imposed by me – unforeseen circumstances and deception by my family – all of your private hell is on my shoulders.

“No, Margaret . . .” John tried to interrupt, but Margaret continued.

“Please, John . . .”  John sat back, but found himself gripping the claw carved hand rest on his chair, with white knuckles.


She cannot take all this blame.  It is behind us, now.


“John, please forgive my intrusive question and abrupt conduct of last night.  I am sure I surprised myself more than I did you.  It was unforgivably rude of me.  I laid awake most of the night thinking about our conversation, but came to some realizations while eating alone at your table this evening.  Firstly, I asked the question and you gave me your honest answer.  I’ve wondered why I asked it. It seemed to come out on its own.  I think it was in my thoughts because I hope to be part of your life someday, and I guess I wanted to know where the memories might be buried.  As for your answer, because of your deep love for me, you felt compelled to explain yourself, and I think it was a conscious decision you made that ran very deep.  It was a tremendous sacrifice you made and a risk you took for both of us, in admitting those intimate events, you knew would hurt me.  However, you trusted me to see my way through all that hurt, coming out on the other side knowing you have experienced all in life, and still you chose me, unknowing of the woman I may be.


She -did- understand.


“You did this because you wanted me to know all of you and have faith in your love for me.  I am prostrate at your feet for the great trust you have placed in me to find my way through that, and for the confidence, you knew I needed to recover.”

John was soon going to need to be strapped down in order to keep from coming out of his chair.

“That was not my only revelation that came out of last night, “Margaret continued.  “When you talked about your passionate promises . . .”

Bolting out of his chair, John took to the center of the room, “Margaret, I must insist that you stop there.”

“But . . .”

“No . . . please no buts.  I, too, have had a lot of thoughts, and it relates in a way to that which you are about to speak.”

“If you feel you must speak now John, then, by all means, go ahead.”

“Please try to listen with your head and not your heart.”

The moment was suspended as John paced the floor, running his fingers through his hair, endeavoring to form the hardest words of his life.

“Margaret, I have been very selfish.  You know I love you, but that should only be my concern right now.  Somehow, I’ve adopted the attitude that you are mine, or soon will be, and I have been very possessive in my thoughts, and maybe some of my actions.  You have never discouraged my advances, but that isn’t good enough.  You have lived in innocence all of your life.  You do not know the world outside your husband and me.  I cannot be totally comfortable with your lack of discouragement to me, because you have had nothing to base my affections on, except for your marriage, which you know was never a real marriage of love.  You are allowing me close, perhaps because of your touching naivety, or some obligation you may feel because of how I feel about you, or any number of other reasons.  It may be love, but we don’t know for sure, do we?”

“I think my heart does.  John, I don’t think I understand where you are going with this.”

“I am going to step back and try not to insist myself upon you so quickly.  As difficult as this is to say, I would like you to accept invitations from other gentlemen.  I would want you to compare all of your suitors, so I know when you turn to me, that you do it with a confident heart.  Just think about it, please.  When I thought about those words I spoke last evening, as much as I wanted you to know my heart, I realized I was laying an encumbrance upon you.  I don’t want you to turn to me unless you have chosen me for the one you want to spend your life with, and how can you choose without choices?  You must experience more of life.  For my sake, use your mind and see all the way through this, to the other side, for both of us,” John said, in a very agonizing but serious voice.

“John, I want to scream and yell and beat my fists against your chest, but if that’s what it takes for you to be sure of my decision, then I will do it.  I can understand you seeing it that way with my naivety, but I already know the result.  I know where I’ll be when I reach the other side.  As much as I do not want to be put through this charade, I will accept other invitations, including yours – I will not let you step back that far.  How will you handle my advancements to you?  Am I allowed that?”

“Only in moderation, until you have spent time with other men.”  John replied, almost smiling now.

“Can the Professor count as one?”  Margaret asked with that pouty face.

John, now laughing said, “No.  Spending time with your father figure does not count toward experiences of the heart.”

“You know John, I started out thinking of him as a father figure, but he is closer than that.  Strange, but he’s more like a close brother or sister to me, one who I can really open up to and talk about things that one would never speak to a parent, yet he has the intelligence and life experience to guide me, better than a parent, really.”

“Margaret, I am glad you have such a confidant in your life.  I’ve never had that, even with my Mother, and I envy you.  Perhaps, someday your husband will take on that responsibility.

“Can I ask a final question?”

“Margaret, always know that you can.  What is it?”

“In those letters in your drawer, there was a reference about your mother working on your behalf.  What did that mean?”

“Margaret, that is for another time to explain, but I promise I will some day.”

“So when does this game begin?”

“There is nothing like the present, I suppose, or whenever you feel you are passed your bereavement time, which I think should be about now.”  John said.

