 |  |  |  |  |
 |  |  |
#80 - Lady Audley's Secret
1862, Ages 17 and Up
Gather round and I’ll tell you the tale of a man who suspects that his uncle’s new wife may somehow be involved in his best friend’s mysterious disappearance.
(9/5/25)
The following recording is edited from its original 15-minute version due to copyright restrictions. To hear the full version, tune in or stream at the scheduled times on ktwh.org, or download on AudioPort.
1862, Ages 17 and Up
Gather round and I’ll tell you the tale of a man who suspects that his uncle’s new wife may somehow be involved in his best friend’s mysterious disappearance.
(9/5/25)
The following recording is edited from its original 15-minute version due to copyright restrictions. To hear the full version, tune in or stream at the scheduled times on ktwh.org, or download on AudioPort.
The inner sanctum of the domestic sphere as practiced by the people of Victorian-era Britain was not unlike a cliched fairy tale come to life. The woman would do very little other than occupy herself with domestic duties like housekeeping and childrearing—and often looking very attractive while doing it—as she waited diligently to be claimed as the reward by the man once he came home from “saving the day,” doing all the hard work and making all the fortune outside the home. Stereotypical though this may sound to our modern sensibilities, this setup nevertheless had the good intention of providing a sanctuary from the dangers and hardships of the outer world, not only a literal one, but a mental and emotional one as well. But as we have long since learned over the centuries, even our own personal Edens can and do hide their fair share of serpents.
Robert Audley, a somewhat lazy non-practicing barrister, receives a delightful surprise when he unexpectedly runs into his best friend, George Talboys. George has just returned to England after a three-year gold-digging expedition in Australia and is anxious to return to Helen and Georgey, the wife and infant son he’d left behind. But his homecoming turns tragic when he learns that Helen had died the week prior, and his son, now a young boy, sees his own father as a stranger. Wanting to lift the spirits of his devastated comrade, the sympathetic Robert invites George to accompany him on a visit to Audley Court to call upon his newly married uncle, Sir Micheal Audley, and cousin, Alicia. Robert is especially eager to meet his new aunt, the gentle and lovely Lady Audley, only for the two friends to just keep missing her. One stormy night, George gazes upon the lady’s portrait as if he has seen a ghost—before promptly disappearing himself the next day. Sensing foul play, Robert takes it upon himself to search for his friend by seeking out the true history and identity of Lady Audley . . . and facing the demon he discovers lurking behind her angelic mask.
Sensation fiction, at its peak popularity in the 1860’s and 70’s, is defined as fiction in which shocking material is used to explore contemporary social anxieties. But Lady Audley’s Secret—both the book and its author—raised eyebrows for more than just cheap shock value. In a most ironic and even hypocritical case of life imitating art, Braddon herself was involved in bigamy, just like her characters in the very plot she was still writing and selling! She first partly serialized the book in 1861 in John Maxwell’s Robin Goodfellow magazine. Not only would Braddon have an affair with Maxwell, who was already both a husband and father, but would go on to marry him upon his first wife’s death and bear her own children with him. Despite the ensuing scandal, or maybe because of it, Lady Audley’s Secret would be Braddon’s most successful and best-known work and one of, if not the finest, in the sensation genre.
Compared to overtly supernatural contemporaries like Bram Stoker’s Dracula or Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I think sensation stories made polite society more nervous back then for the same reason certain slasher or psychological horror films like Halloween or Saw make some modern audiences more nervous today: they are not outside the realm of reality or possibility. Though the eponymous character is painted as a fairy tale princess incarnate, it’s a portrait more ignorant and immature than elegant and dignified. While Braddon’s repetition of the word “childish” gets old fast, it’s fitting nonetheless—and not just because Lady Audley happens to be at least thirty years Sir Michael’s junior. The way she seldom seems to read the room, so to speak, acting so blithe when the present atmosphere is so solemn and grim, feels inappropriate to the point of callousness. Even the usually easy-going Robert is quick to notice this, his own eye for her beauty notwithstanding:
“‘He's a very good fellow,’ Robert said, stoutly; ‘and to tell the honest truth, I'm rather uneasy about him.’
‘Uneasy about him!’ My lady was quite anxious to know why Robert was uneasy about his friend.
