Letters of a Noble Mind

By Barry Huggins

Through personal letters, journals, and newspaper extracts, Victorian London's high society candidly reveals itself, replete with the moral conflicts and impositions that defined the age.

In their own private words, the 19th century's social elite unveil the plots and intrigues that colour their privileged lives. Laced within the genteel elegance of their written language lies the truth of their repressed emotions, their forbidden passions, and their slavish devotion to propriety that stifles the primordial human instinct of the cultured classes.

But though they guard their secrets well, truth finds its own way out of the darkness and unleashes into their lives events that will rock the foundations of their orderly world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Huggins
• Release date: Sep 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310553417

Barry Huggins

Barry Huggins is a writer and educator to the creative industries. His teaching revolves around writing, photography and digital technologies, primarily to clients from the publishing and broadcasting world, but also to individuals from a broad range of diverse backgrounds.His first fiction title, published in April 2014 is The Evanescence of Being. He is also the author of eight non-fiction titles covering photography, Photoshop, and creative digital techniques. His books have been translated into seven languages.His second fiction title - Letters of a noble mind - published in September 2015. He also has two short stories available - A late monsoon and The sexual imperative.

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Preface

Letter writing during the middle of the 19th century was an art form as much as a practical necessity. Long before its prominence was eroded by the modern communications of the decades to come, it stood as a symbol of civilisation. To be illiterate at this time was to be isolated from the fast developing world, a non participant who languished on the fringe of society.

Falling postal costs intensified the public appetite for writing letters, and it was on these parchments that the stories of life unfolded. These were not mere documents of record, but the lifeblood of society. A well crafted letter was the mark of a gentleman, the distinction of a lady. A letter could ignite a passion or fuel an enduring romance. It could embrace the sentiment of love with a poetic ardour of which the spoken word could never aspire. It could arouse tales of heroes and legend, over which posterity would rhapsodise in its hunger for myth and nostalgia. But in its darker manifestation, a letter could annihilate reputations, plot tyranny, and inspire intrigue, hate, and murder. In their multitude of forms, letters were the spice that lifted life from the mundane to the magnificent.

But they also tell of another story. Though unintended, 19th century personal correspondence passed social and political comment on a period of time that would seem alien to future generations. These now faded writings serve as an empirical record, revealing the challenges and impositions of mid 19th century life; the gross inequality of the sexes, the draconian system of common law with its prejudice, naivety, and hubris and the often stifling milieu of propriety that repressed those who conformed to its dictates.

Within the personal letters, journal entries, newspaper excerpts, and public documents of record that appear in the pages that follow, the story unfolds of an incident in Victorian London of 1869, the origins of which reside in British India at a time of tension and uncertainty, and of the impact it has upon the lives of those in privileged society, revealing their own uncertainties, loves, desires, jealousies, and fears. From such innocuous beginnings, leads a trail of suspicion that threatens the seat of government of the most powerful nation of the 19th century world.

Finally, it is perhaps excessive to suggest there might be a certain voyeuristic quality in reading the private letters and thoughts of people we never knew, but within the context of knowing and understanding the motivation that drives the human story along its fragile, capricious path, there can be no greater expedient to authentic knowledge than through the privilege of reading another soul's writings from the heart.

There is little in life so tragically devastating or euphorically exhilarating as the potential lurking within a sealed letter

Letters of a Noble Mind

Letter from Lady Constance Fawley to Sir Edgar Bryce

Maybury House, Sussex, 25th January 1869

My Dear Edgar,

I feel compelled, by way of those unseen forces that so often guide our hand, to chide you for the shameless way you proceeded to dangle Lady Hansbury from your arm like a tarnished trinket for the greater part of the evening at Lord and Lady Lessingdon's ball - tarnished, courtesy of the swarthy tint that graced her sun exposed skin. Were I not so generous in my thoughts, I would swear she presented herself attired in the most radiant white silk of which nature could conceive, just for the purpose of emphasising the earthy tones of her complexion. But I am in no doubt she took great pleasure in parading her raw, native appearance like a medal of honour to mark her somewhat extended sojourn in the Indian Subcontinent.

But, my dear Edgar, I sound bitter, offended, and appear to chastise you, but nothing could be further from my state of being on this late January morning.

