Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.
6 June 1018
3 Madrigal Court, Yorke, Cumbria
Armand,
I have decided that I must, above all things, come visit you in Bois-de-Bas—and possibly remain with for quite a long stay. My situation here in Yorke is desperate; one might say the enemy has established a practicable breach, and my only recourse to avoid an ugly sacking is to surrender immediately and then flee the battlefield.
No, it’s worse than that; for Melliman has already sacked me. I would not have known how to go about losing a dogsbody’s job in the War Records Office, had anyone thought to inquire, but somehow I have managed it.
Yes, Armand, I am in disgrace. My father is displeased with me, my mother is disappointed in me, Lord Doncaster is livid, and society here in Yorke is divided between delighted titters, disapproving frowns, and outright scowls. I can’t even escape to Wiltshire, for Edward won’t have me. I might as well be confined to quarters.
What did I do that was so enormous, so vastly evil that even rustication in Wiltshire will not serve as a remedy?
It was simply this, Armand: I completed my memoirs and handed the manuscript to His Lordship, who intended to have it published privately so that he could circulate it among a few of his cronies.
That should have been the end of it. I would have retained a copy or two, and sent one along to you and to a few others; and then I should have gotten on with my work at the WRO.
Instead, it seems that an ambitious soul at the publishing house seized upon it, and slithered away with it to a rival publishing firm, the much to be execrated Ukridge House. There the text was much hacked about, and many salacious details—made up out of whole cloth, I assure—were added; and then the travesty was printed cheaply, with many typographical errors, and put out for general sale—with my name upon the cover.
The first printing sold out in a matter of days, so am I told.
Had they printed it as by “A Soldier”, I could have withstood it. His Lordship and his cronies would know who “A Soldier” was, but few else. As it is, everyone in Yorke thinks that I am a libeler at worst and a libertine at best. The frowners and the scowlers shun me; and may I say, Armand, I draw the line at the titterers. I’ve enough sins of my own without being celebrated for the sins of some publishing hack.
Lord Doncaster, though furious, is not angry with me. That is the only silver lining in the whole affair. He has the original manuscript, and he knows me too well to think that I would choose to bring all this down on my own head. But this scandal reflects badly on him, as my commanding officer; he is determined to set the record straight, and to reduce this dastardly publisher to smoking rubble. The publisher’s name—for I cannot call him a gentleman—is Joseph Ukridge. You may feel free to join me in calling down execrations upon him and his house unto the seventh generation.
In the meantime, my position here is untenable. Moreover, His Lordship wishes me to get myself out of town. I have an appointment this week, at which I will make a sworn statement about these matters to His Lordship’s solicitor. I will have nothing to keep me here after that, and so I have reserved the next available berth on an Armorican-bound packet. You may expect me not more than two weeks after receipt of this letter.
What I shall find to do with myself in Bois-de-Bas I know not; but at least I shall be able to show my face in public.
Your embattled and embittered cousin,
Jack
____
Photo by Amador Loureiro on Unsplash
Zymurgia House 