‘I'll tell you why, Lady Audley,’ answered the young barrister. ‘George had a bitter blow a year ago in the death of his wife. He has never got over that trouble. He takes life pretty quietly—almost as quietly as I do—but he often talks very strangely, and I sometimes think that one day this grief will get the better of him, and he will do something rash.’
Mr. Robert Audley spoke vaguely, but all three of his listeners knew that the something rash to which he alluded was that one deed for which there is no repentance.
There was a brief pause, during which Lady Audley arranged her yellow ringlets by the aid of the glass over the console table opposite to her.
‘Dear me!’ she said, ‘this is very strange. I did not think men were capable of these deep and lasting affections. I thought that one pretty face was as good as another pretty face to them; and that when number one with blue eyes and fair hair died, they had only to look out for number two, with dark eyes and black hair, by way of variety.’
‘George Talboys is not one of those men. I firmly believe that his wife's death broke his heart.’
‘How sad!’ murmured Lady Audley. ‘It seems almost cruel of Mrs. Talboys to die, and grieve her poor husband so much.’
‘Alicia was right, she is childish,’ thought Robert as he looked at his aunt's pretty face.
My lady was very charming at the dinner-table; she professed the most bewitching incapacity for carving the pheasant set before her, and called Robert to her assistance.
‘I could carve a leg of mutton at Mr. Dawson's,’ she said, laughing; ‘but a leg of mutton is so easy, and then I used to stand up.’
Sir Michael watched the impression my lady made upon his nephew with a proud delight in her beauty and fascination.
‘I am so glad to see my poor little woman in her usual good spirits once more,’ he said. ‘She was very down-hearted yesterday at a disappointment she met with in London.’
‘A disappointment!’
‘Yes, Mr. Audley, a very cruel one,’ answered my lady. ‘I received the other morning a telegraphic message from my dear old friend and school-mistress, telling me that she was dying, and that if I wanted to see her again, I must hasten to her immediately. The telegraphic dispatch contained no address [. . .]’
‘It was very foolish not to send the address in the telegraphic message,’ said Robert.
‘When people are dying it is not so easy to think of all these things,’ murmured my lady, looking reproachfully at Mr. Audley with her soft blue eyes.
In spite of Lady Audley's fascination, and in spite of Robert's very unqualified admiration of her, the barrister could not overcome a vague feeling of uneasiness on this quiet September evening.”
(Pg. 120-121)
The negative socioeconomic impact of the Industrial Revolution also influenced sensation tales in that there became fewer smaller rural communities in which people knew each other intimately, as well as a significant shrinkage of social and personal gaps between the upper and lower classes. Phoebe, because of her status as Lady Audley’s maid, is never considered attractive despite her physical resemblance to her. But she is taken into the Lady’s confidence as more of a close companion, giving her a sense of superiority even while she self-righteously declares her humble loyalty. This, too, rocked Victorian readers as it showed them just how easily a quiet but watchful servant could access their rich employers’ secrets while hiding their own:
“‘I wish I could show you the jewels, Luke,’ said the girl; ‘but I can't, for she always keeps the keys herself; that's the case on the dressing-table there.’
‘What, that?’ cried Luke, staring at the massive walnut-wood and brass inlaid casket. ‘Why, that's big enough to hold every bit of clothes I've got!’
‘And it's as full as it can be of diamonds, rubies, pearls and emeralds,’ answered Phoebe, busy as she spoke in folding the rustling silk dresses, and laying them one by one upon the shelves of the wardrobe. As she was shaking out the flounces of the last, a jingling sound caught her ear, and she put her hand into the pocket.
‘I declare!’ she exclaimed, ‘my lady has left her keys in her pocket for once in a way; I can show you the jewelry, if you like, Luke.’
‘Well, I may as well have a look at it, my girl,’ he said, rising from his chair and holding the light while his cousin unlocked the casket. He uttered a cry of wonder when he saw the ornaments glittering on white satin cushions. He wanted to handle the delicate jewels; to pull them about, and find out their mercantile value. Perhaps a pang of longing and envy shot through his heart as he thought how he would have liked to have taken one of them.
‘Why, one of those diamond things would set us up in life, Phoebe,’ he said, turning a bracelet over and over in his big red hands.
‘Put it down, Luke! Put it down directly!’ cried the girl, with a look of terror; ‘how can you speak about such things?’
He laid the bracelet in its place with a reluctant sigh, and then continued his examination of the casket.
