out or flee. It is positively medieval. I feel I have walked into a scene from Hamlet, whose country is not so very far from here.
The court chamberlain, Herr Haderslev, has visited me upon two occasions. I am to be granted an audience to plead my case with the Margrave when he returns from engaging opposition forces in the south. I am told it will be the last battle before the winter weather sets in. I have requested an audience with the Margrave’s sister Princess Joanna. But our consul says the princess lives in seclusion and is never seen during the daylight hours because of her delicate condition. He would not elaborate what that condition was.
I asked Matthias if he knew anything about this condition which keeps the Princess hidden. The next time he came to shave me, he told me that no one speaks of what is known as the “unspoken truth”. It has a long, complicated German name, but this is the rough translation. I asked Mr. Luytens. He said writing it here would be enough to alert you—that you do, indeed, know more than Matthias can discover.
I live in hope the Princess will grant me an audience. My dearest Alec, hope is all I have left.
I have seen Mr. Luytens upon three occasions. It is all the contact I am permitted with our British consul, and this in a month. If it were my fate alone, I would consign myself to it, but it is the thought of Emily who keeps me awake at night.
The last time I saw Emily was when we said our farewells aboard ship in port, she to await my return the next day to set sail for Copenhagen. Our Consul assures me she is being accorded every civility as the granddaughter of an English duchess. But as he has not seen her, I fear what I am being told is not the truth. The look in his eyes tells me so. I do not know if it is to spare me or to torture me, because not knowing how she is, if she is alive or—no, I cannot write it here—is sending me mad. The only fact keeping me sane is that the estimable Mrs. Carlisle is with her.
I asked Matthias to find out what he could but when he attempted to make enquiries he came up empty-handed. Everyone lives in fear, not least the servants, who are a closemouthed lot who never lift their eyes above the stone flagging. And as my valet’s movements are heavily restricted by the palace guard, and he cannot speak the local language, he is sadly deficient in his information.
Confined to my room and alone, my mind wanders to fearing the worst, and I do not mean death, dearest friend. Death would be preferable and a godsend for a beautiful young woman such as Emily. As you know, in a time of war atrocities are perpetrated on the defenseless, the weak, and particularly on females, all because they can.
Please, for the love of God, whatever you do, do not mention my fears to Aunt Olivia. Create whatever fiction you prefer, but keep her spirits buoyant. She must continue to hope, as I hope, that we will come through this, if not unscathed, at least alive and whole. So, please, Alec, do not breathe a word until you have seen our expired earthly forms for yourself. And then, again, do not convey the worst to her but some fiction which will allow her to sleep peacefully.
Margrave Ernst has declared his country to be in a state of civil war. Troops are everywhere. I hear them parading across the courtyard, and these are just the elite palace guard. I am to tell you that beyond the walls of this impenetrable fortress, war ravages the countryside. Prince Viktor is declared a traitor to his country for taking up arms against his brother and for calling the native Frisian troops to arms. Any Frisian found in Viktor’s colors is immediately shot. No prisoners are taken. Thousands of people are displaced and ruined because of the merciless actions of Prince Viktor, who is controlled by his mother, the “she wolf”—the Countess Rosine. This is how she is described to me. Our consul Luytens nods his agreement with the official and makes no contradiction, so
The court chamberlain, Herr Haderslev, has visited me upon two occasions. I am to be granted an audience to plead my case with the Margrave when he returns from engaging opposition forces in the south. I am told it will be the last battle before the winter weather sets in. I have requested an audience with the Margrave’s sister Princess Joanna. But our consul says the princess lives in seclusion and is never seen during the daylight hours because of her delicate condition. He would not elaborate what that condition was.
I asked Matthias if he knew anything about this condition which keeps the Princess hidden. The next time he came to shave me, he told me that no one speaks of what is known as the “unspoken truth”. It has a long, complicated German name, but this is the rough translation. I asked Mr. Luytens. He said writing it here would be enough to alert you—that you do, indeed, know more than Matthias can discover.
I live in hope the Princess will grant me an audience. My dearest Alec, hope is all I have left.
I have seen Mr. Luytens upon three occasions. It is all the contact I am permitted with our British consul, and this in a month. If it were my fate alone, I would consign myself to it, but it is the thought of Emily who keeps me awake at night.
The last time I saw Emily was when we said our farewells aboard ship in port, she to await my return the next day to set sail for Copenhagen. Our Consul assures me she is being accorded every civility as the granddaughter of an English duchess. But as he has not seen her, I fear what I am being told is not the truth. The look in his eyes tells me so. I do not know if it is to spare me or to torture me, because not knowing how she is, if she is alive or—no, I cannot write it here—is sending me mad. The only fact keeping me sane is that the estimable Mrs. Carlisle is with her.
I asked Matthias to find out what he could but when he attempted to make enquiries he came up empty-handed. Everyone lives in fear, not least the servants, who are a closemouthed lot who never lift their eyes above the stone flagging. And as my valet’s movements are heavily restricted by the palace guard, and he cannot speak the local language, he is sadly deficient in his information.
Confined to my room and alone, my mind wanders to fearing the worst, and I do not mean death, dearest friend. Death would be preferable and a godsend for a beautiful young woman such as Emily. As you know, in a time of war atrocities are perpetrated on the defenseless, the weak, and particularly on females, all because they can.
Please, for the love of God, whatever you do, do not mention my fears to Aunt Olivia. Create whatever fiction you prefer, but keep her spirits buoyant. She must continue to hope, as I hope, that we will come through this, if not unscathed, at least alive and whole. So, please, Alec, do not breathe a word until you have seen our expired earthly forms for yourself. And then, again, do not convey the worst to her but some fiction which will allow her to sleep peacefully.
Margrave Ernst has declared his country to be in a state of civil war. Troops are everywhere. I hear them parading across the courtyard, and these are just the elite palace guard. I am to tell you that beyond the walls of this impenetrable fortress, war ravages the countryside. Prince Viktor is declared a traitor to his country for taking up arms against his brother and for calling the native Frisian troops to arms. Any Frisian found in Viktor’s colors is immediately shot. No prisoners are taken. Thousands of people are displaced and ruined because of the merciless actions of Prince Viktor, who is controlled by his mother, the “she wolf”—the Countess Rosine. This is how she is described to me. Our consul Luytens nods his agreement with the official and makes no contradiction, so
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