Margaret, breaking the tension that had saturated the air, presented her hand for a handshake.  “We have a gentleman’s agreement, then?” she asked.

John, smiling, took her hand and shook it, “I dare to say it’s better than pistols at dawn.”

They both laughed.  Every laugh between them was drawing them closer.


The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond 2008

Interesting to see Chris Evans in a period drama using a southern accent.

Tells the story of Fisher Willow, the disliked 1920s Memphis débutante daughter of a plantation owner with a distaste for narrow-minded people and a penchant for shocking and insulting those around her. After returning from studies overseas, Fisher falls in love with Jimmy, the down-and-out son of an alcoholic father and an insane mother who works at a store on her family’s plantation. She tries to pass him off as an upper-class suitor to appease the spinster aunt who controls her family’s fortune, but when she loses a diamond, it places their tenuous relationship in further jeopardy.








John Thornton, Look Back at Me – pt 13

Chapter 13

     Staying Away


John awakened to the new day, having spent a miserable night, wondering if Margaret would recover from the knowledge of his previous carnal experiences.  Had he ruined everything in a moment of openness?  She had initially asked the question, which had taken him quite by surprise, and led to his confession.  Whatever made her ask that?  However, he would have to do his best to restrain his passion, in both words and deeds.

Slightly apprehensive, he took a deep breath and left his room.  He found Margaret helping Dixon set the table for breakfast.

“Good morning all,” John courteously said.

“Good morning to you, John,” Margaret replied, not looking at him as she set the knives and forks down.

“Same to you, Master,” Dixon replied.  “Do you want your paper?”

“I’ll get it,” John said, bouncing back out of his chair, glad to have something to do.  He usually didn’t read it this early because he would be in his office by now, but he took the steps down and retrieved it.  He knew he’d need something to keep him occupied, as he tried to avoid the heavy atmosphere in the room.

“John, would you care for a cup of tea before breakfast is ready,” Margaret asked, now looking at him.

“Thank you, no.  I’ll wait.”  John replied, starting to flip through the pages.

Minutes later, breakfast was brought to the table, and Margaret and John followed.  As John pulled out Margaret’s chair before seating himself, he wondered what to say.  The conversation throughout the meal was stilted, and they spoke only about the plans for the day.  Margaret planned to visit the Professor first and then was anxious to spend most of the day in her new place.

Anxious to be on their way to the cottage, Margaret and Dixon prepared to leave with John, as soon as breakfast was completed and the dishes were cleared.  He said  very little.  He didn’t know how to make small talk and sure as not, he’d overstep himself again if he opened his mouth, especially with Dixon present.  That only left silence.

Outside, the snow was starting to lie on the ground; it looked as though a white Christmas on its way.  John assisted both women into the carriage, as they were being careful of the slippery conditions, they found at their feet.  For a brief moment, Margaret had a passing vision of the inside of the milling rooms she had once glimpsed:  white fluff hanging in the air, never seeming to reach the floor.

The carriage headed into town where people were crowded on the walkways, shopping for gifts, as the snow started to impede their progress.  During their slow ride to the Professor’s home, John pulled out three house keys.  “Margaret, here are your keys to the house.  They are all the same.  I wanted to ask if I could keep one, and you have the other two?”

“Yes, John, keep it.  I’ll be glad to know that you have one.”  Margaret took two keys from John, handing one to Dixon for the day. She slipped the other into her small handbag.  Until she was comfortable with everything, she would give Dixon a house key on a ‘need by need’ basis.

Dixon was let off at the cottage, and John and Margaret proceeded to Dr. Pritchard’s.  It wasn’t far, and John was grateful that there was little time for conversation.  Margaret, herself, didn’t know what to say.  She knew she needed more time, than the few minutes they had to talk with John about the previous night and her selfish reaction, which had been so hurtful to him.  Beyond her thoughts on that, she sensed something different about John.  He was too quiet and not smiling at all.  It felt like a shield had been placed between them.

When the housekeeper opened the door, John thought it was a family re-union as Margaret ran to Professor Pritchard.  They hugged several times, kissed cheeks and both wanted to speak at the same time.

“Certainly, you two have much to say to each other.”  John said, as he observed their spontaneous greeting.  I will leave for a time to go to the Merchant’s Chamber.  I have a meeting, and a speech scheduled there for tonight.  I shall only be gone a short while.”  As John departed, he realized that, for some reason, he was feeling nervous.  He had never feared anything before, but now, Margaret’s attitude was all too prevalent in his thoughts.

For the next half hour, Margaret and the Professor talked quite a bit about what the Professor was doing and how he was setting up the office.  He inquired about her getting settled in and was surprised to find that she was still awaiting furnishings.  He showed her through the two rooms that were to be the office, and asked if she would like her desk at the front window, but Margaret had no preference either way.

