Maybury Court
Tuesday April 16th
Dearest Constance,
The year is rocking on its hinges as I write this. Fingers of winter trees are bursting into fanned new leaves. Life in the Chiltern woods is very much as it ever was, as dear to me as the freckles on your nose. I could not bear to part with its verdant lush as you have in exchange for the veldt and all its drama, flaming sun and red dust. I will not be moved. If there is chaos here (and there is, of sorts) I’ll be bound to it until my last breath. I could call nowhere else home. Not even if Teddy begged me.
He loves me Constance and has asked me to be his; to go with him to India. But I cannot. You are the one with far reaching horizons, I, I am the cricket on the hearth. And as needs must every home should have one for who would take care of Father and Mother. They are wearied by the weight of responsibility now in keeping the Estate in good order, and more often than not I am called to take an interest in these matters. I am quite sure Mother would not have managed the New Year Hunt this year or indeed the feast on StValentine’s without me. No, I know my mind on this, even though I am unmade by what I do. Oh how I miss your counsel. But it is done. My heart will go with him folded safely like a picture in a locket and he will hear it beat for him any time he cares to hear it. And I? I will be held in stasis until his return. And there’s the rub, the sand -paper over my sleepless eyes, for I am given over to trust. Trust that the miles between us will melt with fondness, that the river of affection will not be diluted by the seas between us. We shall perhaps be permitted to share tender words and that love will blossom away from the eyes of a chaperone! Tender words; the endearments permitted by distance. But it is all dark until his return and certainty. Three long years Constance. How will I bear it? What if his commission is renewed? What if he meets some other lacy cloud in the maddening heat and looses his head? (See how I daily torture myself! Oh for your presence to distract me with games and laughter! ) No. I must believe in his good heart and his honourable nature even if I cannot trust my good fortune in love. He is mine and I am his and that is the way it must be. (And if it is not to be; well there is always the stream rushing down the hills! I will be swallowed by the iron water of the plunge pool and you can leave me to the faeries keep! -Do you remember the summers we shared in the woods, dear Constance, making marquees for faery teas and thrones of moss for Titania and Oberon? What innocence we shared. I miss its simplicity sometimes.)
Mother sends you her warmest wishes from where she sits bent double over her needle point at the french windows. Really her eye sight is very poor now but she is determined to finish the new kneelers for the family pew.The new planting in the garden is going to be lovely this summer and I know the floral abundance will give her great pleasure for the smell as much as the colour- peony stalks are beginning to show their red flutes above the earth and the wisteria is greening up nicely. We have replanted the cut flower garden with cottage plants and the roses have been treated to Bartholomew’s best from the farm. (It is necessary for the French doors to remain closed for a time while the smell disperses!) Barrow is having terrible trouble with the rabbits this year who seem to have tunnelled under the wall of the vegetable garden and have taken all the tops from the spring greens. Father best not catch them or I fancy they will be in the pot. He was not best pleased. You can imagine it I’m sure, all those nibbled tops “How can I enter the Village show with nibbled tops!” He was livid!
I look forward to hearing your news dear Constance though I fear the delivery of your letters must be a treacherous business but they are waited for with great anticipation and give us much fresh conversation. We loved your description, last, of the women in the village. We wish you well and some relief from the heat and dust. Keep the faith, the rains will come.
With all my love to you,
Patience, your own dear heart.
Floris Station
Nmbegwe
June 30th
Patience, my dearest heart,
Your letters reach me like a thank you to be treasured, a way to reach back into a past that seems so far removed from life here. They bring the scent of paper roses and summer meadows, of petrichor and lavender evenings on the terrace. What ever our circumstances in life I hope we will always be able to communicate over what ever geographical distance lies between us. I see your tiny even hand on the envelope and the kisses around your penny stamp and my heart sings with joy at the thought of news from home and of you my dear sweet Patience.
Have Courage dear Sister. Teddy is yours as surely as the sun burns in the sky and he will return for you when his duty is despatched. It is not easy for a second son to find his place in the world and so it must be earned. If the cost of such a place is a mere three years allow your love to deepen, taking root in the rich soil of home and think instead of all the years left for you to share together.
There is news here my dear that I would so wish to share with you in my arms. I am with child! I suffered for some weeks with what I thought was heat sickness but as my corsets became tighter on the simple diet we have here there was no other explanation. I am as round as a cider barrel ! We expect it will be an early Autumn baby. I so wish you were here to share this with me. My body feels so strange and heavy and I fear for what lies ahead and would have you near me to hold my hand but know this cannot be. But do not fret for me,Arthur is clucking around me like a mother hen and has engaged a house matron, Gaia, a mother of five, from the village so I am not alone when he goes out. She is kindly and looks at me with a blaze of knowing as I heave myself about. When the time comes she will be a great comfort I’m sure. She was very cross with me a few weeks ago as she saw me tightening my stays. She marched up to me waggling her finger, orating animatedly then promptly pulled away my corsets and marched off with them. I can’t find them anywhere. I’ve tried to ask, sort of mimed it to her (like charades at Christmas) but she looks away and just smiles and shrugs. I’m sure she is hiding them. I told Arthur that Gaia had stolen them from me and he just laughed at me. “Good.” That was all he said. But later he showed me just how good it could be. There is great advantage in being more freely accessible, I discovered, as we sat on the verandah under the stars! You would be shocked I am sure. I feel I am turning into quite a harlot without the steadying hand of Mrs Bryce! (And loving it; being Queen of the Night for the man I adore. How lucky we are to have the freedom to wallow in our passion.) I am going native!
There has been quite a to do here actually. I shouldn’t besmirch the natives as they have a very strict moral code of their own, for all their lack of clothing. A moonlighting entertainer from a neighbouring village came here and made advances on the chief’s daughter. She is now being shunned by the village for losing her purity without first being married. She ran away and Arthur found her alone on the road and weak with thirst so she too is living with us. I never dreamt we would have so many servants- a garden boy, watchman, house matron and now a kitchen maid too. Gaia looks at her with suspicion but she is only to aware of how hard life is for women here when they lose there place in the community. Arthur tells me Gaia’s husband challenged the chief and lost his life in doing so, as well as her place in the community. Her daughters were already wed but are forbidden to speak with her and the sons have had to move away.
The rains did come dear Patience, after weeks of oppressive humidity and violent electrical storms. The lightning seemed to thread the whole sky with life.And you would not believe the transformation; from dust bowl to new Eden in a matter of days. Grasses sway and flowers bloom and water glints in the sun snaking it’s way across the veldt. I begin to understand why Arthur loves it so. Somehow the beauty is all the more precious for being rare.
The rain has made passage into the town very tiresome though and I do not know when Arthur will be able to go and take this to post, but I will telegram when the baby arrives. Maybe the telegram will reach you first. But know that the wind carries my love to you and the sun that kisses your face kisses mine also so we are never really so far apart as all that.
Blessings to you dearest heart,
Constance.
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