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

12 July 1024, Bois-de-Bas

Amelia, my dear sister-to-be,

You traitor! You vixen! I discovered the depths of your treachery this very morning, O you who are not to be trusted!

This morning I arrived at the Sloops later than usual, due to a small crisis involving little Annie and a stubbed toe…and saw the inn’s caravan descending toward the east side of the island, where the women’s quarters are. 

I was dumbfounded. The women’s quarters were completed some time ago, as you know; the only workmen on the island were meant to be completing the walkway along the west side of the river, and the terrace and teahouse overlooking the falls. There was no good reason in all the lands for the caravan to be on the west side, no good reason at all.

And yet, as Eloise, Corinne, and the others were already hard at work, I could see no wicked reason either. It was a mystery.

Naturally I bearded Mr. Napes in his den. (No, dear sister-to-be, His Napes has not grown a beard. Have no fear.)

He chuckled. Chuckled! “Well, my darlin’, you’ve found me out,” he said, brazenly. “Best we take a walk.” So he was a party to this enormity!

We left the inn by the locked gate that leads over the bridge to the women’s quarters. I took His Nape’s arm, of course, but I wish to make it plain that I did so in a markedly pointed fashion. Your brother, wicked man that he is, chose to chuckle once again. In anticipation! I steeled myself to maintain my composure when I learned his dreadful secret.

He led me along the walk to the quarters, and then beyond! Yes, the walk had been extended off between the trees to the west, where it had no business going. My heart was pounding as His Napes strolled nonchalantly through the woods, and I perforce strolled with him.

We walked for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and were nearing the edge of the island when I heard the sounds of hammers and saws and the voices of workmen. And in a few more steps, I saw it.

Amelia, they were building a house. Not the simple quarters they had built for the staff, but a house, as nice as any down in Bois-de-Bas. The walk led up to its front door.

One of the workmen happened to look up as we approached, and saw His Napes. He gave a shout, and they all turned to watch us.

“Time for a cup of tea, gents,” His Napes called out. “I need to give Miss Montjoy a tour.”

And with not a little merriment, the men downed tools and filed past us, grinning widely. In moments we were alone.

“It was meant to be a surprise, after the wedding, my darlin’, but I’m not surprised you found out. No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.”

“Is that who I am? The enemy?”

“In a manner of speakin’. Love and war, my darlin’, love and war.”

I gripped the wicked man’s arm more tightly as we approached the front door. It stood open, for the workmen had been busy within. We paused there for a moment or two…or three…and then he pulled me gently within.

“Here it is, my darlin’—your new home. Not that you won’t be welcome in my quarters back at the Sloops, but they are a wee bit cramped for two. Not to mention the children.”

“How many children?”

“Fifteen,” he said. “Twenty. A whole company’s worth.”

“That’s a great many,” I said. “Will we have room enough?”

“Got room to bivouac a battalion at least, my darlin’.”

He led me through the rooms, and told me what each would be…and then, out onto a stone terrace that ended in a low stone wall. By the wall stood a small round table, and two chairs, rustic as suited the Two Sloops Inn, but well made and comfortable. 

And beyond the wall, only sky. I was struck dumb as he drew me over to the table and sat me down. He pulled the other chair around and sat next to me.

“Now look,” he commanded. “No, not at me, my darlin’. Out there.”

“Out there” lay the lands west of Bois-de-Bas, a blanket of green trees pierced by stony hills. I saw smoke rising from small settlements and steam from hot springs; clouds, and other small sky islands.

“You told me once, my darlin’, that you would like to sit by the waterfall and sip a cup of tea and watch the sun rise. But you can’t see the sun rise very well by the waterfall, and besides the place will be littered with guests. Bit of a trek, too. I thought you’d fancy something a bit more private, and closer to the inn.”

I don’t know how long we sat there together, looking out over the land, my head on his shoulder.

“You devious, wicked man,” I said at last. “You have been planning this for months.”

“Longer than that, my darlin’.”

“How much longer?”

“Since about the time I thought I might ask you to marry me.”

“Oh? And when was that?”

“Last August.”

“Last August! But I had only just arrived! We’d not even met!”

And here we come to your treachery, you wicked fiend!

“Well, you know,” he said. “M’sister writes to me fairly regularly.”

I sat up straight, dropping his arm and subjecting him to my strongest glare.

“And what did she write?” I demanded.

“The whole sorry tale, my darlin’. Poor Mr. Sloane-Price, the curse on Max’s brother Octie.” He paused. “Your decision to leave Nexing Cross and journey across the lands so that he could be happy.”

I am surprised that my gaze did not leave him permanently scarred. As it will scar you, evil correspondent, when next I see you!

“You knew! You knew all along! And you waited all those months to tell me?”

“Might have been a fluke,” he said, not at all repentant. “A good soldier spies out the land before he lays his plans. And besides, I knew you were still sweet on Octie, and tied up with your brother. I had to wait until you were ready, or I’d have been just another difficult man you’d have to manage.”

“But you are a difficult man I have to manage.”

“No, I’m the difficult man you have to manage.”

I punched him gently on the arm and then settled back against his side.

“And what of Lieutenant Harkness,” I said. “It would have spiked your guns right and proper if I’d gone off with him.”

“I had not looked for the likes of Lieutenant Harkness,” he said. “Good man; got a good eye; I’m sure he’ll go far. But I wasn’t worried about him.”

“And why not?” I asked, archly.

“Well, he was a lieutenant, wasn’t he. Horrible objects, lieutenants. I knew you’d never marry such a thing. A captain, now, a captain is a suitor of merit.”

“I might have held out for a major.”

“Majors are too stuck on themselves. It would only have led to heartbreak. No, a captain’s the rank to look for, my darlin’.”

We shared a few more words and then returned to our duties. We passed the workman, sitting on segments of logs in the woods, drinking tea by a small fire.

“All done, lads,” said His Napes. “Carry on.”

So, as for you, you meddling, tale-telling fiend! I shall forgive you this time, but you are not to marry me off to anyone else, do you hear?

Your dear sister-to-be,

Cathy

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Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash