Dear Bethy, -Letter Two-

Dear Bethy,

 I was so glad to receive your lovely letter after so long a silence. Little Davie rushed in with your letter this morning after running an errand for me to the post office. ‘English mail, Me-me, you got English mail!’ He is so cute when excited! You would hardly recognize him now, he has grown so; he is almost six and mother always has to pull out his tucks and refit hand me downs from his older brothers as he grows. I read your letter to him for he is fascinated by words, books, and messages from places far away, I call him my little postman!

 This evening I read your letter aloud again to everyone about the fire, tis still chill of an evening up here on the boarders though you must be basking in the warmth of spring. Everyone enjoyed hearing again from you, Mother is so glad that ‘our dear Miss Reid’ has not forgotten us. They all send warm greetings and good wishes.

 I have been longing to talk you again and have several times begun letters never sent; I did not know how my poor friendship would be received beside all the brilliant young ladies of London. In truth I was almost afraid you would be ashamed of a poor country lass like me. The few letters I received from you during the first years said very little and I have missed your lively companionship. I know there are many things in London to distract and occupy so forgive me if I reproach you. But life seems so dull without your light step coming up the path any minute of the day with any excuse to pass the day with me.

 Life is harder now that Father has passed away too, and I have more responsibilities daily with the children growing up and bread to earn. Coinneach works as the local blacksmith and dose odd jobs for the mayor. He is highly esteemed in the village and is well on his way to being promoted, already he exercise the mayors horses daily. He bids me send his respects to ‘Miss Zinnia’ from his carving in the corner beside the hearth. He always had a great regard for you, you know Bethy, and he was always the only person you would allow to call you by your given name. Do you still have a great dislike for it, or have you become accustomed to being addressed as Miss Zinnia, I noticed you signed yourself by it in your letter...

 I sew for the Rushbrook ladies these days, and they pay fairly. Since the family have taken our place in society they hardly know how to treat us now we are beneath them in wealth and station, so they avoid us. But that does not trouble us they were never close friends, remember how we used to tease them for their airs and graces and stalk them on their walks, imitating their arched necks and mincing steps! What cheeky little girls we were, I believe I was not a good influence upon your well-bred mind!

 You ask about the Rushbrook House tenants; you will be surprised and interested perhaps to hear that Rev. Warde resides there at present. As you may know, since Father died two years ago Rev. Warde has taken over the duties in the parish and perhaps as a consequence of his new station, or for other reasons of his own, he runs a larger household, when your old house was vacated he immediately obtained tenancy. I must express my surprise that you do not already know of the arrangement, and ask with some trepidation, but with the right of our past close intimacy, how your relationship stands at present with your father and new mother? I know you must have seen very little of them in the past few years and things must be different with everything in your life changing at the same time as your father marrying, but I always knew you to be close to your father and envied your intimate, easy relationship with him. Forgive me my nosiness dear Bethy, I always was a ‘fuss pot’ as Davie says, and worry you endlessly with my interrogations and lectures. Do I read too much between the lines?

 Now I come to the Miss Warde you asked about. She is certainly not any of Rev Warde’s daughters, but may very possibly be his young orphaned niece who has come up to Scotland most summers in the last few years. Her name is Rhona Warde and a very quiet and modest girl though very pretty in a dainty way. I have met her several times but only once conversed with her in more than the language of common courtesy. She speaks well and seems to possess a great deal of sense and a heartfelt gratitude towards her Uncle who is her sole guardian and has done everything towards her comfort. He paid her way through boarding school and has found her a good position as companion to a young lady of good breeding and much wealth; the family is named Birkley, I believe. Perhaps, if we speak of the same Miss Warde, you have meet with or heard of the family in Bristol.

  Oh, my dear friend, I with you would come home to Rushbrook  The thought makes me suddenly want to change things back to as they were when we were carefree girls full of fun and laughter. I almost feel as if it is an impertinence to write to you so freely now that you are a great heiress, but I know you will forgive any indelicacy on my part if you are still the same dear Bethy I grew up with.

For I remain your same faithful,

Amelia