These letters were shoved in a box, mislabelled and forgotten in the archives of a local museum who let me look through for research purposes. I’ve transcribed some of them.
My dearest Isaiah,
It has been too long since we spoke last! My mother has once again been dropping hints that I am well past old enough to marry and take a bride. I think she is less concerned with my own happiness than the prospect of another grandchild, as Arthur and Emily’s are growing up far faster than she would like. Yet her nosiness irks me so! For I would like nothing else but to tell her with whom I would like to spend the rest of my life with.
I think of you constantly.
Emily’s oldest, Jude, as you may remember, is getting old enough to marry himself. Recently I was surprised when he took me aside and said, “Uncle, I speak to you in confidence.” Intrigued, I urged him to continue. He then revealed to me that he has met “someone whom mother may not approve of.”
Well! You must know what it is I thought, but we would both be wrong. Unlike my own inclinations he is enamoured with the ladies. Some questioning later, and he revealed to me that the object of his affections was a girl of his own age but not our status, if you take my meaning.
I do know her, Isaiah! It is the young lady who lives with no one but her father near the estate. Her father is familiar with our woods and has permission to hunt on our lands, and is quite skilled at it. Indeed, I have gone hunting with him myself! He is a quiet man with a stare that seems to gaze into your soul. His daughter is equally quiet, a learned hunter herself despite her sex, and a skilled weaver.
I must say that while I quite like them a lot, I at once understood my nephew’s reservations for you see, it is not only a matter of status; the poor girl’s late mother had been accused of being a witch, and Emily believes that to be true with a fierce sincerity. Unfortunately, she believes this extends to the daughter, and has tried to convince mother on multiple occasions to ban them from our land, but mother likes the duck the father brings in thanks too much.
All this witchcraft talk is nonsense, if you ask me, but you know what Emily is like. I, of course, encouraged the young love! I promised my nephew I would not speak a word to anyone in our family but do not take my writing as proof that I do not consider you family. I trust you more than anyone else to be discreet.
Your devoted confidant,
Gregory
My dearest Isaiah,
I was so glad to receive your last letter! I am thankful you are doing well.
I do have some news about my nephew’s romantic entanglements that has given me pause in my supportive enthusiasm.
It started a few days previously when Emily on a morning walk happened across her son speaking with Deirdre (the young woman with whom he is so smitten). Well, Jude told me all about it when came to me in a rage about how shockingly rude Emily had been to the poor girl.
I had to reassure him many times that I had not said a word to anyone in the household, and eventually he believed me and told me what had happened in greater detail.
He said that his mother had outright accused the poor girl of witchcraft and attempting to seduce her son. Oh how I wish I were there, for Deirdre did not respond in a demure manner and had said that Emily was a “terrible old woman who had no clue what she talked of”.
My nephew did not immediately defend his mother, which caused Emily to be quite upset with him, and soon the whole household was in an uproar.
The day after, Emily came down with a horrid cough, and ended up bedridden. Jude, for all that he was on bad terms with his mother, was distraught and proceeded to act as her nurse, hardly leaving her side. It seems to me that they have patched things up.
That evening, however, I witnessed something quite strange. You know how I do adore glimpses of the full moon’s glow on a summer night? So I was looking out from my window when I spotted a figure on the grounds. It was none other than Deirdre’s father, staring up at the manor with the most frightening expression on his face, which I could only just perceive because the full moon was so bright that night.
He did not move, only stared. Leaning out, I followed his gaze and with a start realised that he was staring at Emily’s window! I could only just see Jude’s silhouette in the candlelight, where he was no doubt tending to his mother.
I dressed for bed and tried to put it out of my mind, but even though some time had passed, when I looked out the window that man was still there, his gaze unbroken. This time, however, I believe that he saw me looking as I saw his head turn my way. With absolutely no acknowledgement, he turned and ran - yes, ran! - into the woods.
I have to say, I found the whole matter quite disturbing, and I found that I could not sleep for the uneasiness that I had been left with.
Things have quieted down, but Emily is still bedridden.
Every-one’s spirits are low, and the whole house is dreary. How I wish you were here to keep me company. You alone could bring me cheer!
With the fondest regards,
Gregory
My dearest Isaiah,
I write to you with the most distressing news. My sister Emily is no longer with us. Her sickness had become increasingly violent, and her frail body wracked with coughs. That is not even the worst of it.
Last night, long after I had extinguished my candles, my nephew ran in with much excitement, raving about his mother bleeding out. I was roused along with the rest of the household, and my long legs and hurried pace ensured that I reached Emily’s room faster than anyone else. I soon regretted that as I saw the most grisly scene.