They talked of the books that were piled to the ceiling in the dining room and the carpenter who would soon arrive to build his custom bookshelves.  He worked  out that he might be eating in the kitchen unless his office room could hold all of his work.  At least, he should be able to manage a small table, if his dining room had been turned into a library.  “Margaret, when you get a chance, could you come and organize the housekeeper and cook here.  I am so used to the college’s trained staff, that I don’t know how to handle the outside world of housekeeping, yet.”  He laughed.

“Of course,” Margaret assured him, “Dixon and I will come by tomorrow.  We need to get them underway before Christmas arrives in a few days.”

“Oh, is that here already?” The professor asked in all seriousness.  “Margaret take a seat, will you please?”

Margaret sat.

“How goes your problem?”  He smiled affectionately at her.

“Professor, I have had no time to give that any thought,” she lied.

“Well, don’t forget what I said about John.  I am sure things will come together; however, you want them to, and I hope it works out for him, too.”

“What do you mean?”  Margaret asked.

“Why the man has loved you for many years, since you met, I believe.  Surely you know that at least?”

“How can you know that?  You hardly know him.”  Margaret was puzzled.

“There is no doubt in my mind,” the Professor continued, “he wears his love for you across his face like a badge of honor.  His posture changes when you are around.  That serious face, he’s apparently always worn, is replaced by a gentle smile whenever you are in the room.  You cannot see that?”  The Professor laughed at his inane logic.  “How did I know so much about you?  You, yourself, commented on my insight.  Let’s just leave things the way they are and let nature takes its course.  I want you to find that real happiness and passion that go with a good marriage.”

“But . . . ,” Margaret stopped in mid sentence as John opened the door to the office.

“Oh, we’ll settle all that once you are here permanently,” the Professor said, covering over their conversation.  “So, what are your plans after visiting me?”

Margaret turned and looked at John.  “We are going to the cottage.  Having just arrived yesterday, I haven’t been in it since I was here last.”

John nodded.

Margaret turned to the Professor and inquired about the two books that he’d wanted her to study to get a sense of his writing and documenting style.

“Margaret, don’t trouble yourself now,” he assured her.  “You’re going to be very busy.  Just relax and if you find yourself with little to do until things start piling up on you, take the time to see Milton.  I’ve seen drawings and plans from earlier years, and the face of the original landscape can barely be recognized.  The growth in only a few years time is nothing short of amazing.  You two run along and come back in the next few days to see to the staff here, otherwise take care of your errands, and get settled.  Do not worry about me.  I won’t need you until the end of January.”

“Thank you for everything, Professor.  I will catch you up very soon, then.  Good-bye Professor,” said Margaret as she kissed him on the cheek like a father.

John bid the Professor a ‘good day’.  He escorted her out to the carriage and handed her in, as the snow continued to come down heavier.

“Margaret,” John began, as the carriage made its way to her cottage.  “I’m going to introduce you to Adrian and there will be another chap from the mill at your cottage today, for additional muscle.  Between Adrian and Danny, they can do heavy lifting or anything you desire.  I know you’ll see lots of things to be done.  I will then get out of your way and let you have the day in your new home.”

“You’re not going to stay?”  Margaret asked with some alarm in her voice.

“No, I don’t see where you need me, and I should prepare for my meeting tonight,” John lied.  “Branson!  . . .  Around back!”

Branson pulled the carriage around to the back entrance.  Adrian came running to the coach and opened the door to hand down his new mistress.  Margaret took his hand to exit the coach and then took his arm, steadying herself on the slippery surface as they walked to the back door.

“Thank you.  You must be Adrian?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Would you bring Danny, I think his name is, and Branson into the house, for all around introductions?”

“Yes, Miss.”

John followed Margaret into the house and waited to see what she had in mind by gathering them all together.  As the three men filed through the door, John introduced Danny to everyone, then taking a cue from Margaret, proceeded to make introductions all around.

“Thank you, John.  Cook, it’s very nice to meet you, and I hope you’re ready for us because I would like you to prepare a small lunch for five of us at 1:00, and that will include yourself.  I think we can eat off this huge prep table here in the kitchen.  Adrian and Danny, I would like you both to remain in the house until I have gone through it, but I am sure you will be inside all day.”  Margaret smiled.  “John, are you sure you won’t stay?

“I am sure.”  John said, rather abruptly.  “What time would you like to be collected?”

A small shiver ran down Margaret’s back as she picked up on the distinction between ‘to be collected’ rather than ‘for me to collect you’.  Something was definitely wrong.  She assumed to know what it pertained to, yet at the same time she didn’t like the distance that was growing between them.

“I guess Dixon and I will be ready by 5:00 this evening.  If nothing else, we’ll certainly be tired by then.”

“5:00 o’clock, it is then.”  John turned to leave.