‘What's this?’ he asked presently, pointing to a brass knob in the frame-work of the box.
He pushed it as he spoke, and a secret drawer, lined with purple velvet, flew out of the casket.
‘Look ye here!’ cried Luke, pleased at his discovery.
Phoebe Marks threw down the dress she had been folding, and went over to the toilette table.
‘Why, I never saw this before,’ she said; ‘I wonder what there is in it?’
There was not much in it; neither gold nor gems; only a baby's little worsted shoe rolled up in a piece of paper, and a tiny lock of pale and silky yellow hair, evidently taken from a baby's head. Phoebe's eyes dilated as she examined the little packet.
‘So this is what my lady hides in the secret drawer,’ she muttered.
‘It's queer rubbish to keep in such a place,’ said Luke, carelessly.
The girl's thin lips curved into a curious smile.
‘You will bear me witness where I found this,’ she said, putting the little parcel into her pocket.
‘Why, Phoebe, you're not going to be such a fool as to take that,’ cried the young man.
‘I'd rather have this than the diamond bracelet you would have liked to take,’ she answered; ‘you shall have the public house, Luke.’” (Pg. 69-70)
But perhaps that’s the saddest aspect of this story, is that no one cares enough to take time to understand the people close to them, resulting in more than just the criminals and blackmailers carrying out their misdeeds under oblivious noses. Alicia, for instance, is disgusted by her stepmother’s frivolous immaturity, not to mention the sight of grown men falling for it. Thus, she never suspects that her cousin’s increasingly serious interest in Lady Audley is anything more than typical idiotic male fawning, further eroding their already brittle relationship.
This lack of personal appreciation extends even to Robert, who surprises himself when he puts his skills as a barrister to good use for once in tracking George and those who had contact with him. Unfortunate that Robert’s transformation into a more dedicated and responsible man has had to come at the expense of his dearest friend:
“Very late in the evening he rose from his chair, pushed away the table, wheeled his desk over to the fire-place, took out a sheet of fools-cap, and dipped a pen in the ink.
But after doing this he paused, leaned his forehead upon his hand, and once more relapsed into thought.
‘I shall draw up a record of all that has occurred between our going down to Essex and to-night, beginning at the very beginning.’
He drew up this record in short, detached sentences, which he numbered as he wrote.
It ran thus:
"JOURNAL OF FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE DISAPPEARANCE OF GEORGE TALBOYS, INCLUSIVE OF FACTS WHICH HAVE NO APPARENT RELATION TO THAT CIRCUMSTANCE."
In spite of the troubled state of his mind, he was rather inclined to be proud of the official appearance of this heading. He sat for some time looking at it with affection, and with the feather of his pen in his mouth. ‘Upon my word,’ he said, ‘I begin to think that I ought to have pursued my profession, instead of dawdling my life away as I have done.’
[. . .]
When Robert Audley had completed this brief record, which he drew up with great deliberation, and with frequent pauses for reflection, alterations and erasures, he sat for a long time contemplating the written page. (Pg. 133-135)
[. . .]
He rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. The one purpose which had slowly grown up in his careless nature until it had become powerful enough to work a change in that very nature, made him what he had never been before—a Christian; conscious of his own weakness; anxious to keep to the strict line of duty; fearful to swerve from the conscientious discharge of the strange task that had been forced upon him; and reliant on a stronger hand than his own to point the way which he was to go. Perhaps he uttered his first earnest prayer that night, seated by his lonely fireside, thinking of George Talboys. When he raised his head from that long and silent revery, his eyes had a bright, determined glance, and every feature in his face seemed to wear a new expression.
‘Justice to the dead first,’ he said; ’mercy to the living afterward.’
He wheeled his easy-chair to the table, trimmed the lamp, and settled himself to the examination of the books.” (Pg. 183)
While in some ways this novel hasn’t aged well, particularly with regards to women, at its core it remains surprisingly significant. No longer is the role of villain delegated solely to the physically unattractive, the less refined lower class, or the explicitly nonhuman. Combining the gorgeous gothic atmosphere of a classic monster story of old with a tense psychological mystery for the ages, Lady Audley’s Secret highlights the dangers of accepting charm and charisma at face value and the regrets of taking loved ones for granted, a powerful reminder to “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
CREDITS:
Special thanks to KTWH 99.5 Two Harbors Community Radio. All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from Lady Audley’s Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon (2003 broadview literary texts paperback edition; edited by Natalie M. Houston; published by Broadview Press Ltd.)