My only grievance was that the lady in question unfairly monopolised your company for the duration of the tiresome affair we have all grown to accept as the annual Lessingdon Ball, and I had to endure it without the occasional attention you would normally afford me. I fear your kind and generous nature has been abused, and I wish for nothing more than to see propriety restored, as is the way in civilised society.

Will I see you at Lord and Lady Wesley's on Thursday evening? I have to be present as it is a charity evening, and I am the patron of the charity. I am happy to perform this duty, but I do so wish people were blessed with the modesty to make their donation without the accompanying fanfare - there is so much more virtue in generosity when anonymity is its benefactor. As patron, I will have to endure the customary ritual of flattering their inflated sense of self worth and professing my admiration at such magnanimity; then I will occupy the remainder of the evening watching them strut imperiously at their magnificence for condescending to bestow a few guineas to the impoverished unfortunates of the Empire.

The truth is - their contributions are hardly sacrifices large enough to impact noticeably upon their personal portfolios. I venture between them, they account for some eight-tenths of all London’s wealth!

But forgive me - I am starting to sound bitter again and seek fault where perhaps it does not exist. I cannot understand why this fractious mood has confounded me these past weeks.

Do try to come to Lord and Lady Wesley's - they would be inconsolable were you not to make an appearance.

Your ever attentive,

Constance

P.S. The possibility has not escaped my attention that perhaps you have acquired a predilection for ladies of a more dusky countenance.

Letter from Sir Edgar Bryce to Lady Constance Fawley

Chanderston House, London, 27th January 1869

My Dearest Constance,

I find myself irrepressibly and fervently drawn to the defence of Lady Hansbury (though she is eminently capable of constructing her own defence, should one be required!). You perceive her as a trinket on my arm, but such a notion was never my intention. In my humble opinion, I suspect she chose to employ me as something of a social crutch to support her singular, unfashionable, sun baked appearance - and as a gentleman, how could I refuse her?

Were I not to know you as a creature of benevolence and kind hearted consideration, I would have to regard your estimation of the evening as a calculated assault upon the innocent intention of an honourable lady. But of course, dear Constance, I know that is not your way. However, for the record, it should be remembered that Lady Hansbury's extended sojourn you refer to was not for the purpose of personal indulgence. Her presence under that most merciless Indian sun was for no other reason than to tend the recuperation of her dear husband and companion, so tragically cut down on the treacherous slopes of the Khyber Pass. She was merely performing her duty, in the same way as her husband, Sir Wilfred, was performing his, when a musket ball of malevolent intent hailed from a rocky place of concealment and entered his right shoulder with little regard for the muscle, bone, and sinew, it displaced.

But let us not dwell on the anatomical consequences of the affair, gruesome as they are, but congratulate and celebrate the lady for her unbridled devotion to her fallen and selflessly heroic husband. I am in no doubt it would have been easier and far more conducive to the nurturing of her complexion to offer moral support to her husband from the more benign climes of their comfortable London dwelling in Caversham Place, but it is to her credit that she chose to maintain her place by his side, in the hot, parched land in which he fell.

But enough of Lady Hansbury and on to tomorrow evening's affair at Lord and Lady Wesley's. Would they really be inconsolable at my absence? Well, I am flattered, but modesty compels me to suspect that you perhaps overstate their regard for me. However, knowing that you will be present, you may, of course, count on my enthusiastic attendance, and rest assured, my charitable donation will be without fanfare - and in the utmost secrecy. Also, having never engaged in the practice of strutting, you may be confident of not witnessing such a performance from me.

I will be without a trinket on my arm on this occasion (tarnished or otherwise) and fear this may give rise to a certain feeling of being somewhat underdressed. My only hope is that you will take pity on this sad state of affairs and lend me your company, so I may be properly attired.

Your servant and confidant,

Edgar

P.S. In response to your suggestion that I might have developed a penchant for ladies of a more dusky countenance, all I can say is that I have been fortunate enough to travel widely and see the grace and beauty in the full spectrum of tones that tint and adorn a lady's skin, but never let it be thought that I am so shallow as to allow the hue and shade of a lady's complexion to influence my regard to whatever other qualities may endow her - or indeed, desert her.

Letter from Lady Constance Fawley to Sir Edgar Bryce

Maybury House, Sussex, 29th January 1869

My Dear Edgar,

How gallant you are! I could not fail to be impressed by the swift reaction of your chivalrous defence of Lady Hansbury and the subsequent testimony justifying her appearance. How could we, as a sovereign nation, ever fear invasion and subjugation of our lands when such noble knights as your dear self exist in our midst?

