Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.
18 June 1023, Achin Court, Nexing Cross, Nexinghamshire
My dearest husband,
It is a great pity that you were obliged to remain in Toulouse, for things are not well at Achin Court, and I cannot but wish that you were here with me to help me navigate them. I am writing to you to put my thoughts in some order—and because there is no one here I know well enough to confide in—no one who is not ensnarled in things, I mean to say, for I am sure that I could confide in your mama or Mrs. Sloane-Price if things were otherwise; but they are not.
But if I wish to put my thoughts in order I must start at the beginning.
We arrived at Achin Court yesterday afternoon well-rested and in good order, Jane and Margaux and I, the floating carriage we borrowed from Grandmaster Netherington-Coates having made all easy. Your mama and papa greeted us warmly, and we soon sat down to a “nice family supper”, as your father put it.
Max, it was just the three of us: your mama, your papa, and I. Your brother Octavian was nowhere in evidence, and of course Margaux ate with the servants.
“But where is Octavian?” I asked. “I am surprised not to see him here.”
And your father looked somber for the first time since we arrived. “He’s out on the land,” he said, looking down. “Got a sick bull.” And he turned the conversation to our darling Jane, “who has just your husband’s eyes.” Your mama’s eyes gave a little twitch upwards, but she said nothing, and so I did not press.
Not then, but when the cloth was drawn and Lady Cressida and I retreated to the parlor, I said, “So Octavian is off seeing to a sick bull. I hope it isn’t too serious.”
“Octie’s seeing to a sick head, more like,” she said; and then, as a quiet aside, “Nothing an axe wouldn’t cure.” And no more would she say. Your papa joined us a few moments later, having no taste for solitary port, and I was required to fetch Jane. We had a lively conversation after that, but as it was solely concerned with our doings and Jane’s accomplishments I shall not describe it. You may assume that they were inordinately pleased with both Jane’s accomplishments and ours.
This morning I took Jane off in the carriage to visit the Myrtlewoods, and it was there, amid much cooing at little Jane, that I began to learn what is toward.
The Myrtlewoods were delighted to see me, and may I say that they are well, though Mrs. Myrtlewood has become quite frail. They received us in their sitting room, before a roaring fire despite the warm weather, “For we don’t use the drawing room these days,” said Mrs. Myrtlewood. “It’s too chill for our old bones.”
They made much of Jane, and asked after you and all our doings. “It’s good to have a real wizard in the Archer family once again,” said Mr. Myrtlewood, with great satisfaction.
But they grew silent when I asked after Octavian. Mr. Myrtlewood looked at the fire, and Mrs. Myrtlewood looked at her knitting, and then he sighed. “Well, lass, Alex and Octie are on the outs. Have been these past five years.”
I gasped. “For so long? But we’ve had no word of it!”
“Alex isn’t one for complaining,” he said, and as Mrs. Myrtlewood and I both gave him a look he raised a hand. “Oh, aye, he’ll make a mountain out of every molehill, and hold forth until your ears get tired, but that’s just for show. But this is no molehill.”
Mrs. Myrtlewood nodded sadly. “No, ’tisn’t that.”
“But what is it?” I demanded.
“It’s simple enough,” he said. “Alex wants him to wed, and he won’t do it.”
“It’s simpler than that,” she said. “Octie’s been making a fool of himself over John Gamble’s sister Cathy this past age.”
“Since not long after your engagement ball, come to think,” he said.
“Mrs. Sloane-Price? But—”
“Oh, she’s having none of it, mark you, never think it,” she said.
“—but she’s married already! Isn’t she?”
Mr. Myrtlewood raised his shoulders a wee bit. (I tell you, Max, after so much time among the Provençese, it now seems to me that no one in Cumbria knows how to shrug properly.) “Well, and that’s another thing no one will speak of, least of all her.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, it was one of the great scandals of Nexinghamshire, isn’t it just,” said Mr. Myrtlewood. “About ten years ago, Cathy Gamble as was ran off with a fellow named Sloane-Price—”
“—or so they say, for no one in Nexing Cross ever laid eyes on him—” said Mrs. Myrtlewood.
Mr. Myrtlewood nodded, “—no more we did; and then but a few months later, or perhaps half a year, she came back to keep house for her brother.”
“But what happened?”
Mr. Myrtlewood twitched his shoulders again. “No one knows.”
“She won’t hear questions,” said Mrs. Myrtlewood.
“No, she won’t,” said Mr. Myrtlewood. “Just smiles and changes the subject.”
“Not there’s been a hint of scandal since then,” he said.
“Not of that kind,” she said.
“Wizards,” they said in unison, looking at each other.
“They are an eccentric lot,” he said, nodding, “that they are.”
I could hardly disagree.
I raised the subject at supper this evening, and refused to accept your papa’s disinclination to speak.
“I’ve spoken with the Myrtlewoods today, and I know about Octavian and Mrs. Sloane-Price. Octavian’s my brother now; won’t you speak of it?”
Your papa sighed gustily. “Aye, you’re family.”
“Maxie’s a good lad, I am proud of him, that I am,” he said apologetically. “But he don’t know the land, he wasn’t brought up to have the managing of it. Octie needs to wed and raise an heir.”
“And what of Cathy Sloane-Price?”
“She won’t have him—”
“It’s not like she could,” said your mama quietly.
“—and he’s smitten, he says he’ll have no one else.”
“Like a love-sick bull, that one,” she said.
Your father won’t let it lie, and so your brother’s taken to living in a cottage some miles from Achin Court.
Tomorrow I must pay a Cathy a visit.
Your distressed and inquisitive wife,
Amelia
____
Photo by Stainless Images on Unsplash
Zymurgia House 