Dear Mrs. De Winter,

Can we talk?

I've been reading about you. You know the book, Rebecca by the Du Maurier woman. Yeah, that one. I know, I know. There are two sides to every story, but as this one was written in first person from your point of view, I have to take it on faith.

I really started out in your corner. Those were some unfortunate circumstances you found yourself in, and wham! Like a lightening bolt out of the blue your employer gets influenza, and you find yourself with an unscheduled vacation from your maiding duties. And who do you meet in the luncheon room?

We should all be so lucky. A rich, widower who in just a few short days decides you're just the woman for him. Well, the second woman for him. There was his first wife, but we'll get to that. Next thing you know, it's a quicky marriage, a trip through Italy, and you're back in his castle, the lady of the manor. You're Mrs. De Winter.

A right fine mess you've made of that.

I know. I know. You're young. I'm guessing 19 or so from the sound of things, and he's much older. Twice your age perhaps. Maybe even a little more. It's not really clear. Anyone could be intimidated at first. But this has been going on for some time now, Missy.

You run from the maid, the groundskeeper, the butlers. You hide from visitors and cower and simper to your husband. This little girl lost thing is getting old. Fast. You've even starting being intimidated by his dead wife. She's dead, for godsake. She's not going to steal him back.

May I be frank?

You've made your bed. You've married a middle aged man set in his ways, with money and a reputation. You're head of Manderley. There's a staff to manage. There are things to do. Maybe this marriage was a terrible mistake. You're worried of it, and it appears your husband is, too. Who can blame him? Carrying on with a girl half his age was quite a gamble. Perhaps the burdens of being Mrs. De Winter are too much for one so young.

Tough.

Given the time period, divorce isn't an option, so unless he's planning on beaning you over the head with a garden shovel - and he really doesn't seem the type - you're going to have to buck up. Speak up. Meet him toe-to-toe. Speak your mind. Start acting like a wife instead of a frightened chamber maid. He's a man not a divine creature from heaven.

If that's too much to bite off, try telling the maid what to do instead of the other way around. Fire her if you have to. She's too enamored of the former Mrs. De Winter anyway. Get new staff. Start fresh. Grow a pair. Seriously. Because I'm halfway through this book, and if something doesn't change soon, I'll find that garden shovel myself.

Sincerely yours,
A reader