Of Secrets, Letters, and Lions Read online

Of Secrets, Letters and Lions

  By: Anna Moseley

  Cover by: Rebecca Koenig

  Copyright 2012 Anna Moseley

  Dedicated to Geneva Moorefield, who would have read it if she could, and to my friends who are my real life Cecilys.

  January 16th 1873

  Dearest Cecily,

  It seems like an age since you and your dear brother came to London for your season. I am thrilled to hear that you are doing so well and hope this means that you will be able to visit again soon! I wish I could say my family and I are doing just as well, but sadly this is not so. I miss you dreadfully and wish you were here to help me through this. I suppose I must be content with your letters.

  Things have become troubling. Father is keeping secrets, and Mamma has forbidden Abby from talking during tea because she refuses to talk about anything else but Father’s secrets. I’m not at all surprised that Mamma has put an end to Abby’s nonsense. The fact that Father has started keeping secrets so deep and so large that he has locked himself in his study is quite troubling though. He is even refusing meals Cecily! Although you met him only once, I’m sure that you remember how jolly a man he is. He, very much like you and my brother, is always willing to make time for friends and family. He often indulges Abby by listening to her jokes and exchanging stories with her. The only time the house is not filled with Abby and Father’s chortling is when we’re all sleeping or if Abby has caught a cold.

  Although I’m sure that Abby takes no pleasure in reminding us that Father is not himself, she makes little jokes about how he has locked himself in the study or asks us to wager on how many days he can go without food. She’s been caught (by Mama no less) trying to slip food under his office door multiple times. I can’t tell if she does this in jest or out of genuine concern.

  I suppose you’ll want to know how it all happened. If you can make heads or tails of the following I applaud you!

  It started about a week ago, the ninth of this month to be precise. Abby, Mama and I were sitting in the parlor with Father whom was reading and remarking on things in the news (which I care nothing about-I get all the interesting news from you), when a servant entered with a letter addressed to him. When he opened it I swear he became three shades paler! He stood up, excused himself, and left the room. Mamma asked the servant whom the letter was from, but he couldn’t say for the envelope had been blank, other than Father’s name.

  I’m sure you remember Mamma’s temper, which is only matched by her love for the family. She left the room calling after Father. Abby dismissed the servant and crept to the doorway to hear. She needn’t have done it, as Mama started yelling soon after.

  “How can you say that? That is perfect nonsense dear! “A letter from a friend.” What sort of friendly letter could gain such a reaction from you? You take great delight in reading friendly letters to us, why not this one?” Father answered something that Abby nor I could hear, but it did not satisfy Mama. “Private matters? Private matters? If matters have suddenly become so private you leave me no choice but to assume that you have started gambling. You will degrade yourself sir!” Again Father said something. “Well it is a relief to hear that you have not taken up that nasty habit. I would hate for our son and daughters to come to ruin because of it. If it is not gambling that has garnered such a reaction from you, then what is it?” After a moment more of Father explaining things Mama decided it was a lost cause. Abby barely made it back to her seat when Mama stomped in.

  I had no intention of saying anything; I saw it as rude to let on that we had been listening, but Abby had other plans.

  “Mama, you do look bothered. Did Father take up gambling?” Abby winked at me, barely suppressing her giggle.

  “Of course not! Your father is a man that takes good care of his money, works hard and places a great deal of faith in his family. Let us do him the same courtesy.”

  “Mama, did he say what the subject of the letter was about?” I said.

  She shook her head. “Simply that it was a note of great emergency and he dare not trouble us with its contents.”

  “Well,” I focused on my sewing for a moment, trying to gather my words. “Father is well known throughout the country for his articles on medicine. Perhaps a reader had some sort of emergency and couldn’t afford proper care, and turned to him instead. It wouldn’t be the first time that Father has helped a stranger, particularly one of his readers. Perhaps he thought the contents of the sickness too troubling for us.” I said.

  “Perhaps Hanna, but if that were the case it would make little sense for him to withhold the information from us. He should simply say that it is so as he has in the past.”

  Well Cecily, you can’t say I didn’t try. Mamma refused to entertain my theory any longer and told us to focus on our sewing or other talents. The next few hours were tense and quiet. Mama focused on writing letters, Abby focused on sewing and I took up my drawing.

  Eventually it was teatime, which was a dreary affair. I had nothing to say, Abby wanted to theorize Father’s letter and Mama got a headache from all of Abby’s chatter and excused herself early. Mama has such cleverly timed headaches I wonder if she has any at all. I dare say if I could have such well-timed headaches I wouldn’t complain.

  That night Father took dinner in his office, which he had done only on one other occasion when Abby and I were quite young. Abby did her best to come up with more theories and jokes on the topic, finally gave up saying “I’m sure it will all be over quickly Mama. You said it yourself earlier today; Father does work hard. I’m sure he’ll work hard and fix the situation quickly and we’ll all be fit for the Queen.”