But as you correctly say, the lady needs no defender; hardened as she is by the harsh realities of life in the Subcontinent. However, I must confess to a certain bewilderment as to why she did not adopt the simple expedient of a white parasol against the skin darkening assault of the sun.

But it is not for me to fathom the intentions of so loyal and faithful a wife. Which leads me to wonder how long it will be before her heroic husband, Sir Wilfred, will again be seen in society. I do not question the severity of a musket ball buried in the soft tissue of the shoulder, as I do not profess to the academic prowess of a physician, but, it has been some time since Sir Wilfred has been seen on the arm of his good and faithful lady - or indeed in public at all.

But please do not think I condemn Lady Hansbury for her unaccompanied appearances at social gatherings - even when her solitary status means she is required to commandeer a disproportionate amount of your time, dear Edgar, not to mention that of most other eligible, single males of our little circle. I do so want to like her, but she makes it so difficult for one to foster sentiments of endearment. She has always courted ambivalence among those of her acquaintance - some accused her of marrying Sir Wilfred (who even by the kindest estimates must be a little in excess of two decades her senior) as a way of acquiring a title and a foothold in society, not to mention the lucrative financial benefits to add to her own inherited wealth; but then others perceived her ambitions towards such a profitable marriage as a positive virtue and a great accolade for a lady in her middle twenties. She indeed induces a most polarising influence over us all.

But regardless of my sentiment toward her, I feel it is important that we acknowledge our duty and arrange a visit to Sir Wilfred with some haste, lest we should be seen as remiss in our obligations to an officer of the realm, fallen in the course of his efforts to maintain law and order in the furthest reaches of the Empire.

And, in talking of visits, I plan to be at my London residence for a few days during February. I trust I can be assured that you will call upon me. I must confess, with the exception of your very favourable company, I do not relish the prospect of my stays in London anymore. I find the London Season so tedious - there is so much expectation, which lends an air of desperation to events as people overexert themselves in the process of demonstrating how much they are enjoying life. And as for the courting rituals in evidence as a fresh crop of debutantes are slavishly turned out by anxious aunts and mothers, well - it is all so organised, like building a bridge or baking a cake; where is the spontaneity, where is the mystery and chance from where all the best romances and deep, passionate relationships are grown and nurtured?

The fact is, London, as the sprawling settlement it is becoming, fills me with little of anything resembling enthusiasm. You see, I am a country girl at heart, aligned to the verdant hues of nature - the trees and grasslands of my spacious fields, not the concrete and cobblestones of your crowded streets.

But now I am painting a bleak picture of the fair city you so love, and that is unkind of me. Let us resolve to brighten matters by arranging a visit to Sir Wilfred and his good lady during my stay. I will leave the details in your capable hands. Men are so much better at the planning and initiation of such things. That is why wars are always instigated by men, do you not think?

Your ever faithful friend,

Constance

Letter from Sir Edgar Bryce to Lady Constance Fawley

Chanderston House, London, 30th January 1869

My Dearest Constance,

What a profound and damning indictment against my gender. I refer to the closing statement of your last correspondence, where you claimed it was always men who instigated wars - though I hasten to admit to partial agreement, for how can I dispute historical record? The long, dark galleries of the world's most infamous war mongers are awash with the portraits of men, with only the occasional and utterly incongruous appearance by a woman.

But I venture that the fairer sex are no less predisposed to belligerence than their male counterparts when the winds of conflict blow. The difference between the sexes when it comes to waging wars is one of motivation. The dominant motivation for war from the male perspective stems from conquest, acquisition, and the pandering to one's egotistical imperative. Whereas the female decision to embark upon war is based upon matters of far higher principle, with a clear strategy for the eventual resolution of peace for all parties - victory being less important than reconciliation.

In a world of women, devoid of men, wars would be a rare but highly civilised affair, extending to a duration of no more than several days, though characteristically attaining resolution within a matter of hours.

But I sense your mood towards Lady Hansbury softens, and your conciliatory nature blossoms through your suggestion of a visit to the lady and her debilitated husband. Or do you beguile me and actually seek an engagement with the Hansburys, not out of compassionate concern, but curiosity and the potential entertainment of scandal? I defer judgement until the passage of time has revealed your true intention.