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” - Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
https://www.briandmorrison.com/
https://www.facebook.com/BriandMorrisonGuitar/
https://www.youtube.com/user/briandmorrison
Robert Audley, a somewhat lazy non-practicing barrister, receives a delightful surprise when he unexpectedly runs into his best friend, George Talboys. George has just returned to England after a three-year gold-digging expedition in Australia and is anxious to return to Helen and Georgey, the wife and infant son he’d left behind. But his homecoming turns tragic when he learns that Helen had died the week prior, and his son, now a young boy, sees his own father as a stranger. Wanting to lift the spirits of his devastated comrade, the sympathetic Robert invites George to accompany him on a visit to Audley Court to call upon his newly married uncle, Sir Micheal Audley, and cousin, Alicia. Robert is especially eager to meet his new aunt, the gentle and lovely Lady Audley, only for the two friends to just keep missing her. One stormy night, George gazes upon the lady’s portrait as if he has seen a ghost—before promptly disappearing himself the next day. Sensing foul play, Robert takes it upon himself to search for his friend by seeking out the true history and identity of Lady Audley . . . and facing the demon he discovers lurking behind her angelic mask.
Sensation fiction, at its peak popularity in the 1860’s and 70’s, is defined as fiction in which shocking material is used to explore contemporary social anxieties. But Lady Audley’s Secret—both the book and its author—raised eyebrows for more than just cheap shock value. In a most ironic and even hypocritical case of life imitating art, Braddon herself was involved in bigamy, just like her characters in the very plot she was still writing and selling! She first partly serialized the book in 1861 in John Maxwell’s Robin Goodfellow magazine. Not only would Braddon have an affair with Maxwell, who was already both a husband and father, but would go on to marry him upon his first wife’s death and bear her own children with him. Despite the ensuing scandal, or maybe because of it, Lady Audley’s Secret would be Braddon’s most successful and best-known work and one of, if not the finest, in the sensation genre.
Compared to overtly supernatural contemporaries like Bram Stoker’s Dracula or Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I think sensation stories made polite society more nervous back then for the same reason certain slasher or psychological horror films like Halloween or Saw make some modern audiences more nervous today: they are not outside the realm of reality or possibility. Though the eponymous character is painted as a fairy tale princess incarnate, it’s a portrait more ignorant and immature than elegant and dignified. While Braddon’s repetition of the word “childish” gets old fast, it’s fitting nonetheless—and not just because Lady Audley happens to be at least thirty years Sir Michael’s junior. The way she seldom seems to read the room, so to speak, acting so blithe when the present atmosphere is so solemn and grim, feels inappropriate to the point of callousness. Even the usually easy-going Robert is quick to notice this, his own eye for her beauty notwithstanding:
“‘He's a very good fellow,’ Robert said, stoutly; ‘and to tell the honest truth, I'm rather uneasy about him.’
‘Uneasy about him!’ My lady was quite anxious to know why Robert was uneasy about his friend.
‘I'll tell you why, Lady Audley,’ answered the young barrister. ‘George had a bitter blow a year ago in the death of his wife. He has never got over that trouble. He takes life pretty quietly—almost as quietly as I do—but he often talks very strangely, and I sometimes think that one day this grief will get the better of him, and he will do something rash.’
Mr. Robert Audley spoke vaguely, but all three of his listeners knew that the something rash to which he alluded was that one deed for which there is no repentance.
There was a brief pause, during which Lady Audley arranged her yellow ringlets by the aid of the glass over the console table opposite to her.
‘Dear me!’ she said, ‘this is very strange. I did not think men were capable of these deep and lasting affections. I thought that one pretty face was as good as another pretty face to them; and that when number one with blue eyes and fair hair died, they had only to look out for number two, with dark eyes and black hair, by way of variety.’
‘George Talboys is not one of those men. I firmly believe that his wife's death broke his heart.’
‘How sad!’ murmured Lady Audley. ‘It seems almost cruel of Mrs. Talboys to die, and grieve her poor husband so much.’
‘Alicia was right, she is childish,’ thought Robert as he looked at his aunt's pretty face.
My lady was very charming at the dinner-table; she professed the most bewitching incapacity for carving the pheasant set before her, and called Robert to her assistance.
