Dear Amelia, May 26, 18-
There are five swans on the lake; I can see them gliding about so
leisurely and handsome. They truly are water birds, being truly graceful only
when afloat. I am sitting in a pretty little bower among the shrubs on the
slope at the back of the house. It faces the lake which is as still as a sheet
of glass this sunny forenoon, except for the ripples trailing behind the water
birds. I don’t think I can ever get used to the beauty of this place. It is
‘new every morning’ and I am always finding some pretty new nook to hide away
in and read or write, or just think and be. These are happy days. Smile for me,
for I am smiling for you!
I have good new to tell, but my pen is taking me away, running away with
me, you see I am in a dreamy mood…
I am reminded of the lines: ‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its
loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
a bower quiet for us.’ I have a volume of Keats at my side which I have been
reading; it must have put me into this romantic mood! I don’t think Grandmamma
approves of Keats or poetry at all for when she saw me reading him she said,
‘You seem to like to read often, and perhaps you would like to go over the
books in the library. My husband left plenty when he died, he was an avid
reader—like you.’ I thanked her but only took the hint when I went to explore
the library as there is hardly a printed poem in the room. It is a pity for it
is such a quiet, romantic place full of leather furniture and little hidey
holes as well as hundreds of dust covered books on natural history, husbandry,
and ancient philosophy—not particularly my favourite subjects.
I am going to be a sister at last! There, that is my news. Sometime early
next year I will be holding a little sibling in my arms, what happiness! I have
always envied you your brothers and sisters and lamented being an only child,
and now my wish has come true. Grandmamma has been sweet and charming ever
since she heard the news, she can be quite domineering in her gracious proud
way, but I think a child shall soften her most becomingly. ‘A grandchild at
last!’ I heard her exclaim as I was passing below the drawing room window on my
way to the lake to sketch, I paused to listen:
‘But Mother,’ I heard Mama say, ‘it won’t be the first…’ she trailed
away but Grandmamma ignored her,
‘It will be a boy of course, he shall be called Harold after his
grandfather or Seth, that is another family name, but not so distinguished as
the other.’
‘Mother,’ I was surprised to hear her speak so firmly, ‘if it is a boy
we will call him after his father. And it may be a girl after all.’
I moved on after hearing this much as I did not want to eavesdrop. I
have wondered who Mama meant when she said the baby would not be Grandmother’s
first grandchild. I wonder if I have a cousin. Grandmother had three children,
the eldest, a girl, passed away about fifteen years ago. Mama was her middle
child and the youngest is my Uncle Earnest who is some ten years younger than
his sister and unmarried. I wonder--but no, I won’t say it, though it does seem
to be the only explanation. And from the couple of times I have met him and the
fact that he is not very popular with his mother seems reason enough for
speculation. Or maybe my deceased aunt had a child who never lived, and she was
married too. I’ll ask mama about it one day.
With my joyful news comes a shadow. Mama’s health has never been strong
and the doctor looked a little grave on his last visit and advised that she
stay here until the baby is born. I don’t think it is anything serious to worry
about, but the decision is that it is better to be safe than sorry. Papa was
rather vexed about the doctor’s orders as he is longing to take his wife home
to Scotland, but the doctor rules here and is backed up formidably by
Grandmother. And so it is doubtful I shall see you again before next spring,
dear Amelia. But next summer, Lord willing, the family shall come home,
complete, to dear old Rushbrook House again! Keep things ready for us!
How is everybody in Scotland? I
hope the Warde ladies don’t vex you too much! Is Rhona Warde come to them yet?
Kiss your mother for me and give your little post man a big hug!
I remain your fond friend,
Bethy.
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