How wonderful that you will be in London. Of course I shall call upon you, assuming I am still in your circle of acquaintance after assaulting your character by questioning your intentions.

But, dear Constance, I feel your charge against London as being dull in the Season is grossly unfair, although I do agree, in part - the events of the Season can be contrived at times; but there are many other ways one can occupy oneself if a more authentic London is sought. For example, one can stray, wittingly or otherwise, into the opium dens of that most colourful quarter of the city and lose oneself in the heady fumes of chaotic dreams or mental oblivion, depending on one's individual reaction. I speak not from experience but from the anecdotes of my more adventurous acquaintances who succumbed to their curiosity.

But I suspect your taste for the things of the London Season has been deadened by the dreaded curse of familiarity, something we all face, given enough time. Or perhaps it is the serene influence of country living that has spoiled the city for you. Whatever it is, we are all conditioned by our environment and fall into the habits and routines of our days. How we would all desire to see the world one more time through the eyes of the debutantes to which you refer; to feel once again the anticipation, to see things for the first time and be a little nervous for no other reason than the fact that what one is experiencing is new and untried. But enough of this talk - I am starting to sound like a man in the middle years before even reaching that feared milestone.

I will give the matter of a visit to the Hansbury household some contemplation. I am flattered by your faith in me to make arrangements, but I cannot help but feel that such events are eminently more successful left in the competent hands of the fairer sex.

Your friend and servant,

Edgar

Letter from Lady Constance Fawley to Sir Edgar Bryce

Maybury House, Sussex, 1st February 1869

My Dear Edgar,

You are a confounded rogue. Were my affections for you not of the highest order and so deeply entrenched as a result of our many months of mutual consideration and benevolence, I would consign you to a status of former acquaintance of insignificant regard. But I cannot contemplate such a state of mind and must, through the innate generosity of spirit that courses through my veins, ascribe your sentiments to that playfully mocking element of your nature that you so frequently call upon to taunt me. I am in no doubt you are quite unequivocal that my motivation for a visit to the Hansbury household is in absolute innocence and total regard towards the good couple's wellbeing - with not even a shadow of desire for scandal, something I absolutely abhor (a fact of which you are fully conversant!).

But I see from your reluctance to arrange this social communion, subtly disguised as it is as flattery of my superior, feminine organisational abilities that arrangements must be left to fall upon me. Very well, I shall write to Lady Hansbury in due course. Perhaps I will allow your name to fall casually among the lines of my prose as a subtle inducement to her agreeing to a small, intimate, social gathering. I am confident she would not permit the opportunity of social intercourse with, you, her loyal defender, to pass unexploited.

My dear Edgar, are you proposing I should peruse the opium dens of London in a bid to assuage my tedium of the great city? Let me assure you, I have never strayed, wittingly or otherwise into such ignoble dwellings - neither was I aware that such places existed, nor even the colourful quarter to which you allude. But I cannot deny, the influence of country living has set me in my ways and contributes to my disinclination for journeying into the capital.

Nevertheless, I will arrive in London on the 7th of the month. I fear I cannot offer you an evening of opium induced trance, but can avail you, as always, of gracious hospitality and a most stimulating environment in which you may indulge in the lavish pleasures of refined excess.

Yours with affection,

Constance

Letter from Lady Constance Fawley to Lady Hansbury

Maybury House, Sussex, 2nd February 1869

Dear Lady Hansbury,

I feel not a little embarrassed and somewhat neglectful that I have not written to you until now. After seeing you at Lord and Lady Lessingdon's ball, it is no exaggeration to say I was filled with admiration and quite envious of the strength of character you demonstrated in the way you presented yourself, in what must have been the most trying of circumstances. The plight befallen your brave husband in his line of duty and your own courage in supporting him during his long period of recuperation is common knowledge. The Indian sun inflicts a cruel burden and its assault upon your complexion rendered you a brave and defiant symbol of womanhood, unfettered by the fatuous demands of fashion that plague us in our duty to our men folk, London society, and our innate sense of propriety.

I think I can speak for all women in my assertion that you struck a challenging blow to the very concept of what it is to be a lady, through your total disregard for a la mode, presenting yourself with alacrity, when other less confident women would have taken refuge behind the closed doors of their chambers.