“John, could I speak with you a moment?”

“Certainly,” John said, as he followed Margaret into her half-empty  parlor.

“John what is it, what is wrong?  I don’t like what I am feeling.  I know it must be about last night.  I need to talk with you.”

“Nothing is wrong, Margaret.  I just have some issues, I need to work out.”

“Can we talk about them together?”  Margaret prompted.

“I don’t think so, this time.  I will not be having dinner at home tonight.  I will be at the meeting.  Perhaps, I will see you later this evening.  I don’t know how long the meeting will last.  Branson will be here to collect you.  Enjoy the day, Margaret.”

Donning his hat and gloves, John called for Branson as he turned and walked away.  He was nauseated by his deportment towards Margaret, but he didn’t see any other way.  He would wait forever. He had always known that, but right now he had to give Margaret space.


Margaret and company had a very active day and accomplished much:  What furniture there was, got moved to their proper positions; carpets were rolled out, drapes hung, trunks unpacked and stored and books were shelved.  She had her first visitor, Mr. Cavanaugh, the next-door neighbor, who stopped by to greet her and wish her luck.  He offered his assistance if she needed  it, but finding no purchase, bid her ‘good day’.

Branson arrived promptly at 5:00 o’clock that afternoon, and came to the door to escort the ladies to his coach.  As they drove away that evening, Margaret thought that the house looked lonely and dark, easily reflecting her underlying mood of the day.

Arriving at John’s home, the only person to meet them was Cook.  Due to the deepening snow, Jane went home early.  Margaret sat at the dinner table, while Dixon ate with Cook downstairs.  It was quiet and terribly lonely, she thought.  She wondered how John had endured the solitude since his mother passed away.  Realizing that she had never lived alone, she thought it almost unbearable.  Being hidden away in her London room was horrible, but it didn’t compare to this feeling of absolute loneliness.  She could hardly fathom that John went through this, night after night; it wasn’t like he would call Dixon for company, as she herself might do.  He must be a very strong man inside, to sit alone every night, trying to keep his life going, as he loved and waited for her, with no real hope, yet managing to run two mills successfully.  She knew no other man that could have shouldered all of that under his emotional burden.

With the quiet time, she reflected on the previous evening’s conversation.  She had been rude and ultimately too forward with her question, and she stunned herself, when she knew why she did it.  She thought  that someday she might lie with John in that bed, and she wondered if he held memories, but she never anticipated speaking it aloud.  All John did was answer her own inquisition and explained himself.  Why did she really need to know anyway?  Several possible explanations drifted to mind.  First of all, there was the question itself.  Perhaps it was a form of jealousy, an entirely new emotion for her, and one that is only born from resentment to rivals.  What an odd unsettling emotion it was.  Reading the word was one thing, but the power behind experiencing the word came close to earth moving.  Secondly, and, now, she didn’t know what issue was larger, was the passionate promises he had made to her.  How could she ever match her love for him as she was discovering the bottomless depths of his love for her?  She had doubts about her own ability to ever love that deeply.  From their conversation, she realized  that his need to touch her and kiss her, came from his purest, most basic love for her and not from some near celibate primitive male urge.  She had never thought of John in that context before, being with other women.  Without realizing it, he exposed  her to the boundaries of her own naivety.  She still lived in a cloistered societal cage, oblivious to the real world, where such things were talked about, man to woman.  She wanted to be a real woman and now here it was, staring her in the face, and she had blinked.  All she could give John was her honesty and let him judge her weaknesses for himself.

In an attempt to change her own mood, she decided to write Edith and tell her all that had happened since they said good-bye at the station, omitting last night’s debacle.  She found Dixon and asked her for some writing paper.  Dixon had taken the stationery to her new quarters, but told Margaret she was sure the Master kept some in his desk.  Thanking her, Margaret momentarily debated about going through John’s desk, but then assumed he wouldn’t mind if she took a sheaf of paper.

As she went into his den, Margaret turned up the gas lights and sat at the broad walnut desk.  She drew in John’s scent.  A couple of the drawers were locked; the center one was not.  She opened it and found some blank sheaves of paper, but something caught her eye.  Gently removing the small pile of written letters, she sighed as she gazed at the words ‘Dearest Margaret’ at the top of each one of the pages.

Masterpiece Theater Tonight

Jun 18 | 9:00PM ET

Grantchester, Season 3: Episode 1 (Christmas Episode)

It’s the week before Christmas, 1954. Vicar Sidney Chambers is engrossed with holiday duties, but distracted by an impossible situation — how can a vicar and a woman carrying her estranged husband’s baby ever make it work?

Jun 18 | 8:00PM ET

My Mother and Other Strangers, Episode 1

Rose meets Captain Dreyfuss. Emma goes on a date and incites an international incident.