1 June

Your letter arrived yesterday, and I am glad to hear that you are feeling better. I am enclosing a spare charm-bag for you, just in case. (A wetting won’t hurt it; the only thing that will break the spell is opening the bag.) Oh, and I have asked Mr. Wrexton, in as general a sort of way as possible and without being too specific about names, just what might have made the stains on the Marquis’s handkerchief turn violet when you washed it. He said he couldn’t tell without actually looking at it, but that the color violet usually indicates safety or defense when it turns up in this kind of way. So the handkerchief may actually be doing you, or the Marquis, some good. It is a great relief to me to think so; I hope you have it safe.

Aunt Elizabeth and I paid a call on the Reverend Fitzwilliam yesterday. The Reverend Fitz does not recall having been at school with anyone named Strangle, and, in fact, became almost distressed in his efforts to recall the name. I said that I must have been mistaken in my understanding of what you had written me, and very likely you had only meant that Mr. Strangle was at some other school at the same time, or at Brasenose just after the Reverend Fitz. I do not, of course, think anything of the kind, but there are times when it is necessary to employ a polite fiction. Particularly with the Reverend Fitz. Whatever the explanation, I thought you should know about Mr. Strangle.

Mr. Wrexton arrived barely fifteen minutes after we did, bringing a bottle of wine he had apparently promised Reverend Fitzwilliam on Wednesday. We spent a pleasant half hour in innocuous discussion before Aunt Elizabeth insisted that we leave. I have begun to wonder whether she suspects that Mr. Wrexton is a wizard, though how she could have discovered that is beyond me. It would explain her apparent distaste for his company.

I have heard nothing from Robert, but I did not really expect to have any news from him this soon. I am, in fact, rather grateful. It has occurred to me that even if Robert does obtain Mr. Griscomb’s consent to marry Dorothea, Miranda would have no compunction about feeding him poisoned chocolate or making one of his cravats strangle him. I am very sorry this did not occur to me before I sent him off looking for Mr. Griscomb; still, something must be done about Miranda in any case. We cannot allow her to continue wandering around enchanting marquises, turning people into beech trees, frightening horses, and leaving ribbons about to strangle people. This simply means that we must deal with her a little sooner.

I shall make up a charm-bag for Robert, in case he finds Mr. Griscomb and announces his engagement before Miranda has been dealt with, and one for Dorothea as well. I will send them with my next letter. It will take me a little while to get them finished, as I do not dare work on them in Aunt Elizabeth’s presence. I will also ask Mr. Wrexton’s opinion, in a very general sort of way, of what can be done about particularly unscrupulous and powerful wizards. In the meantime, perhaps you could tell Dorothea that Robert has been quite moped since she left. I am sure she will let this slip to Miranda, which will give Miranda the impression that Robert is still in Rushton.

Georgy is being a goose, as usual. Oliver would be far more likely to lecture her at great length on the impropriety of her conduct than to absent himself from Town as a punishment.

Word has got round that Sir Hilary is back in residence, by the way, and Aunt Elizabeth has reluctantly agreed that we must pay a formal call sometime this week. It is fortunate that she has so strong a sense of duty, for otherwise I am sure she would refuse to visit a practicing wizard. She was stiff enough with him before he was ever admitted to the Royal College.

Your new dresses sound wonderful; you will have to model them all for me when you return from London. Take the greatest care of yourself, and if any notion occurs to you of how to deal with Miranda or Sir Hilary, write me at once!

Your faithful,

Cecy