Matt Ford

Darnley's about to go to bed when two young ladies approach.

We'd like to stay, Your Majesty.

Darnley takes in their comely smiles and heaving bosoms.

Maybe all is not lost.

One hour later, Darnley lies in bed, shirt open, a lady either side of him, feeding him grapes.

He's startled when his valet bursts in.

My lord, I cannot find the Nate Watchman.

Christ, man, every second I spend looking at your face is a second I'm not looking at hers.

Darnley lets one of the ladies run a finger over his chest, snaps.

Just find him and do not bother me again.

He flicks his wrist to dismiss the man, then smiles at the girls, each of whom are retrieving their discarded hose from the floor.

To Darnley's delight, they begin tying his wrists to the bed before using another stocking as a blindfold.

He squirms in anticipation as he hears their giggles, then retreating soft footsteps.

But as minutes pass, he begins to feel anxious.

Hello?

Darnley tries to wriggle free and is relieved when one stocking loosens enough for him to slide his wrist out.

He pulls off his blindfold and walks into his dressing room.

Damn wenches!

He picks up a lamp and steps into the corridor.

He's struck by the silence.