Arthur Hughes La Belle Dame Sans Merci

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didn't appear to have the required effect. Nanny was staring around the dungeon with the vaguely interested gaze of a sightseer.
'And then you will be burned,' said the duchess.
'Okay,' said Nanny.
'Okay?'
'Well, it's bloody freezing down here. What's that big wardrobe thing with the spikes?'
The duke was trembling. 'Aha,' he said. 'Now you realise, eh? That, my dear lady, is an Iron Maiden. It's the latest thing. Well may you—'
'Can I have a go in it?'
'Your pleas fall on deaf . . . ' The duke's voice trailed off. His twitch started up.
The '. . .the faces . . . wicked lies . . . I wasn't there, and anyway he fell . . . my porridge, all salty . . .' murmured the duke, swaying.duchess leaned forward until her big red face was inches away from Nanny's nose.'This insouciance gives you pleasure,' she hissed, 'but soon you will laugh on the other side of your face!''It's only got this side,' said Nanny.The duchess fingered a tray of implements lovingly. 'We shall see,' she said, picking up a pair of pliers.'And you need not think any others of your people will come to your aid,' said the duke, who was sweating despite the chill. 'We alone hold the keys to this dungeon. Ha ha. You will be an example to all those who have been spreading malicious rumours about me. Do not protest your innocence! I hear the voices all the time, lying . . . 'The duchess gripped him ferociously by the arm. 'Enough,' she rasped. 'Come, Leonal. We will let her reflect on her fate for a while.'
The door slammed behind them. There was a click of locks and a thudding of bolts.