Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.
20 June 1012, Achin Court, Nexing Cross, Nexinghamshire
My dearest husband,
When I rose today it was my intention to seek out your brother Octavian, but I soon found that your beloved daughter had formed other plans with your beloved father. Ere I rose from my kippers, toast, and tea I was informed that Jane and I were to be taken on a picnic on the shores of Lake Lostermere. The party was to consist of your beloved parents, your beloved wife, your beloved daughter, your beloved daughter’s nanny, and two of your beloved parents’ servants, along with my beloved cousin’s step-father’s coachman, for of course we took the floating carriage.
If reading that sentence was a bit of a production, well, so was the picnic.
The views from the lake shore were indeed splendid: the blue water of the lake, the green of the meadows, the darker green of the wooded islands and hillsides, the brown of the occasional boat on the water.
We were not the only family having on outing on a fine summer day; I was re-introduced to several family friends, and met a young couple, the Davidsons, who joined us. They have a small boy just Jane’s age, and the two were soon romping up and down the meadow under Margaux’s watchful eye.
“Tam and I were raised in the town,” Mr. Davidson told me, nodding off across the lake, I presume in the direction of Nexingham. “It is where we met. But then my great-uncle passed and left me the house here in Nexing Cross, and at last we could afford to wed.”
“It must be quite a change,” I said.
“And one for the better, it is,” he said. “I was reading law, for my father is a solicitor, but I didn’t take to it.”
“Tom was always mad for the countryside,” said his wife. “Spent your summers at your uncle’s, didn’t you,” she said, looking at him fondly, “and me crying myself to sleep back in town.”
“That’s right,” he said. “By rights the land should have gone to my father, but they arranged it between the two of them, he and Uncle Astor. It was my father wrote up my uncle’s will, of course, and at the reading he told me, ‘I’ve no use for the land, and it’s plain you’ve no use for the law.'”
“Was your father much distressed, that you abandoned his profession?” I asked.
“Not a bit of it,” said Mr. Davidson.
“It’s relieved he was,” said Mrs. Davidson. “He said that Tom spent so much time looking over his shoulder instead of down at his work that it gave him quite a pain in his own neck.”
At that point came the inevitable splash, followed by weeping and lamentations; for Lake Lostermere is quite cold even in midsummer, so your father tells me. Margaux bustled up the bank with Jane and young Master Davidson, both dripping wet, and surrendering the latter to his mother took Jane off to the coach and a change of clothing.
A quantity of ham and Eccles cakes later, Mr. Davidson caught sight of a man coming down the road on horseback.
“Aha! There he is,” he said to his wife. “I told you he’d come.”
“Who is it?” asked Sir Alexander, squinting.
“Your son Octie!” said Mr. Davidson. “I had invited him to join us today, and he said that he might if he could.”
Your mother and father looked at each in some consternation, I thought; and Octavian reined up as soon as he saw his parents. But then he dismounted, dropping the reins on the grass, and approached us.
“Mother. Father,” he said, rather coldly, and then more warmly, “Tom. Tam.” And then, seeing me at last, “Amelia? I had not heard you were visiting.”
I rose and went to him. He took my hands as I said, “It is good to see you, Octavian.”
“Do call me Octie,” he said. “Octavian is what m’mother calls me when—”
And then he broke off. “You must come by and see me,” he said quietly to me. And then to the Davidson’s, “I’m sorry, Tom, Tam, but I can’t stay. I’ve got a sick bull to see to.” And after a final “Mother. Father,” he was off, leaving the Davidsons looking after him in surprise.
Oh, Maxie, I do hope you are on your way to us.
Amelia
____
Photo by dirk von loen-wagner on Unsplash
Zymurgia House 