Lady Margaret to Donald Cameron of Lochiel

Powerscourt, County Wicklow, 1 June 1867

Dear Donald,

It is five months to the day since you first wrote to me in exile here. I counted the number of letters which have passed between us since and the total is rather astonishing. Isn’t it odd, to become so well acquainted with a person and yet to have no prospect of furthering that acquaintance in person? No, do not fear I am becoming maudlin, only wistful, my dear friend—is it too presumptuous of me to call you that?

Breda, who was my maid, is now teaching at Enniskerry School which is set to join the national school system once Lord Powerscourt has made the requested improvements the board require for entry. Mr. Doherty is to be retained as schoolmaster, thankfully, and Breda has been promised some formal training, much to her mother’s joy—I think I told you that Mrs. Murphy was a schoolmistress before she was married? I am not sure whether all this upheaval will mean that my days at the school are numbered, but I have been assured my services remain most welcome at the infants’ school.

It is at this point in my letters that I usually tell you that life at Powerscourt otherwise continues as usual, but that is not so! We are to have a rare visitor! Mr. Lewis Strange Wingfield, black sheep, bad penny, fop, as his elder brother variously refers to him, is to grace us with his (hopefully colourful) presence. He comes to us at a time when Lord Powerscourt is guaranteed to be absent. His lordship is once again abroad on one of his buying trips, so be warned, Donald, your services may yet be requested in the quest for a particularly elusive stag’s head. Julia is much put-out at having to play the hostess to this renegade youngest son and has warned me several times to beware of him. She has failed to enlighten me as to why I should be cautious of cultivating him, merely pursing her lips and informing me that he is “the antithesis of what the son of a viscount should be.” You will not be surprised to know that this intrigues me greatly. I have hopes that Mr. Lewis Strange Wingfield will live up to his middle name (in the interesting sense of the word, and not the odd sense, needless to say). If he does, I shall make the most of his company—and ignore Julia’s qualms about my reputation suffering for, as you well know, I cannot lose what I do not have!

There, now I have most likely alarmed you thoroughly, but you must not fret, I have not reached the grand old age of almost twenty-one without being able to take care of myself.

Margaret