I would have preferred to compliment you in person but failed to find an opportunity at the ball as you were occupied in the company of my dear confidant, Sir Edgar Bryce, for the greater part of the evening, and I did not wish to embarrass you in his presence. But now it is said and done, and I am satisfied, having assured you that your presence and statement did not go unnoticed.

I plan to be at my London residence from the 7th of the month and hope I can take this opportunity to call upon you and pay my respects to your good husband in his continuing recovery. What must he think of me, not enquiring in person as to his condition so long after the blow was dealt? He has not been seen in society for some time, and so I feel duty bound to take society to him.

I have been in close correspondence with Sir Edgar, and he too would welcome the opportunity to see you both in the convivial atmosphere of your own home. I did think of inviting you to my house in London but did not wish to impose on Sir Wilfred, who I fear may find the excursion out into the cold evening air an unwarranted imposition, given the state of his health.

I shall await your word as to a suitable appointment.

With kind regards,

Constance Fawley

Letter from Lady Hansbury to Lady Constance Fawley

Caversham Place, London, 4th February 1869

Dear Lady Constance Fawley,

Your unexpected letter left me initially in a state of prodigious ambivalence. I was not sure if I was being tactfully censured or gloriously complimented, but after deep reflection, I have settled on the latter. How generous and sympathetic that you should view me in such exalted terms.

And now I must confess with not a little shame that my sentiments towards you and the other ladies assembled at Lord and Lady Lessingdon's ball were not held in the same high regard. It is to my discredit that I conjectured my appearance, by way of legacy of the Indian sun, would be misconstrued, not out of wilful intent but from the shallow principles that govern so many of our sex (as you correctly point out) and the vain and puerile system of values to which the less evolved of our gender adhere.

I fully expected that I would be the black sheep among a room full of preened and coiffured precious things, aghast that they should be in the company of one so apparently maverick to protocol with my shameless display of coffee coloured skin.

But now, what have you done through your charming correspondence? You have left me embarrassed and filled with reproach that I should have contemplated you in such lowly terms, so much so that I feel compelled, not to guard, these, my thoughts, not to preserve their confidentiality, but to announce them openly and unashamedly and let them serve as an admission - nay, confession, of the contempt in which I held you all.

But enough of this. We have both bared our souls, so to speak, and how refreshing it is that we can write so openly and with such candour. I feel our acquaintance is strengthened and enriched with a sincerity so sorely lacking in polite society.

What great pleasure it would bring to receive you at our home in London, and yet, I fear I must forego the honour in consideration of my dear husband, whose condition forbids the stimulation that would accompany your presence. Alas, it is with deep regret that I must report the true nature of Sir Wilfred's state of health. His recuperation does not proceed with salutary swiftness or lightness of spirit. On the contrary, he languishes despairingly, though it must be said, bravely, within the confines of his ailing health. The musket ball that penetrated his shoulder was merely the instigator of a greater foe that was to assail him. His location in India's North West Frontier, where he received his wounding, made it unfeasible to travel swiftly to a place of practical medical supervision and convalescence. Consequently, an infection took hold, which has left him with a disorder of the blood that perplexes our physicians. And so he is housebound and must not receive visitors under any circumstances, as stimulation, even in the most benign form, carries the risk of an unwelcome assault upon his disposition.

Though I am at pains to venture from his side during these, his most distressing of days, he does insist on me continuing to make a presence in society, and this I do unwillingly, in respect of his wishes.

And this brings me to yet another apology I must confer upon you. I am indebted to you, first of all, for bringing to my attention my monopoly of Sir Edgar Bryce during the Lessingdon's ball. It was most inconsiderate of me, and yet I feel it was the only course of action open to me under the enforced circumstances with which I was burdened. Arriving at the ball unchaperoned, whilst irregular, perhaps even unseemly, was a necessity born out of Sir Wilfred's wish that I should be present, in combination with the fact that my very recent return to England had not afforded me the time to re-establish connections with my friends and acquaintances for the purpose of scheduling my diary accordingly.

But who could be better qualified to alleviate me from the imposition in which I found myself than Sir Edgar Bryce; one above reproach in society; trusted, honoured, impeccable beyond question, a bachelor of superior morals and standing, whose dignified and respectful observance of a lady in his presence is renowned. What better evening companion could there be for a married woman spending a few hours in respite from the care and nursing of her ailing husband. So I am confident that you will forgive my monopoly of his time - a gesture I am sure your kind and generous nature will demand of you.

I wish you a pleasant stay while you are in London.

