Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.

22 March 1024, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau

Amelia,

Spring is here; or, at least, we can see it on the horizon as we fly from Grand-Blaireau down to town and back. The air is warmer, the snow is melting, the roads are increasingly muddy, and the Two Sloops’ bill for firewood has greatly decreased. Soon our guests will be able to see what our island looks like under the snow, and we might possibly need to hire a groundskeeper to see to the trails. That is a new problem, even to His Napes, as none of the inns in Mont-Havre have any grounds to speak of.

It also means that I have not been out riding with the worthy lieutenant. He met me at Amelia’s shop this past Monday, and I was surprised to find him riding up on a horse instead of a sleigh. He dismounted gracefully, looped the reins around the porch rail, and came to me inside the shop, hat in hand.

“I must apologize most profoundly, Miss Gamble,” he said, the very picture of regret. “Our horse master will not hazard the garrison’s sleigh out on the roads today, barring the needs of war, nor any of our wagons. Not that one of His Majesty’s four-house wagons is a suitable carriage for a lady in any weather. Perhaps it would have bee possible if we had one of Mr. Tuppenny’s excellent wagons, but—”

“I think we would have gotten horribly spattered even on one of Mr. Tuppenny’s wagons, as muddy as the road through town is, Lieutenant. I applaud your horse master’s good sense.”

He paused, then, holding his hat in both hands before him, clearly unsure what to say, but Amelie came to his rescue. She folded back the open part of the counter, and beckoned us back behind.

“Vite, vite,” she said, “come, quickly, into the parlor, and I shall arrange for some tea.” She led us through the door into the Tuppenny residence, and and sat us down in what I knew to be her and her husband’s favorite chairs. She vanished through another door with a twirl of her skirts, returning just a few moments later. “Madame Truc will see that you get some tea. Please, faites comme chez vous.“

Amelie went off to see to the shop; and so we settled, though Harkness looked most uncomfortable. I looked out the window at the remains of the snow and waited for him to speak.

“Miss Gamble,” he began at last, but as I turned to him we were interrupted by old Jacques-la-Souris, carrying a tea tray. “Mlle. Gamble,” he said, smiling roguishly at me as he set it down on the small table between us. “To see you, it does my heart all the good. Here you are, with Madame Truc’s compliments.” And then, still cheerful but with a more formal tone, “Lieutenant Harkness.”

I poured the tea. Harkness took his cup and held it in both hands—for it was chill in the parlor, rarely used at that time of day—and found his voice.

“Miss Gamble, you are extraordinarily patient with me,” he said. “If I were my brother I should have a great deal more to offer you, and I assure you I should do so with my whole heart.” And then he began to describe to me all the wonders and glories of courting the eldest son of a minor and impoverished noble house.

I listened peacefully, enjoying my tea—which was excellent—and smiling at intervals, but within I was of at least two, and perhaps several, minds. His esteem was most gratifying, I may say. One likes to be liked. But he has so little on which to base such a liking: my words over Private Hoxney when we first met, and my manner on our sleigh rides—for he has given me little need or chance to speak at length. Perhaps he admires my equanimity at being reduced to working at an inn, and my ability to manage my duties; which is to say, my ability to deal with matters as they are, rather than as I would like them to be. Perhaps he thinks of my future in his household as the competent company sergeant major to his captain, as His Napes once described my role at the Sloops.

But then, if he did give me time to speak I would have so little to speak of: too many books of magic and too few novels; my many years as Brother John’s companion, of which there is little of interest to be said; and that of which I fear to tell.

A third voice says to me, it is delightful to hear how we would walk in the garden of his family home, or ride through the Cumbrian countryside in his family’s phaeton on a summer day, if only he were the eldest son; but he is not. More, if he were he would be seeking an heiress, not an impoverished daughter of the gentry—and I am not even that these days.

He did not stay long, for under the circumstances his commander expected him back directly; and I saw him go with a sense of relief. He has a lovely smile, but I could wish he had more to go between them. 

Myself, I tarried a moment to thank Amelie.

“De rien!” she said, cheerfully. “How was your tête-à-tête?“

“He spent it telling me how gloriously he would treat me if only he could afford to do so. It’s a pleasant dream, but—”

She smiled at me cheerily, dusting the counter as I gathered my thoughts.

“He will never be wealthy,” I said at length. “Nor prosperous, even by the standards of Bois-de-Bas, let alone as well off as you and Armand. We should always be living in garrison.”

Amelie shrugged. “My Armand, he had nothing when he married me. Nothing but his craft and—” and here she looked most fond—”a certain facility with the goats. And me,  bien sur!“

“And yet,” I said, “I should prefer Lieutenant Harkness to speak to me of what life with him would be like rather than what it will never be like. I am sure your Armand had more to his conversation than delights that would never be his to command. “

She cocked her head to the side and looked at me frankly. “Mais oui,” she said, “mais oui. Truly, he did.” She shrugged again. “At least the lieutenant is not afraid of the hard work. But it is for you to say! We all wish you to be happy, n’est-ce pas?“

“Thank you, Amelie! I wish me to be happy, too.”

I took my leave, and my supplies, and flew on back to the Sloops, reflecting on my new life. I suppose I cannot truly call myself one of the gentry any more, Amelia, no matter my origins. But though I am more alone in the world than ever, without even Brother John, yet somehow I feel that my family has grown. There are more folk in Bois-de-Bas that truly care about me than there ever were in Nexing Cross, or so it seems to me now.

Cathy

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