The Letters of Rose Constance
23rd September
Dearest James,
I miss you. There are so many things that I wish I had said before you left. So many things that I wish I had had the chance to say. I so want to come and visit you but I cannot bear to see you in that place.
Forgive me. I promised myself I would not be maudlin. I know you will understand. You always assured me that I need not apologise for who I am. Hopefully one day I shall come to believe that.
With the exception of Mrs Dandry’s “visitations” most of my days are spent alone. She still cleans twice a week and has taken to running errands for me as I no longer leave the house. You never could fathom why I kept her on. Of course she is as peculiar as ever but I find a strange comfort in her presence. She has arranged for a cousin of hers to come and tune the pianoforte. Perhaps she will even consider dusting it one of these days! Perhaps I shall consider playing it again. Perhaps.
From the window of my study I can just make out the bench by the brook. I miss our conversations there, sharing extracts from our favourite books and pausing every so often simply to watch the birds go about their business. They visit less frequently now but I still see Mr Bossy Robin hopping purposefully about and old One-Foot Pigeon also turns up on occasion.
Sadly, the garden has become somewhat overgrown. As much as I used to love spending time there I regret that I have neither the ability nor the patience to maintain your beautiful creation. Maybe Mrs Dandry has another cousin who could tend to it for me. Autumn is creeping towards winter now so I may leave it till just before spring.
I have fond memories of our last days together: punting followed by a picnic near the riverbank at the village green; the sound of coxes encouraging their rowers and hopeful cries of “Howzat?” from over-eager bowlers; evenings at the Inn by the crossroads, with a glass of port and an over-indulgent pudding; the glorious aroma of your pipe tobacco seeming to mingle with the laughter of the other patrons; leisurely walks home through the nearby fields.
Summer seems so distant now, doesn’t it?
The passing of the seasons reminds me that I have taken far too long in putting pen to paper. I had hoped to write to you sooner but have only recently found my mind clear enough to even contemplate it. I shall endeavour to write to you regularly now that the fog surrounding me seems to be lifting. I shall ask Mrs Dandry to replenish my ink supplies.
Speaking of Mrs Dandry, I can hear her letting herself in with the usual bluff and bluster that used to irritate you so! Despite appearances to the contrary, she is a kindly soul. I shall bring this to a close so she can post it for me on her way home.
Be well my love. You are always in my thoughts and prayers.
Forever yours,
Rose
