| 4:56p |
16 March 1982
Dear Cassie,
I have a room! With a window that overlooks the sea! And a lock! It's a muggle lock with a little iron key, so I can use it, but it's completely magic resistant, so the horrors can't do anything to it. And the structure of the house can't be changed by magic (except by the owner, but that's, oh yes, me), and there are wards in all the walls and floors and ceiling. And all that adds up to one beautiful thing: I'm safe! Merlin bless paranoid ancestors, even if they did have dreadfully Gothic taste in decor.
Also, the house isn't haunted after all. Oh, but I don't think I've told you about the house being haunted in the first place. So here goes:
The very first night, after I straggled back from having tea (I took another cab, but that didn't help with getting in past those exhausting wards, I really must do something about that next) and got the house elf to take my case to my room (mistake!) and made more tea (you can never have too much tea)...and after I snuck upstairs to my room, past all the portraits of ancestors (I didn't know if they were the type to hate squibs, but they looked like they would, dozing in their frames, all ancient and respectable, so I tiptoed past without making a sound)...and then after I'd tracked down the house elf again to find out which room was mine, so I wouldn't walk in on Jasper dressing or anything dreadful like that --
After I'd made it safely to what I fondly imagined was my room, and drunk my tea, and unpacked a bit, and nibbled on a packet of biscuits from the train that I'd completely forgotten I'd put in my pocket until I hung up my coat and the wrapper crackled, and after I'd decided I was far too tired to explore, and far too tired to even go down to dinner, not to mention far too tired to deal with the horrors--
And after I'd wrapped my ankle to try to stop it throbbing (sadly, that didn't work), and after I'd changed into my nightgown, and after I'd realized I really ought to clean my teeth, and got the house elf to show me where the loo was, and after I'd got lost coming back and had an amazingly pleasant conversation with a portrait of Christiana Melancholipolotti (not her real name, I've forgotten what it was, but something that sounded Italian), who probably didn't realize I'm a squib--
After I got back, and spend about five minutes staring at the wall trying to remember what it was I was supposed to do next--
I climbed into bed and barely had time to think what a nice soft bed it was before I was asleep.
When I woke up the bed was moving like it was alive and hated me. And I was so tired I just held on until it settled down. But then I'd barely fallen asleep when it did it again! So I got out of bed -- in the dark, I couldn't see anything, so I had to feel my way -- and dragged the covers onto the floor, because obviously I couldn't sleep on the bed, but then I realized that if I slept on the floor I'd get trampled, so I got back in bed. But of course I couldn't sleep in the bed, because as soon as I got in, the bed started bucking around. If I hadn't been so dull and stupid and half asleep I would have figured out quicker the obvious thing to do was take the covers and go sleep in the bathtub, but I did eventually and it was horribly uncomfortable.
In the morning, I went down to breakfast and Acantha looked at me ever so smugly and asked if I'd slept well, so I knew something was up. And I finally got it out of Jasper that the poltergeist liked to hang out in the room I'd been staying in, but he was only talking to me to offer me money to go away, and then it turned out he was lying anyway, the deceitful beast, so I think next time it looks like he's willing to talk to me I ought to slap him instead.
Anyway, by the time Acantha'd had her say at breakfast and Jasper'd caught me after and offered me 5,000 galleons to just go away and leave them in peace (which is a shockingly bad deal for letting them have a rambling mansion, it's clearly worth loads more than that, but I'm sorry to say I was tempted), and I don't know what Acantha was eating but my breakfast was greasy and congealed so I was starting to feel ill -- yes, I fled to town again. I was going to ask the solicitor for advice about discouraging poltergeists without doing magic -- things are so much easier when there's someone around to ask to do magic -- but the cab went right down the high street and I saw a coat in a shop window that was absolutely divine and the next thing I knew it was mid-afternoon and I was starving. And then I met a lovely bloke at the tea shoppe, he's the owner's brother. And I got him to take me to dinner, and then he showed me all the best places to go out in the evening, so I completely forgot about having to go back until I did, and it was a horrible shock after such a lovely evening.
But I found a different room, and dragged all my stuff over myself because I couldn't find the house elf, and the exact same thing happened all over again, except this time I knew to go sleep in the bathtub.
Do you remember how Aunt Philippa used to moralize when we were young and had to be polite and listen to her? And how I told you that someone that dull could never possibly be right about anything, and we played games with seeing how long it would take her to notice you'd turned all the curtains behind her blue and were making them bob and nod exactly in time with her speeches? I'm sorry to say she was right after all. Never put off to tomorrow what you could do today, because otherwise you might never get any sleep ever again. So I went into town again, only this time I didn't go shopping at all, I went directly to the solicitor's. (I had the cab driver go down side streets to avoid temptation.)
I told you the solicitor was a dear, didn't I? Because he is. He told me that there wasn't a poltergeist in my house, and advised me on picking a room and not trusting the house elf any further than I can throw it, and so on and so forth. Though I do wonder why he didn't tell me that before, but perhaps he thought I would figure it out on my own. Or maybe he didn't realize the depth to which the horror cousins would stoop.
