Isabella Griffith’s owl – a pretty, if elderly barn owl and one of the few things Gilbert’s wife personally owned nowadays – delivered a note in reply many, many hours later. The paper had obviously been balled up, but then smoothed back out again in an attempt to be presentable. Some of ink was smudged; there were also little spots and speckles of it in a few places, showing where the quill hovered over the parchment in indecision.
The letter sat on her vanity for hours. Now, it was tucked away in her pocket, alongside a quick exchange from her aunt (she was so thankful Agatha was able to write her back so quickly, given the hour).
And Nell was just as torn now as she had been when the unfamiliar owl left her staring at the writing of an unequally estranged uncle. She’d spent the following hours pacing her room like a caged beast, unafraid to wake her parents across the hall (Father was dead to world with the aid of one of those damned sleeping draughts and Mother had been too busy sobbing in the bathroom) before making a dreadfully rash decision.
She hugged herself, kneading her fingers into her arms, with the taste of copper playing on her tongue after anxiously chewing more than one fingernail to the quick earlier. The hot, tender stinging of her finger tips as they dug into her arms through her sleeves and gloves was grounding, in a way, as she loitered next to her miniscule amount of luggage (a hand-me-down carpetbag and a small trunk). After taking far too long to gather her shaky courage, she gently tapped the door knocker against the old wooden frame.
ToUncleMisterMy UncleSamuel Griffith,
I’m surprisedconfused
What isWhy
Agatha says
Idon't understandagree that this should all be discussed in person. Please forgive my impertinence in advance: I will be following this letter posthaste, despite the hour.
YoursYour NieceRespectfully,
See you soon,
Eleanor Griffith
The letter sat on her vanity for hours. Now, it was tucked away in her pocket, alongside a quick exchange from her aunt (she was so thankful Agatha was able to write her back so quickly, given the hour).
And Nell was just as torn now as she had been when the unfamiliar owl left her staring at the writing of an unequally estranged uncle. She’d spent the following hours pacing her room like a caged beast, unafraid to wake her parents across the hall (Father was dead to world with the aid of one of those damned sleeping draughts and Mother had been too busy sobbing in the bathroom) before making a dreadfully rash decision.
She hugged herself, kneading her fingers into her arms, with the taste of copper playing on her tongue after anxiously chewing more than one fingernail to the quick earlier. The hot, tender stinging of her finger tips as they dug into her arms through her sleeves and gloves was grounding, in a way, as she loitered next to her miniscule amount of luggage (a hand-me-down carpetbag and a small trunk). After taking far too long to gather her shaky courage, she gently tapped the door knocker against the old wooden frame.