Your honoured acquaintance,

Antonia Hansbury

P.S. I was not aware you were so fondly acquainted with Sir Edgar. He has never mentioned you during our general intercourse.

Letter from Lady Hansbury to Sir Edgar Bryce

Caversham Place, London, 4th February 1869

My Dear Edgar,

I have just replied to a letter from Lady Constance Fawley, with whom I understand you are well acquainted. I am still reeling from the gall of the woman. She had the temerity to pass comment - and indeed judgement, it must be said, upon my sun darkened appearance, in spite of knowing the circumstances that were responsible for my less than flattering complexion. She also proceeded to chastise me for taking refuge upon your graciously offered arm for the duration of the evening at the Lessingdon's ball.

It was all carefully disguised, of course, hidden within the pretext of concern and admiration - but a dagger is no less sharp because it has a pretty inscription upon the blade. She twists the dagger so gracefully and with such subtle sleight of hand that it seems one is not being stabbed at all, but caressed and stroked by a loving benefactor - only the scar she leaves behind tells the true story.

I am not fully aware of the nature of your acquaintance with Lady Constance Fawley, but if it is one of intimate regard, and my words cause you offence, then I apologise unreservedly; however, I hope my opinion of the lady will not have any bearing on our own relationship and the honour with which it is graced.

Forgive me for burdening you with this trifle, but I felt it was something I had to exorcise from my being, and what better way than to share it with someone whose world view could offer a superior perspective on the matter.

And now, I wonder will you honour us with a visit? Sir Wilfred and I would be delighted to receive you here at Caversham Place one evening. We find your conversation so stimulating; something Sir Wilfred so dearly needs.

I shall await your word as to a suitable date and time.

Your most amiable friend,

Antonia

Letter from Sir Edgar Bryce to Lady Constance Fawley

Chanderston House, London, 6th February 1869

My Dear Constance,

I see you delayed not a moment in writing to Lady Hansbury, for she has just written to me, specifically in regard to your correspondence. What price would I not pay to see a facsimile of your letter, or even better, the indictment in its original form? I call it an indictment, for it seems that is how it has been perceived.

But now I feel compelled to berate you for failing to furnish me with a facsimile in anticipation of my request. Is this not the normal protocol between intimate friends? In absence of the original wording I can only draw upon my most inadequate of imagination in an attempt to conjure up the colourful metaphor, the thrust and parry, and the double entendre of what must undoubtedly have been the noteworthy document of an incisive wordsmith.

Perhaps we can trade? I can send you a copy of Lady Hansbury's letter to me, in return for a copy of your delicately crafted epistle to her. But do I take things too far by this suggestion? Do I step beyond the boundaries of friendship and desecrate the confidences entrusted to me? Yes! Let me not be vilified as a cad in your eyes, for I could never recover from a blemish upon my character to which you are witness.

But, in spite of how it has been perceived, your letter has brought about the desired circumstance by way of an invitation to visit the Hansburys for what she flatteringly describes as an evening of stimulating conversation; something most desperately needed by her convalescing husband, she emphasises.

She leaves it in my hands to propose a date, and I presume she has conferred upon you the same convenience. The evening of the 10th would suit me. You will be in London on that date, and if it does not conflict with your diary, perhaps we can agree on this as a suitable time to make our visit.

Your friend and servant,

Edgar

Letter from Lady Constance Fawley to Sir Edgar Bryce

Northam Gardens, London, 7th February 1869

My Dear Edgar,

Scarcely am I lost for words; scarcely do I fall from the lofty heights of generous and compassionate sentiment toward my fellow being; scarcely am I severed from my charitable heart so as to feel poisoned, defiled, and provocatively assailed by the words or deeds of another, but I must confess to you in all honesty that I find myself in such a state of affairs upon receipt of your most elucidating letter.

The emotions that seize me do so most flagrantly and in such proportion that I hesitate in knowing where or how to begin, but I shall endeavour to compose myself and avail you of the facts that unsettle my normally peaceful state of being.

I feel a certain infringement upon the trust and confidentiality of my letter to Lady Hansbury, by way of her disclosure of the essence of the letter, without first of all paying me the courtesy of seeking my acquiescence to such publication. I am not averse to my correspondence being relayed in part, within the appropriate context of social interchange, but I consider matters of a more sensitive nature, of which this qualifies, should be explicitly and solely for the benefit of the original recipient.