‘I could carve a leg of mutton at Mr. Dawson's,’ she said, laughing; ‘but a leg of mutton is so easy, and then I used to stand up.’
Sir Michael watched the impression my lady made upon his nephew with a proud delight in her beauty and fascination.
‘I am so glad to see my poor little woman in her usual good spirits once more,’ he said. ‘She was very down-hearted yesterday at a disappointment she met with in London.’
‘A disappointment!’
‘Yes, Mr. Audley, a very cruel one,’ answered my lady. ‘I received the other morning a telegraphic message from my dear old friend and school-mistress, telling me that she was dying, and that if I wanted to see her again, I must hasten to her immediately. The telegraphic dispatch contained no address [. . .]’
‘It was very foolish not to send the address in the telegraphic message,’ said Robert.
‘When people are dying it is not so easy to think of all these things,’ murmured my lady, looking reproachfully at Mr. Audley with her soft blue eyes.
In spite of Lady Audley's fascination, and in spite of Robert's very unqualified admiration of her, the barrister could not overcome a vague feeling of uneasiness on this quiet September evening.”
(Pg. 120-121)
The negative socioeconomic impact of the Industrial Revolution also influenced sensation tales in that there became fewer smaller rural communities in which people knew each other intimately, as well as a significant shrinkage of social and personal gaps between the upper and lower classes. Phoebe, because of her status as Lady Audley’s maid, is never considered attractive despite her physical resemblance to her. But she is taken into the Lady’s confidence as more of a close companion, giving her a sense of superiority even while she self-righteously declares her humble loyalty. This, too, rocked Victorian readers as it showed them just how easily a quiet but watchful servant could access their rich employers’ secrets while hiding their own:
“‘I wish I could show you the jewels, Luke,’ said the girl; ‘but I can't, for she always keeps the keys herself; that's the case on the dressing-table there.’
‘What, that?’ cried Luke, staring at the massive walnut-wood and brass inlaid casket. ‘Why, that's big enough to hold every bit of clothes I've got!’
‘And it's as full as it can be of diamonds, rubies, pearls and emeralds,’ answered Phoebe, busy as she spoke in folding the rustling silk dresses, and laying them one by one upon the shelves of the wardrobe. As she was shaking out the flounces of the last, a jingling sound caught her ear, and she put her hand into the pocket.
‘I declare!’ she exclaimed, ‘my lady has left her keys in her pocket for once in a way; I can show you the jewelry, if you like, Luke.’
‘Well, I may as well have a look at it, my girl,’ he said, rising from his chair and holding the light while his cousin unlocked the casket. He uttered a cry of wonder when he saw the ornaments glittering on white satin cushions. He wanted to handle the delicate jewels; to pull them about, and find out their mercantile value. Perhaps a pang of longing and envy shot through his heart as he thought how he would have liked to have taken one of them.
‘Why, one of those diamond things would set us up in life, Phoebe,’ he said, turning a bracelet over and over in his big red hands.
‘Put it down, Luke! Put it down directly!’ cried the girl, with a look of terror; ‘how can you speak about such things?’
He laid the bracelet in its place with a reluctant sigh, and then continued his examination of the casket.
‘What's this?’ he asked presently, pointing to a brass knob in the frame-work of the box.
He pushed it as he spoke, and a secret drawer, lined with purple velvet, flew out of the casket.
‘Look ye here!’ cried Luke, pleased at his discovery.
Phoebe Marks threw down the dress she had been folding, and went over to the toilette table.
‘Why, I never saw this before,’ she said; ‘I wonder what there is in it?’
There was not much in it; neither gold nor gems; only a baby's little worsted shoe rolled up in a piece of paper, and a tiny lock of pale and silky yellow hair, evidently taken from a baby's head. Phoebe's eyes dilated as she examined the little packet.
‘So this is what my lady hides in the secret drawer,’ she muttered.
‘It's queer rubbish to keep in such a place,’ said Luke, carelessly.
The girl's thin lips curved into a curious smile.
‘You will bear me witness where I found this,’ she said, putting the little parcel into her pocket.
‘Why, Phoebe, you're not going to be such a fool as to take that,’ cried the young man.