  Mama smiled, “We can certainly hope. Until that time, let’s focus on pleasant things shall we?” She turned the topic towards the usual gossip about town, something I was deeply grateful for.

  Aside from Father being absent, dinner was enjoyable. We all went to bed happy, expecting to have a ramble in the park with Mama and hopefully Father, a usual Sunday event for us after church.

  I dare say I was wrong. I slept horribly that night. I kept hearing footsteps on the stairs and closing doors. I went so far as to summon a servant to check the windows and doors. When I asked her if everyone was a sleep for the night she replied: “Yes marm. Everyone in the house is asleep except f’r yourself and I.”

  “Well surely I am not the only one who has heard the footsteps and closing doors am I?”

  She reddened in the candlelight and shrugged. “I don’t know about that marm. I haven’t heard anything an’ you know that I sleep in th’ servants’ quarters down stairs mizz. I haven’t heard much of anything ‘til you ringed to ask me t’ investigate th’ windows.”

  “Very well then. If you hear anything, anything at all, report it immediately. It’s a miracle that any of us can sleep in a house with so much noise.” She nodded and dashed off, back to bed no doubt.

  As I turned back to re-enter my room I saw something dash across the hall in the fading candlelight. I thought I was going mad temporarily. I finally calmed my thoughts by convincing myself that I simply saw my own shadow when I was turning back to my room.

  I wish I could say that was the end of it but this seems to be the beginning of our troubles. Father has become distant from us, I’m still hearing the footsteps at night, and mother’s temper is becoming shorter and shorter by the day.

  Hopefully the next time I write I will have happier news for you! Any advice will be well received I assure you. I do pray that things continue to go smoothly in America for you and your brother, do give him my best won’t you?

  All my love-your friend, Hanna Hunt

  January 31th

  Pray f
orgive me for jumping into my narrative instead of addressing the letter you sent me.

  Father has gone to Doctor Walsh’s estate where he will be staying no less than a fortnight. Before he left this morning he told us that he might stay a little longer if he was allowed.

  About five minutes before he left, I overheard Father and Mamma talking in the parlor. I stopped in the hall, just out of sight, but close enough to hear and peek in when needed.

  “Surely my dear there is no need for you to stay longer than a fortnight is there?” Mama cried. “Have your daughters and I done something displeasing? I assure you that we are willing to correct our mistakes. If it is a matter of work, I’m sure that we have enough money to hire new hands as you said this yourself a fortnight ago. And really my dear, it is you who always says not to give up on Abby. Perhaps if we had more visitors to call on her she would settle down a bit. If this is about her I beg you to stay! Your wisdom does us all much good.”

  Father gently embraced mother saying, “Ease your troubled mind my dear. Nothing of the sort is bothering me. It is just talks of politics and science that draw my attention. And as you know our friend Doctor Walsh is a well-learned man and he has many things that I might write of. Now, you take care my dear. I am sure I will come back to you all soon. While I’m away feel free to call on others or have visitors over. I would hate for our girls to grow lonely in my absence. As far as our youngest goes she will grow out of her nonsense soon; she has Hanna and you as wonderful examples of refined ladies. And fear not, I will put in a good word for both Hanna and Abby while I am gone. I’m sure you remember that Ambrose is quite single and very handsome.”

  A few more words were exchanged then they made their way out of the room. I barely had time to walk down the hall into an opposite room to avoid being caught.

  I am not sure what possessed me to do such a thing. It is always Abby that has done the spying, the galumphing about and other nonsense. In usual cases, I would have kept walking by, but I don’t suppose things are usual any more are they? I doubt you’re familiar with Doctor Walsh, but he is an old college friend of my father whom he used to work with when they both started doctoring. Father has not heard from him in many years so it seems odd that they would contact each other now. This is something Abby will not let go of and that worries me deeply.

  You must excuse me now dear Cecily, for I am writing this letter in the sitting room with Mama and Abby. Mama’s lips have quite disappeared and her face has flushed to horrid shade of red. No doubt she is about to yell at Abby. I’m sure you’ll forgive me while I suggest that my sister and I go for a walk around the garden.

  I cannot say if the walk was successful, for I was unable to concentrate on picking flowers for arrangement with Abby talking, but Abby certainly had some interesting things to say!

  “Finally, I can tell you everything Hanna!” she said as soon as we were out of the house.

  “You haven’t already? I do recall that you were talking quite a bit while we were writing.”

  “Yes, but not about that. What I’m about to tell you is nothing less than shocking! For I know why Father is going to Doctor Walsh’s.”

  “Oh nonsense Abby! You and I both heard what he said, it’s to visit an old friend and to talk politics.”

  “And since when has Father shown an interest in politics?”

  I pretended to ignore Abby as she skipped ahead. But I couldn’t help thinking it was true. Father only ever writes about science; he loathes politics because they were far too vexing for him. He thinks them too boring and too strict. He only keeps up with them