S. Maur - 13th of July, 1904
Who says the upper classes don’t go on and bugger their tailors? Anything could be happening in that dressing room, you know. Or don’t know. Either way. Glad I won’t have to report to Lady D. that you were stolen away by a man and his needle. Also glad to report to you that I gave Lucille a panicked look and she confirmed the child can’t be yours. Congratulations on your continued non-fatherhood.
I’m very disappointed to hear that you’re going to act all civilised now that you’d only be visiting St. Maur and not living here. From the way Lady D. let you plant one on her in costume, I reckon she’d be disappointed, too. I think I heard things about general promotion within the ranks? No new job postings on the noticeboard in town, either way. Perhaps they’ll bring over one of the lads from London.
As you well know, I’m sworn to keep my Lord Frederick’s business a secret, and not let the details of it out to just anyone who asks. So of course I can tell you he got the deed to get speccy Forester out of some trouble, and that it’s up to him whether it gets bought now or not. Maybe wait until the deed is actually in a Forester name to start giving them a talking to. I’m sure the young one would still bend over backwards (or forwards) for a letter from you, but the speccy one seems flighty, bet you’d scare him off and then there’d be no workers to keep safe. If the Old Cider Factory does get back up and running though I bet this place would change quick. You’d need something like fifty workers, surely, and that means about fifty families, and that means far more than just fifty new mouths to feed. Maybe that bloke at the fish shop would finally move all of his haddock, and the pilchards wouldn’t end up bubbling into rot at the end of the pier anymore.
Glad to hear you take my words in such confidence. In which case, let me take the opportunity to tell you you’re a stand-up bloke, you’re going to do well, and the correct way to congratulate a newly wed baron’s son to a duke’s daughter is to send them a box of flaming dog excrement.
Please pass on my greetings to your family, and my thanks to your mother and sister for treating my photograph so kindly. Please do not pass on how very strange hearing that there is any sort of display of my face made me feel. I don’t know whether to be touched, or concerned. I was hoping you’d put it in a locket and hold it close to your heart, always, but alas, I suppose I shall settle for the lovely gaze of your sister, instead.
Is Christabel Pankhurst related to the one whose name begins with an E? I forget the name, the one going for women to vote and all that? Good to see you supporting them, if so. Always knew you for a sensible one. The fact that Lord A. can vote but Lady F. and Lady D. cannot gets me wound right up. Remember to say you and I should have a pop too, though, no matter our wealth or lack. Hope your fun level is more than your scared level, and hope the real cudgels stay away. Euphemistic ones might be alright, depending where they’re going.
Summer weather is getting warm here. Is Manchester still feeling the Northern chill?
P.S.: Had to ask Lord Frederick what the hell the word ‘euphemistic’ was, couldn’t work out how to say it. He was a good sport about it, thankfully. Didn’t laugh when I first asked him what an ‘ee-yup-hemi-stick cudgel’ was. Don’t worry, I copied the word out for him, he’s not under the impression you married and divorced your tailor, nor considering buggering his tailor himself.
Manchester - 17th of July, 1904
You mock me when you inquire about the Summer warmth in Manchester, aren’t you? It’s been raining ever since I’ve come back. I doubt I’ll ever see the sun again. Once I come back to St Maur, I’ll be as pale as Lady Bernadette.
Anything is happening in tailor dressing rooms. But not amongst the Upper Classes. Don’t you know? They need goose-feathered beds and Mozart playing in the background to be at ease. That is why they only play Strauss at weddings, lest the fine gentlemen confuse the dance floor for their bed chambers.
It won’t take long. St Maur Castle is too big to only have one footman. Can you imagine? Tending to an Earl with only two white gloves present? Poor Mr Jameson, degraded to waiting at his white age. Honestly, maybe I go find a good first footman here in Manchester and send him straight to St Maur, just so he can demote Zahir back to second footman again.
You’re wrong on no accounts. If the Cider Factory is up and running again, the East End of St Maur Town would change completely. I’d return and not recognise it. Poor Lady Cynthia. She won’t have any reason to think herself grand anymore, with all her charities obsolete...
Trust me, I enjoy the idea of your face waiting for me every morning just as little. It is the most scary experience of my life, and my sister agrees. The more I tell her about you, the more she demands to speak to you, without doubt to scold you for your remarkable wild nature. Be prepared, best pack iron caps into your trousers for safety. This doesn’t bode well.
Christabel Pankhurst is one Lady Emily’s daughter, yes, but the old witch is hardly what you could consider modern. Her daughter though quite gets it, though she was very adamant about the fact that our protest in London should not have turned into a riot. Peace loving people, they are, or as I like to call them, too white and too privileged. It was still very fruitful. I was introduced to some members of what they abbreviate to call the labour party here, and to my surprise (and perhaps to some disappointment as well) they were rather cordial and eager to hear my ideas. Scary stuff.
PS. Flaming dog excrement attached to letter. No euphemism needed for this.
