"Though peculiarly averse to writing, I feel I must keep my promise
to you. We had a tiresome journey and a rough passage, but except
fatigue, I am well enough; nurse who has had red eyes ever since she
bid you good bye, desires her love and duty, and says she will not
write this time; she has just been sitting with me; I was consoling
her, at least trying to do so. This place looks wretched and deserted,
worse than when I was last here. They say every one is ruined; I
wonder I am not; but I can write no more, my head and heart are both
aching. You shall hear from me when I reach Castle Desmond,"
"Yours miserably,
"G. D."
At the bottom were some words across which a few had been hastily drawn
once or twice. Kate easily perceived they were the commencement of a
sentence, "your readiness to," but some interruption mental or physical
had cut short the fair scribe, and she had changed her intentions.
To Kate's infinite surprise, for Mrs. O'Toole was in general a
remarkably straightforward person, a second letter reached her by the
midday mail, directed in a blotted irregular hand written apparently
with a wooden skewer.
"_To Miss Vernon at Mr. Storey's,
Bayswater._
"Mee own blessed child," it began, "do'nt let on a word of this to
mortial man; you will be angry with me for decavin me lady, but I
wanted to write unknown'st, and I'm quite and snug for the night
now, so I thought I'd sthrive to pen ye a line without a word to any
one; the morning we left London, Saturday, Miss Lewis hears tell how
me Lord Effingham was coming to take the rooms we wor in next week,
and she ups and tould me lady, and me lady sends for me. 'Nurse,'
says she, lookin like a ghost and her two eyes blazin mad, 'Wor you
aware' says she spakin low, 'that Lord Effingham was commin,' 'To be
sure I was;' says I, 'I heerd it as well as Miss Lewis,' says I, and
then she turned and bit her lips, and looked like tunther, 'I thought
you might have heard it at Hampton Coort,' ses she. 'Divil a haporth
good nor bad I heard tell of him at the Coort,' says I; with that she
gave a sort of a groan, 'Very well,' says she, 'of course, what could
you know about him! What's delayin us,' ses she mighty sharp, 'the
carriage immediately Roberts,' ses she, and there was no mistake she
was in airnest. Now she's been quere since then, mighty fond of me,
an always talkin of you, me darlint, but some how there's no truth in
her eyes, so jist mind how ye write, an sure me eyes an me hands is
tired, an if ye can read it, do'nt be angry if I write too free; sure
I'd brave even the cross word from yourself, if I could do ye good, me
own darlin child, there's not an hour of the day your poor old nurse
does'nt be prayin for you, so God shield ye, and send me the light of
me eyes again safe and sound.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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