However, this transgression of commonly accepted standards of behaviour pales to insignificance when compared to the gross act of disrespect which followed in her letter to me. Lady Hansbury went to great lengths to beg my pardon for being unable to receive me at her home on account of the fragile health of Sir Wilfred and his acute aversion to any form of stimulation. Yet now, just two days later, you inform me that Lady Hansbury has extended to you an invitation to call upon her, for among other things, the stimulating conversation from which I was deterred.

This blatant snub, on closer inspection, carries an even greater weight of offence than might be initially observed. Clearly, her excuse that Sir Wilfred's health prevents my calling upon her, was a lie so lame, so transparent, and so unequivocally sure to be undone - that it could only have been designed for me to see though it and realise that her polite, mitigated rejection of my visit was no less than the snub it was truly meant to be. She might at least have had the decency to pay me the courtesy of going to some effort to construct a plausible lie that could withstand some scrutiny. Instead, she informs me (maliciously and implicitly) that she pays me such little regard, to the extent of which I am not even considered to be worthy of a more feasible deception to disguise her rejection of me.

Well, I shall not rise to the provocation. I will play her at her own game and dismiss her with the same refrain in which she regards me. I will not even acknowledge the snub, but act as if I am oblivious to the invitation she has extended to you. I will not give her the pleasure of knowing her paltry lie is unravelled, the way she meant it to be. I may even make a point of seeing her in London, at some mutual point of convergence and be the very quintessence of cordiality.

In the meantime, I will allay the indignant tirade that consumes me and endeavour to seek out the positive attributes that are cloaked within all of life's events. Nothing is all good or all bad - as my Great Uncle Frederick reportedly said on the battlefield at Waterloo. No one is quite sure what he alluded to by this statement, as he died shortly after making it as a consequence of being run through by a somewhat bemused Prussian lancer, whose powers of discernment between enemy and ally were greatly underdeveloped (you will recall Prussia fought alongside the English). But these dying words were relayed back by a loyal and kindly lieutenant of the Royal Horse Guards.

Since then, the family have often debated the true meaning of his cryptic, final words, but the consensus arrived at suggests he was proposing that even the darkest moments to befall us, perhaps, have some meaning, some purpose that reveals itself within the greater framework of life. And so I will call upon Great Uncle Frederick's words now and apply them to my own dark event that comes in the form of Lady Hansbury's hostility. I will take solace in the fact that she hates me. Strange words you may think, dear Edgar - I would rather be loved than hated, but equally, I would rather be hated than ignored. At least by being hated, it is, in some perverse way, a validation of my existence, for there can be no greater social dismissal of one's personality than through the passivity of indifference.

But now I tire of my dismal words of discord - my pen leaves a trail of vitriolic prose, and I should prefer correspondence between us to echo the dulcet tones of our lyrical offerings. And so I shall move swiftly to lighter matters.

I am flattered you regard our friendship as strong and intimate enough to warrant that my personal correspondence be penned in duplicate and forwarded to you. I am struck by guilt that I was remiss in attending to this. But, my dear Edgar, am I not, in the performance of such an act, guilty of the same transgression of moral behaviour of which I accused Lady Hansbury? And as for trading our letters - you will have us both ostracised and banished to the social wilderness that stagnates on the fringe of civilised society.

Should I assume you will call upon Lady Hansbury on the 10th, as you suggest? Yes - you must, if only to assess the true state of affairs in terms of Sir Wilfred's health - he has a mystery blood disorder, I am told. Will you go as my spy, my covert agent, armed with stimulating repartee to veil the deception? Or do I ask too much of my dear confidant? Perhaps I place you in a moral dilemma, as you have no cause for animosity towards the lady.

I must leave it in your hands and trust to the wisdom you have demonstrated so often in the past.

Your ever faithful,

Constance

P.S. You will note from the letterhead I am now in London - please write to me here for the present moment, but if you write to Sussex through an error of habit, worry not, my letters are forwarded to me immediately.

Letter from Sir Edgar Bryce to Lady Constance Fawley

Chanderston House, London, 8th February 1869

My Dear Constance,

How can I deny your request without betraying my loyalty to you? You know I have no choice but to consent to do your bidding. I shall visit the Hansburys on the evening of the 10th on a quest of truth. But I must say in all honesty, I am most surprised at her rejection of your offer. When she wrote to me, I