He was so nice I invited him and his mother back to dinner, which made the meal quite bearable (I don't think even Dardanos would dare be too unpleasant with the solicitor's gimlet-eyed mother watching). Actually, they were all quiet charming with guests around, I shall have to invite more, as often as I can, although regretfully I doubt muggles would have the same effect, so I can't invite the bloke from the tea shoppe (his name is John, but that's such a dull name, I wonder if he would mind if I gave him a nickname? I mean a nickname in addition to calling him the bloke from he tea shoppe, of course.)
Anyway,
And then I set this aside for just a moment to shout at the house elf for putting the ugliest china ornaments back in the sitting room (I know Acantha put it up to it), and now it's days later and I just got your letter. You sound just the same as ever and you can't imagine how comforting it is to hear from you. The worst of being here is you're so far away when I want to talk to you, which is about once a second, or maybe a tiny bit more often than that.
Cassie! Did you really think I'd let Rupert leave without a treat? Especially with him looking looking so peaked, poor thing. And if I write quickly, I can send this letter back with him, instead of posting it like a muggle. You don't mind if I monopolize your owl, do you? Do you? Well, let's see how quickly I can cover the remaining points (though really, it'll do Rupert good to have a rest, so I won't try to be too brief).
1) It's been days, and the horrors (as I not-so-fondly call my ghastly cousins) have barely been horrible at all. I think Jasper made the stairs collapse into a slide when I was walking on them, but that was almost fun, except that I dropped the china ornaments I was carrying (the only tolerable ones in the house) and broke them. Acantha was upset, which was so satisfying, since it was her own brother's fault, not mine.
2) That should be good, but it's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. If I stay away enough during the day, maybe it will drop when I'm not here.
3) You're so right, the house is just like a gothic romance. If there's a secret wife, it's probably Dardanos's. He's just the sort to lock someone up, and there could quite easily be anything up on the third floor where they live, because I haven't dared explore there.
3) If someone was intercepting our mail (though I can't think of why they would be, but if they were), they'd probably think I was pregnant. My condition! It's only a broken ankle that ought to heal better than it has. (Drat! All this walking around pushing against wards and up and down stairs isn't exactly giving it a bunch of rest if you ever want to dance again, is it?)
4) Attackers! I don't think it will come to that. The war's over, you know, and really, even under the worst of circumstances it ought to be perfectly safe for me to come to live in my very own house that my very own grandmother left me. Flinging a man over my shoulder, though -- what fun! I shall have to ask a muggle how one goes about that, and what one does next.
5) I still haven't found out who was playing silly buggers with the furniture at night. I suspect Acantha, if only because she's been trying to blame Jasper for it, and why would she bother unless it was her? But it could be Dardanos; his grim and serious no nonsense expression could be all a facade, and I think he hates me the worst. I'm almost certain he was behind Jasper offering me money to leave, because he showed up out of nowhere yesterday to ask me about my finances and hint that he could help if I'd only leave, but asking about my finances is nosy as hell and I completely ignored all his questions while asking him about his love life until he gave up. I didn't even get any juicy details, though he did tell me that he's engaged to some local girl before he realized I wasn't going to be cooperative.
6) Do you know, I'm glad to be out of London and away from Markus the family, entirely excluding you of course especially Aunt Phillippa and Uncle Louis, too tragic all that after the war we must have endless trials business, especially the part that insists only the very cleverest will escape without being tarred and feathered at the very least. It's almost worth being here to not be there. And did you know I own a sailboat? When it's warmer I'm going to have to learn to sail it. If I haven't sold the damn place by then, that is.
7) Don't tell Kitty! About the pin. I mean, you can if you want to, and it would be funny, but then she'd tell him, you know she would, and... No, I don't care. Tell her, do, and then tell me exactly what she said.
8) Oh! And this is actually very important, I need to ask you a favor: Could you please ask around and see if the horrors really have any money? Because from the way they were sponging off my grandmother (and now me!) you wouldn't think they did, but I want to know if they can really pay me to go away. Just to know.
9) Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, come to visit! Whenever you want. You can even bring Syd. You can stay for weeks. But I thought you wanted to stay in London, or I'd have dragged you along in the first place. You'd be dreadfully bored here, there's nothing to do, and no company worth mentioning. And even eating cake in the tea shoppe gets dull after a while. But come anyway!
And if I don't stop soon Rupert is going to eat my quill. He's watching it wave back and forth, turning his head, you know how owls do. I think that means he's eager to be flying back to you, bearing all my news. Write soon!
As always,
Viv
P.S. I do so swear, so help me Morgana. Upon reflection, I would make a lovely mermaid. It's the hair. Long hair and mermaids go well together. Do you think I could get Sam to choreograph me a mermaid dance? I could leave my hair down and get someone to do a charm to make it float all around me. If you see Sam, you might mention -- no, no, I'll write him myself. Damn this ankle.
P.P.S. You know better than me just how much you can string along your parents without being so outrageous they actually go through with their threats, but Cassie. The theatre? Why, (as long as you don't go muggle like me) that's practically respectable, these days. And I know you underestimate your sense of timing, which, as I have told you before, is simply perfection. |