| 9:48p |
30 March 1982
Dear Cassie,
I know you won't mind (you won't mind, will you? I'm afraid it's an emergency, but if you do mind I promise I'll never do it again), but I've borrowed Rupert to deliver some very important messages. I'd send them from the owl office in the village, but I've already done that and I haven't heard anything back, and there's something about common village owls that seems so unreliable. And it's so hard to know which one to pick. I usually like to pick the one that looks the cleverest, but when I'm sending important messages (not that all my messages aren't important, but you know), I wondered if that was truly the best idea, or if I ought to pick the strongest. And then I decided to pick both, and send two messages, but since I haven't heard back from anyone I wonder if I should have picked the fastest. And no matter which I pick, with strange owls it's so hard to be absolutely confident that it'll be able to find the people you need to owl, much less do it quickly and wait for replies and so on.
But I have no doubts about Rupert, which is why I've borrowed him without leave. Don't be angry! When he gets back I'll give him extra treats and let him rest before I send him back to you, which means that I have plenty of time to explain what's gone wrong.
Though you can probably guess: it's Sam. He's still not here, and I'm dreadfully worried. It's not at all like Sam to be three days late; it's not much like Sam to be one day late, but I was willing to forgive him for that, and settle for throwing china at him when he got here (someone has to do something about all the dreadful china in this place) and then making him help Dardanos in the garden for a day or two (which would be punishment enough for anything), but after three days one starts to think there must be something wrong. And to worry that maybe the war isn't quite so tidily over as everyone thought, but why would anyone start with Sam? I'm sure it would make sense to somebody, but I'm far too bewildered to work it out. And too busy, writing letters here and there, to Sam (returned undelivered) and then to Janet and Pat, who haven't written me back, the wretches. I really can't believe that they've disappeared too. That would be too much.
I even got Acantha to try to get hold of some of Sam's friends by floo, but the only one she got to was Robert, and after she talked to him she had such a look on her face! Lips together and eyes bulging -- I don't think she appreciated him at all. I would have laughed, but I was too worried. (Oh very well, I lie. I did laugh, but only after she stormed out, and I only laughed a little tiny bit. See, I do have tact.)
And then Rupert arrived just in time for me to appropriate him, so I dashed off a couple more notes and dispatched them forthwith. And then I started writing to you before even reading your letter, so now I shall, because I simply cannot think of another thing to do on the matter of Sam, and it's making my head hurt. And my ankle, though I don't know why because it's not as if I've been tearing around after him, I only went in to town several dozen times to go to the owl office, and I took a cab every time (which reminds me, I really must do something especially nice for my neighbors with the phone, they've been absurdly patient with me, and they're such dear people in any case. Do you think they'd like a crate of ancient firewhiskey? I found out I have some in the cellar, it's probably been there for decades, but I'm convinced that makes it better. But I don't know a thing about firewhiskey.)
Cassie! Has it really been three weeks? It can't have been. I know it seems like forever, but I thought that was just because the horrors are such bad company and the house is so horrid and the town is so dull. Even a day was forever. But if you say so it must be true, and I didn't even realize I was almost free!
Though to be fair (I don't know why I should be fair, they're never fair to me, but to be fair), I will admit that Acantha has been positively bearable ever since I told her she could do whatever she wants about the neighborhood social events (and I do wonder if the spring picnic she mentioned is going to be soon -- I don't suppose she could neglect to invite me, since I do happen to own the place, and while the wizarding neighbors are probably all horrors too, I am just a smidgen curious. After all, the solicitor and his mother are complete dears. No, I take that back. The solicitor is, and his mother is just the sort of woman you want on your side.
But the real and important question is, is London truly any better? I know, it's not so dull and even if people are horrible, there are more of them, but even you would have to admit that it's not very pleasant lately. Please don't tell me it's changed, because you know I hate to doubt you on anything, but if you were to say that, I'm afraid I wouldn't believe you. It may have been forever, but it hasn't been that long. (Speaking of which, how is London lately? And ... everything. Don't tell me unless you want, but don't not tell me if you do want.)
Which is my excuse for not flying the moment I can. Though truly, I don't think I could afford it. It would be too much to expect that the house would sell the moment I put it on the market, and I couldn't possibly go away and leave the horrors alone here while I'm trying to sell it. Merlin knows what they'd do!
Besides which, the more I think about it the more I think I deserve a summer by the sea. If I can just get a few more things settled to my liking, and the horrors a bit more resigned to me, it will be perfect here. And restful, which I desperately need. Though I'm probably being overly optimistic, as it certainly hasn't been restful so far, with having to deal with the horrors, and John, and especially with Sam disappearing. At least some of that is surely not my fault.
I think your angelic Alice sounds restful too, which may be a sign that my judgment is shot. Anything but disappearing friends sounds restful. (Oh, I don't like to say it, but I am worried. I'm in my room with the door locked, and I still jump a foot whenever the house creaks, which it does constantly because it's old.)
The ghost was more of an Albert than a Charleston. Respectable, but lacking something in the animation department. But also gorgeous in that restrained way. That, you must know, is why I was staring like such a ninny.
If anyone is going to hex the ministry fellow, it's me, and since I can't, we'll just have to be sensible and not do a thing about it. It wasn't the poor bloke's fault, really. You know some people can't help being unbearably stupid, and the best thing to do is to leave them alone lest it rub off. (No, I'm not bitter. Really, I'm not.)
If I'm picky (and I don't admit it, not even a little bit, because really, one must have standards, as our dear Aunt would say, though of course I mean it in an entirely different sense), it's because I know exactly what I don't want, and I don't think that's a flaw. Perhaps I shall die an old maid, but I won't be unhappy, because I have you, and I have friends, and you can bring Jacob with you when you come to visit me over the summer if you'd like.
I will look into the hiring of donkeys the next time I'm in town.
Cassie, you are the most admirable person I know, but modesty does not become you. You know you're wonderful. Admit it!
What else? I haven't seen John. Oh, now Rupert is back, the dear, looking as eager as ever, but I think I should let him rest before I send him back to you. I have a funny story to tell you, but it won't take long.
Yesterday when I was going to the owl office -- it's behind a somewhat muggle shop at the edge of the wizarding part of town (the proprietor is a witch, but she sells muggle stuff and lets muggles in, but they all look a bit bemused and leave again quickly -- but even so, it's an odd place) -- I saw Dardanos's fiancée, whose name escapes me at the moment but I'm fairly sure it's not Mary. She was looking at the robes in the window with such a wistful expression on her face. So I said hello and pulled her in to try things on. I thought it would be a lovely distraction, and it was.
After an couple of hours, I'd got her to try on most everything in the shop in her size, and most of it didn't suit her at all, but there was one jacket, the perfect weight for spring, and it fit her like it was bespoke, so of course I told her she had to buy it. And she looked nervous and said that she didn't think she could, because it was a muggle style.
I laughed and said no one would know, but she just shook her head. We were quite friends by that point (not friends, but friends, you know), so it didn't feel wrong at all for me to ask her why she'd been looking then, because the whole shop was filled with muggle clothing. And she looked around to make sure no one could hear, and then told me in a lower voice that it was so cheap, and it was hard to find anything comparable in the wizarding shops.
So I told her that in that case, she should buy the jacket and a blouse too, but she shook her head and said she should be going and scurried out. After all that, she didn't buy a thing. So I bought some a lovely blue skirt because someone had to buy something. It is a lovely skirt.
And now Rupert is looking at me, quizzical and quite energetic, so I'll quit writing and let him take this back to you.
As always,
Viv |