7 Mayfair Square
London
February 1824
My good friends:
Yes, although you have misunderstood me, maligned me, laughed at me, you are my friends.
Stop at once! What happened at that celebration is a result of my once being human. I remain an artist, a passionate, talented artist and my behavior is supposed to be flamboyant.
No, sorry to disappoint you but I will not discuss either Lumpit or Anthony FitzDuram. I won’t, won’t, won’t. That’s that so don’t try to irritate me further.
What? What did you say? Dash it all no, magic tricks have nothing to do with it. How many times must I tell you so? Skill is everything. And I have made great progress in that department. The cat? Vicious creature—surely he will never enter this house again once Adam and the Princess are on their way.
I can’t dwell on that.
You are amazed, aren’t you, and that disrespectful scribbler is amazed? She may even think me foiled and about to be forgotten.
We shall see.
Hold your tongues. I’m not going to tell you my intentions but I will say that I have worked too long and too hard to allow Hester to waste all my efforts.
A poet in the attic? What a cliché. Foolish woman. Absolutely I lost my temper, wouldn’t you?
I need a rest. I need a long rest without any distractions from my problems at Number 7 Mayfair Square, or from the likes of Willy boy or any other nuisances.
There’s a chance I may become a teacher’s helper at school. I knew my skills and possibilities would eventually be noted.
But first, rest, and then we’ll see where my afterlife takes me.
Be assured that I shall be watching and that I shall never desert my post.
Spivey
PS: Never allow others to embarrass you out of taking chances. If you should be in a likely house—on one of those dreadful house tours, say—and something reminds you of me (perhaps a marvelously carved you-know-what), lean close and ask for Sir Septimus.