I will describe it to you, as I know you have the stomach for it and are not made queasy by the thought of blood, but I would not judge you for moving on from this recollection quickly or even skipping it entirely - it was the worst thing that I have ever witnessed! Jude’s description fell short of what was happening to poor Emily. She was bleeding, yes, but not from any scratch or wound - but from any exit from her body the blood could possibly find. It gushed from her eyes and ears, it dripped down from her mouth and all over her nightclothes. She bled from underneath her fingernails and toenails, and from lesions on her skin which she had scratched herself. What’s more, is that there was so much more blood than I had ever seen! Her pale, cream sheets and hand-sewn quilt were entirely soaked in it, and what spilled from her bed was so thick that even her rug could not contain it. It was leaking onto the floorboards to the point of reaching all of our slippers. I found out later it had even dripped through the floor and into the drawing room below. I retched, and I was not the only one.
I will not describe it further, and I will let this expunge it from my memory so that God willing, I may never think of it again.
The whole family is in mourning, but hours after the doctor came and emptied the contents of his own stomach, I found Jude sitting in the corner of the hall, clutching his legs and muttering, “I didn’t know - Lord forgive me, I didn’t know.”
Nothing could convince him to explain and in that moment I was beside myself with grief and did not think of it further until days later. Instead I felt as though I needed fresh air desperately and so escaped into the gardens.
Can you guess who I ran into there?
Alone in our garden, sitting among the flowers was Deirdre, her eyes wide and her face sombre.
“What happened?” she asked, and given the state of the house I did not question how she knew something had happened, but I have since wondered what she was doing there at all in that hour of the night.
I explained to her, without any of the ghastly details I have given you, that Emily had passed.
Deirdre was not nearly as shocked as one ought to be. She stood, said, “I am sorry for your loss,” and soon disappeared into the woods.
As you can see, I have my suspicions, but I am uncertain how to proceed with them, or even if I should! I shall think of you, and attempt to channel even a fraction of your courage. I was not always on the best of terms with my sister, but she was still my flesh and blood and even if she were ten times as worse as she was she would not have deserved that fate.
I will get to the bottom of this. If I do not write again, know that I would never think ill of you if you moved on after my passing and found someone who cared for you as much as I do.
With all the world’s fondness,
Gregory
My dearest Isaiah,
I am glad to say that I yet still live! That may be the only good news that I have to tell in this letter.
Emily’s husband was long since passed, and so my brother Arthur endeavoured to step up to be a parent to her children -my nephew Jude and his sisters - in her stead. My mother too insisted on devoting herself to them as a grandmother ought, as though she had not been doing so already.
Mother discovered Jude had begun courting Deirdre in earnest, and made the biggest fuss that he was “acting so selfishly when Emily was still warm in her grave.” She is normally so doting on her grandchildren that her anger about this was shocking. She gave Jude a very long tirade and they had a disagreement. She told him in no uncertain terms that she would never approve of Jude and Deirdre’s union.
That night, she began coughing. Arthur and I tended to her, and soon we discovered blood on her handkerchiefs. Emily’s poor fate still fresh on our minds, we had no doubt she was succumbing to the same affliction.
Driven by a fury I have never seen on my brother, Arthur went to confront Deirdre. Our nephew and I together tried to pull him back and keep him from going into the woods; Jude to protect Deirdre and I to protect Arthur.
We managed to calm him down, and I quietly took him aside and promised that I would speak with Deirdre with the subtlety that we both knew he lacked. He agreed, then took Jude to tend to Mother in her sickness.
Unbeknownst to anyone but Arthur, I stole away into the woods towards the cabin.
As I approached, I heard the most dreadful sobbing. It was so loud that I was unheard, and so I ducked behind a tree to observe.
Deirdre was on the step outside her humble abode, and her father crouched in front of her.
“I don’t know what else to do, Papa!” she exclaimed, distress clear on her face. “I have told him that I do not want him, that I view him as a good friend, but he insists that we should be wed! I am so afraid. He gets so angry, and if my rejection angers him further, I fear that I will be next!”
I was shaken, and listened further.
Her father was sympathetic but I could hear the dread in his voice as well. “They won’t let me onto the grounds anymore, sweetest, and he refuses to return your mother’s books. I am sorry, I thought you cared for him. If I had known you to be indifferent, I would have taken you and fled this place.”
There was nothing in their voices that made me doubt their sincerity. I was chilled to the bone. I made myself known and after assuring them Jude was unaware I was there, I asked for the whole story.
They were reluctant to tell me, but they did open up.
Deirdre and Jude had been acquainted since childhood, far more than even I had been aware! They had been the best of friends, meeting secretly in the woods to play games. Back then, Deirdre’s mother was still among the living. It seems that she did indeed once practice witchcraft, but gave it up when Deirdre was born.
I was quite astonished, if sceptical, but did not interrupt.
They said that Deirdre’s mother had several books that she had collected when she was wealthier, before she had married Deirdre’s father. With these she had taught her daughter to be literate, but she had forbidden Deirdre from reading certain volumes.
