Even If Your Husband Manages All Your Finances I Will Ever Fail To See The Relevance To The Prospect Of Your Competent Execution Of The Office Of Chief Of Staff To The President Of The United States, Huma Abedin
September 9, 1835 London
Ms. Huma Mahmood Abedin Senior State Department Attaché Teneo Holdings LLC 601 Lexington Avenue New York, NY 10022 The United States
My Most Beautiful and Beleagured Humamah:
How could I have been but pleased to find the singular combination of letters which happens to frame the constellation of your singular name repeated over and over again in the society pages these many months? I am certain that you could not have wondered that I, ever longing to hear tell of your travels and tidings and reduced to looking for these signs among the stars or the remnant tea leaves from so many bitter brews, delighted in every mention no matter how depraved or irresponsible.
But I beg you, do not mistake me! The glee I feel owing to my brushes with your sublime moniker could not ever be said to suggest endorsement of such text as may surround it. It is quite beyond me how anyone might expect a proper young lady of our era to undertake to meddle in a household’s financial affairs (an exclusive realm better governed by our Lords and Masters then ourselves to be sure!)
Ignore the ignorant bleating of self-styled “modern, independent women” (a crude pseudonym for barren old maids if ever I heard one) I beseech you! They know nothing of your domestic affairs and discredit themselves intrinsically the moment they claim such wisdom.
What, after all, could the duties of White House Chief of Staff possibly entail that would require of you some intricate facility in the arcane and profane arts of tabulation, calculation, and interaction with agents and agencies economic and financial? Surely, as Chief of Staff your management of the domestics of the White House should not require you to lower yourself to address vulgar topics related to their pay or the provision of their pensions? Could it ever be thought that your direction of the kitchens staff and the maids would somehow pale to the administrative abilities of an accountant? They are such grey and drab little men!
And, in truth, what accountant might distinguish himself in the position of Chief of Staff through his in-depth mastery of fall foliage and floral arrangements appropriate to the state dinner hosting foreign dignitaries from the Far East? (Poppies are always in season!) Will he have the required social acumen to insist that the celestials among the dignitaries’ servants confine themselves to using the side entrance? I think not.
Even so, and mindful of my promise to you not to broach the subject, I must implore you again to abandon your single-minded pursuit of the pinnacle of domestic profession. The peak of the neighbourhood refuse heap (peak though it is!) offers little succour for the station conscious.
And, yes, I did truly promise I should never bring her up again, but I must confess that in this I have broken my vow in my heart with such frequency that to do it in print feels but a recitation of the forgone. I ask you, could you ever be content with her? Even should you, as it seems obvious to expect, eclipse William’s station and claim for yourself the title “First Lady,” will she ever be rid of him? Will you? Could she ever sit before that desk and dispel the dark spectre of his lust, a shade that lingers under it and permeates every pore and turn of fabric in that great oval? Could you ever claim her as your own if forced to compete with the horrid, milky film that coats every surface therein?
So, I have done it and have breached the peace you weaved with my fragile promises. And now I am prepared to pay the price. And if you should decide it just that I endure the ignominy and chastisement of corporal punishment I do swear that I shall not protest your firm and just discipline. Whatever they may call you two years hence, your claim to extract my penance through my body shall make you ever my Chief of Staff in the moment that you demand it. Until then, I remain,
Yours Contritely Waiting For Even The Most Subtle Sign Of The Imminent Approach Of Your Messenger And Meanwhile Clad In Such Attire As Might Be Most Conducive To A Firm Switching Over Your Shapely And Most Alluring Knee,
Charlotte Brontë, CFA








