14 May

Your letter regarding Oliver just arrived. I can only hope that you have had news of him by now, because he is certainly not at Rushton! I came very near to telling Papa the whole, for it seems to me that Oliver’s disappearance is far too serious to hide, but as it turned out I did not have to say anything. Aunt Charlotte wrote Aunt Elizabeth a letter, which arrived at the same time as yours, desiring her to have Oliver bring her white work to Town when he returns. Aunt Elizabeth, of course, went straight to Papa, demanding to know where Oliver was and what she was to tell Aunt Charlotte. Papa, when he finally understood, simply laughed and said that Oliver has probably gone to see a cockfight or some such thing, and that he is old enough not to be hovered over by a pair of aunts.

This put Aunt Elizabeth quite out of countenance, and she went off in a huff to write to Aunt Charlotte. Under the circumstances, I decided not to add anything, for once Papa gets an idea in his head it is impossible to dislodge it. If he has decided that Oliver has gone to some disreputable sporting event, nothing will persuade him that it is more serious than that, unless Oliver remains missing. But if you do not have word of him in your next letter, I must tell Papa everything. Write soon and tell me he is safe! He may be the most provoking, tedious, goose-witted brother in the world, but he is the only one I have, and I should hate for anything dreadful to happen to him.

Miranda and Dorothea left for London yesterday. I rode over to Tarleton Hall to see Dorothea off, and I very nearly did not make it in time. My mare stumbled badly at the bottom of the hill where the Tarleton lands begin; if I had been galloping, as I usually do, I would certainly have been thrown. I stopped and checked to make sure my horse had taken no injury, and then I went back to see what had made her stumble. I half expected a poacher’s snare. I saw no sign of one, but there was a strip of grass half an inch wide that had been burned away right down to the ground.

When I got to Tarleton Hall, Miranda and Dorothea were just stepping into their coach. Miranda seemed surprised (and not at all pleased!) to see me; I don’t think she approves of my friendship with Dorothea. James Tarleton was there as well, still playing the flirt in the most odious fashion. I thought his expression was a bit strained, and I noticed that he was taking snuff more frequently than usual. (He has a new snuffbox in silver filigree, which I consider a great improvement over that garish blue enameled one he used to carry everywhere.) Once he glanced from Miranda to me in a puzzled fashion when he thought neither of us was looking. Dorothea was most grateful for my presence, though with her Stepmama standing beside her she could do no more than give me a speaking look. I feel for her, Kate, I truly do.

My experiments with Canniba and the charm-bags have been quite successful (you may imagine how careful I have had to be, to keep it all from Aunt Elizabeth!). Last night I made up one for myself (the incident with my mare has made me rather nervous), and this morning I made up one for Oliver. I had almost finished it when I was interrupted by the arrival of the post and the subsequent argument between Papa and Aunt Elizabeth. I went to Oliver’s room at once, hoping to find a bit of his hair in his hairbrush, but there was none. So I am forced to enclose two incomplete charm-bags—one for you and one for Oliver. You can tell which is which by the embroidered initials. I am sorry they came out crooked, but I was in a great hurry. Put a lock of hair into each one, close them up, and put yours under your pillow or carry it in your reticule. (Oliver’s had better go into his mattress, I suppose.) And once you’ve closed them, don’t open them again; that breaks the protective spell.

I haven’t the least notion whether this will do any good, but I have to do something! Write me as soon as you have word of Oliver, and take the greatest care of yourself, and do be kind to Dorothea. She does not deserve her Stepmama in the least.

Your worried,

Cecy