Deidre had told Jude of these forbidden books, and the naughty child looked at them and found that they were books of the dark arts. Her mother had chased the boy off and told him to never speak to her daughter again.
Jude had honoured that request only while Deirdre’s mother still lived, but when she passed he once again made friends with Deirdre.
A young man then, he became besotted with her. She did not feel the same and they had an argument. Jude, in anger, stole her mother’s books and said that once they were married she could have them again.
I was shocked by these allegations and was again reluctant to believe them, but I said I would come to them if I could find proof of what they had alleged. What had happened to Emily, what could happen to Mother ensured I did not take this as tall tales.
I’m afraid that if I do not investigate, their words will haunt me for the rest of my life. Or worse, for I will not allow my nephew to marry a woman against her will, and I admit to only you, Isaiah, that I have not said a word to him. I do not want to bleed from unmentionable places, to die at all let alone in such a horrid manner. If I confront him, will the same happen to me? No, it is nonsense, surely.
I wish you were here to help me through this, I do not want to die here without seeing you one last time. No! I won’t! I will see this end! If I do not, I hope you will not think ill of me.
With most sincere love,
Gregory
My dearest Isaiah,
So much has happened! I apologise for the messiness of my handwriting, for I am trying to write quickly.
Since the revelations Deirdre revealed to me, I have since noticed both my Nephew’s rages and how, although he speaks much of his love for Deirdre, he says nothing about her feelings for him. Yet in my cowardice, I hesitated.
If I had been a better man, Mother might yet still be alive. For in the days after her condition worsened and she came to the same fate as Emily. I will not describe again what happened, but it was even more horrific, as great blood-filled boils covered her skin.
Arthur had begun coughing as well.
My brother and I have not always seen eye to eye, but I did not wish that gruesome fate upon him either, and so I swallowed my fears and finally took action.
During my own Mother’s wake, I committed a crime. I was upset, truly, but I pretended to be so distraught that I excused myself from the wake in order to “have a lie down”. Everyone was so understanding, which only made the guilt in my soul grow as I had no intention of a rest and instead secreted inside Jude’s room and searched his belongings.
Never had I thought my practising in secrecy and hiding my movements would come in use for more than youthful trysts! I was quiet as a mouse, and under his pillow I found a book. Under his bed another. The third was hidden under a loose floorboard, just as I hide my letters from you.
The things written in those books detailed the extremes of all - wonderful spells that made me gasp, but in addition some curses that would cause the worst things imaginable that could happen to anyone. I confess, I did tear a couple pages out of the things that impressed me, but the rest I took to the pit behind the kitchen and burned.
The smell was acrid, like nothing I had ever smelled before. It was wretched, and I worried that the smell itself would give the game away. Then I snuck into my own room to pretend that I had been there for the entire span of time.
Sleep did creep up on me, but was woken by shouting so loud it rattled the walls.
Jude had discovered the absence of the books, and had dropped all discretion or sense and was yelling about how he would make Deirdre (though what he called her was nowhere near as polite as her name) suffer.
I flew from my room and tore after him and caught him outside by the edge of the woods. Afraid of what he would do if he got farther, I did something very foolish indeed: I told him exactly what I had done to the books.
He was on me in a moment. His fists rained down on me and I was afraid my own strength would kill him if I fought back in earnest. I held him off, but for all my advantage in size and age, his fury made him vicious. It was all I could do to defend myself from him.
Then the shot rang out.
I had said before, didn’t I? That Deirdre was an accomplished hunter? Her aim with a musket is as good as her father. Jude fell so fast I’m sorry to say he never learned of his folly.
Deirdre was completely wrecked for, despite everything, Jude had been her friend. I managed to convince Arthur not to pursue justice for our nephew and the official story is that it was a tragic hunting accident.
I, however, cannot stay here. Arthur in his grief, and perhaps his lingering illness, has blamed the entire ordeal on me, as there is no one left to take responsibility. He cannot block my share of my inheritance, but I allowed him to buy me out and agreed to leave the estate. If I was not quick enough to prevent what may still happen to him, I will allow myself one last cowardice so that I do not have to witness it.
You have written me with much concern, Isaiah, and I apologise for it. I have decided to finally take you up on your offer and join you. There has been so much tragedy these past few months that I am ashamed at how happy I am at the thought of being with you! It is the only thing that is keeping me from falling into despair and grief.
I hope you will forgive me, but I have decided to hire on a pair of hands to come with me; I could not leave Deirdre and her father behind. It is just until they can settle in, and I admit so that I am not alone for the voyage as I have not felt safe since Emily passed. Even now with Jude gone, I still fear that I will turn and see him there.
Soon I will be able to leave this all behind, and I long to be in your arms.
Eternally, Gregory