Chapter Fifteen
You’ve Got Mail
My Dear Mayhem,
Do you ever feel as if you were the unfortunate Sisyphus, doomed to push a boulder up a hill for eternity?
A melodramatic way to begin a letter. I do apologize.
But at times I feel as though I am repeating the same day, over and over.
Rise. Dress. Accompany Mother to whatever function she has planned for the day.
Attend whatever functions she has planned for the evening. Prepare for bed. Sleep. Repeat.
I do wish there were more to my life. I am not ashamed to admit that your letters are the bright spot in my days.
Perhaps I should take a cue from your moniker and cause a little more mayhem in my own life.
At the very least, it might get me out of yet another afternoon of dreary embroidery.
Well, that isn’t entirely fair to the embroidery.
I do not hate it, as such. On occasion, I find it quite peaceful.
And I do admire the finished product. It is reaching that state that sometimes wears on me.
And now that I have thoroughly bored you with talk of sewing and such, I shall apologize.
It has been a quiet week. One in which I have not seen my nemesis even once.
It has made my days quite dull. I had not realized how much I had grown accustomed to our altercations.
What does it say about me that I await such confrontations with such anticipation?
In my defense, this person has a remarkable ability to appear wherever I seem to be. With no sightings in more than a week, I am not sure what to think. In fact, I am just a little (a very little) bit concerned. Perhaps he has come to a fitting end. Or has moved on to torturing another poor soul.
And now I shall have to spend my afternoon at church, praying for forgiveness for my own wicked soul.
Yours in boredom and appallingly awful behavior,
Millie
My Dearest Millie,
I find your admission neither melodramatic nor cause for apology. In fact, there is no need to beg forgiveness of anyone for any of your thoughts, least of all me. Never me. I want to hear every last one of them, no matter how mundane you feel them.
As for boring me with embroidery, it is not possible.
For one, I find everything you tell me—especially when you are letting slip a few tantalizingly personal details—utterly enthralling.
And secondly—and I tell you this only because I know I can count on your utmost secrecy—I enjoy a bit of embroidery myself from time to time.
My old nurse taught me. As you can imagine, I was a stubborn and willful child, prone to mischief.
(If you are wicked, I am the devil incarnate.
Which only suggests to me that we shall get along famously, as we have already proven).
And I was also fascinated with sharp, pointy objects.
After one particularly mischievous morning that may or may not have involved divesting my brother of some of his much admired hair, she sat me down, bribing me with my choice of sharp, pointy needles, and she put me to work with a bit of shiny thread and an old shirt.
It became her “punishment” of choice whenever I acted too out of hand.
Suffice it to say, I became very adept at the skill.
I can embroider a flower-laden vine that would bring you to tears.
As for Sisyphus and his boulders, I do understand exactly what you mean.
I so look forward to your letters breaking the monotony of my days that I have, at times, considered taking up residence beside the hat shop just to more quickly receive them.
I hope it brings you comfort to know that if you are toiling with seemingly eternal boulders, I am right there beside you.
Regarding your nemesis, never fear. Nemesi (is that the plural of nemesis?
My tutors would be so ashamed) rarely do one the courtesy of completely disappearing from one’s life.
They have a terrible habit of reappearing just as one becomes complacent with their absence.
I have no doubt yours will make an appearance soon.
Also…you have inadvertently revealed he is a he.
Intriguing. Who is this man? What did he do to earn your ire?
I would challenge him to a duel, happy to die in the service of my marchioness, though you are more than capable of dealing with the scoundrel I have no doubt.
However, should you desire, please know that I am available in whatever capacity you should need me. You have but ask.
I cannot help but think that there is a simple solution to our mutually monotonous days.
I know that part of the fun of our correspondence is the anonymity.
It is truly freeing to be able to be completely myself without any worry of judgement or consequence because we are completely incognito.
However…having said that…I must confess that the curiosity over who you are is driving me to distraction.
We enjoy each other’s letters so much. Surely I am not the only one who has considered what might occur if we were to ever converse in person.
I do know the risks. Perhaps you would find me a dreadful bore and run away never to be heard from again. And that would be a true tragedy. But…
Do you ever think that we should perhaps meet?
Yours through mischief and monotony,
Mayhem