Hunting
Dear Liza,
After reading your last correspondence, I took a great deal of time thinking it over.
I believe you’re right, though I know you likely didn’t doubt that.
I realized that I was hurt and angry. Thomas’s misguided actions arose not from a lack of affection on his part but from a misunderstanding of how he might offer the correct support.
(Which clearly does not include warning professors of my emotional state.)
I have other worries, though. Ones that I’m frightened to even put a name to.
Please burn this letter once you’ve read it, and tell no one of its contents.
I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
One student was found dead and an unidentified body was discovered here in a matter of weeks.
One showed no outward signs of murder, and the other had perished from…
more horrendous measures. Yet both of their bodies had been drained completely of blood.
Ghastly to speak of; I do apologize. I also haven’t heard from a friend here in nearly a week and I’m worried for her.
I won’t be able to travel home for the Christmas holiday due to severe weather and lack of time off, but I will write often to make up for it.
Thomas’s family keeps a house in Bucharest and his sister has invited us to a ball there, and I haven’t a clue what I’ll wear to such an event.
I left my most cherished dresses at home.
Silly to speak of such frivolity when there are many worse things happening.
Has Aunt Amelia given any more thought to you touring the Continent?
Thomas’s sister, Miss Daciana Cresswell, has promised to write her on your behalf.
Perhaps you might ask your mother to reconsider and grant you permission as a holiday gift.
Or maybe she would agree to us traveling to America?
I should love to spend time there and visit Grandmama.
We might be able to persuade my grandmother to speak on our behalf as well.
You know how convincing Grandmama can be.
Apologies for not sending along a more detailed note. I must dash off to bed. Anatomy lesson is first thing in the morning. It’s by far my favorite class (even though the headmaster is an awful brute). How surprising, I’m sure.
Your loving cousin,
AR
P.S. How is my father? Please give him a hug from me and tell him I shall write soon. I miss him terribly and worry he’ll fall under the spell of his laudanum in my absence. Be wary of him locking himself in his study. No good ever comes of that.