‘I'd rather have this than the diamond bracelet you would have liked to take,’ she answered; ‘you shall have the public house, Luke.’” (Pg. 69-70)
But perhaps that’s the saddest aspect of this story, is that no one cares enough to take time to understand the people close to them, resulting in more than just the criminals and blackmailers carrying out their misdeeds under oblivious noses. Alicia, for instance, is disgusted by her stepmother’s frivolous immaturity, not to mention the sight of grown men falling for it. Thus, she never suspects that her cousin’s increasingly serious interest in Lady Audley is anything more than typical idiotic male fawning, further eroding their already brittle relationship.
This lack of personal appreciation extends even to Robert, who surprises himself when he puts his skills as a barrister to good use for once in tracking George and those who had contact with him. Unfortunate that Robert’s transformation into a more dedicated and responsible man has had to come at the expense of his dearest friend:
“Very late in the evening he rose from his chair, pushed away the table, wheeled his desk over to the fire-place, took out a sheet of fools-cap, and dipped a pen in the ink.
But after doing this he paused, leaned his forehead upon his hand, and once more relapsed into thought.
‘I shall draw up a record of all that has occurred between our going down to Essex and to-night, beginning at the very beginning.’
He drew up this record in short, detached sentences, which he numbered as he wrote.
It ran thus:
"JOURNAL OF FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE DISAPPEARANCE OF GEORGE TALBOYS, INCLUSIVE OF FACTS WHICH HAVE NO APPARENT RELATION TO THAT CIRCUMSTANCE."
In spite of the troubled state of his mind, he was rather inclined to be proud of the official appearance of this heading. He sat for some time looking at it with affection, and with the feather of his pen in his mouth. ‘Upon my word,’ he said, ‘I begin to think that I ought to have pursued my profession, instead of dawdling my life away as I have done.’
[. . .]
When Robert Audley had completed this brief record, which he drew up with great deliberation, and with frequent pauses for reflection, alterations and erasures, he sat for a long time contemplating the written page. (Pg. 133-135)
[. . .]
He rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. The one purpose which had slowly grown up in his careless nature until it had become powerful enough to work a change in that very nature, made him what he had never been before—a Christian; conscious of his own weakness; anxious to keep to the strict line of duty; fearful to swerve from the conscientious discharge of the strange task that had been forced upon him; and reliant on a stronger hand than his own to point the way which he was to go. Perhaps he uttered his first earnest prayer that night, seated by his lonely fireside, thinking of George Talboys. When he raised his head from that long and silent revery, his eyes had a bright, determined glance, and every feature in his face seemed to wear a new expression.
‘Justice to the dead first,’ he said; ’mercy to the living afterward.’
He wheeled his easy-chair to the table, trimmed the lamp, and settled himself to the examination of the books.” (Pg. 183)
While in some ways this novel hasn’t aged well, particularly with regards to women, at its core it remains surprisingly significant. No longer is the role of villain delegated solely to the physically unattractive, the less refined lower class, or the explicitly nonhuman. Combining the gorgeous gothic atmosphere of a classic monster story of old with a tense psychological mystery for the ages, Lady Audley’s Secret highlights the dangers of accepting charm and charisma at face value and the regrets of taking loved ones for granted, a powerful reminder to “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
CREDITS:
Special thanks to KTWH 99.5 Two Harbors Community Radio. All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from Lady Audley’s Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon (2003 broadview literary texts paperback edition; edited by Natalie M. Houston; published by Broadview Press Ltd.)
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” - Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
https://www.briandmorrison.com/
https://www.facebook.com/BriandMorrisonGuitar/
https://www.youtube.com/user/briandmorrison
EPISODE SONGS:
“A Dramatic Turn” - Alex Nelson
https://www.facebook.com/alex.j.nelson.7
“A Dramatic Turn” - Alex Nelson
https://www.facebook.com/alex.j.nelson.7
“Ghosts of Love” - Alex Nelson
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
Mary Elizabeth Braddon on Wikipedia
Lady Audley's Secret on Wikipedia
Lady Audley's Secret on Goodreads
Lady Audley's Secret at Barnes & Noble
Lady Audley's Secret on Amazon
Lady Audley's Secret on eBay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature
Mary Elizabeth Braddon on Wikipedia
Lady Audley's Secret on Wikipedia
Lady Audley's Secret on Goodreads
Lady Audley's Secret at Barnes & Noble
Lady Audley's Secret on Amazon
Lady Audley's Secret on eBay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature
RSS Feed