Lumbres, France
Dear Danielle Bannock,
I received your letter about the storm damage to the roof. No injuries were suffered in the storm, I hope? By the time you receive this, the new roof should be underway. I know very little of roofs, except that houses are more comfortable when they’re intact. Thank you for, quite literally, keeping a roof over everyone’s head. Given the choice, I should be there with you, staring at the sky through the hole in the ceiling. A letter from Fernsby has confirmed that you’ve chosen a steward from the candidates I sent. I hope this man has been a useful advisor in these situations, but I know it’s not the same as navigating storms and roofs with a husband at your side.
If you’ll indulge news from France, I can report that I’ve made friends with a local boy whose older sister takes occasional work inside Chateau d’Oiron. This girl has confirmed that there are currently three or four prisoners occupying the castle dungeon, among them an old man who fits the description of Linus Welty. This has been an incredible relief to me, and I’m trying to devise a way to get a coded message to him.
The two soldiers-for-hire I mentioned have reported to Lumbres, and we’ve come to an agreement. I’ve dispatched them to study the defenses of the castle and together we’re working on a plan.
Although the locals view me as a Bavarian academic, Surcouf knows me on sight. We fought bitterly the night of the attack; and, in my early attempts to recover Welty, I ambushed him on the highway three times. Failed attempts, all—especially as they left no doubt as to how desperately I want to recover his captive. I believe he remains in France purely to lie in wait. When the time comes, we’ll have only one go at this, so the plan must be flawless.
If you’re still reading, I should like to say that I was gratified to receive your letter. I happen to be fond of spare, flat writing; actually I prefer it. I admire a correspondent who’s over and done in a single paragraph. I reread that lone paragraph nightly; the bit about the rotting attic is particularly endearing.
A second endearing feature is the salutation, which invokes your married name. It did not go unnoticed.
With love, your husband,
Luke
June 15, 1813
Eastwell Park, Kent
Dear Bannock,
The new roof is underway (thank you) and so far, there have been no other structural issues beyond paint and carpentry. The manor house operates more like a home than a haunted pile, and the kitchen garden is established. Now my attention has turned to the pastureland. With your permission, I should like to travel to market and purchase sheep. If you will agree—also, cattle. I hired a foreman from among the candidates you arranged; the old man called Gaskins was my first choice. He is very knowledgeable and, more importantly, understands that the families of Ivy Hill should have a role in every aspect of our wool and mutton trade.
Unrelated to sheep and their expenses, you might as well know that my sister, Elise, her husband, Killian, and their girls are living here as my guests, with plans to remain through the summer. The proximity allows us to become better acquainted, and Elise and Killian are a great help in almost every aspect of reviving the estate. Also, my brother, Gabriel, and his wife, Ryan, are due to arrive any day. The reunion of our family does come with some awkwardness; Miriam and Whittle must reckon with sharing me. But on the whole, it’s been remarkable—truly. I have such great love for all of them; the very best part of learning my past history is having them in my life.
Ithink ofhope you continue to draw breath in France. I alsopray youhope your friend may be recovered.
Sincerely,
Danielle
June 30, 1813
Lumbres, France
Dear Danielle,
By the time you receive this, Eastwell Park should proliferate with sheep and cattle. Thank you for keeping me apprised of your progress. I’m pleased you’ve gotten on with Mr. Gaskins and that your dream of tenant farming is being realized.
Although we are making progress here, my frustration escalates daily. A date has been set for our rescue mission, but it’s more than two months away. Given the choice, I’d do the thing tomorrow, but Surcouf will host an event in mid-September. It’s a days-long affair meant to mark the end of summer, with guests arriving from Paris and beyond. There will be no better opportunity to successfully breach the castle and abscond with an old man than during a crowded, drunken bacchanal.
So now, we wait. We are going over and over the plan; in particular, we’ll need some specific diversion beyond the generalized revelry of a party. My efforts to send a coded message to Linus have, so far, elicited no response, but I cautiously try again and again. Things will go more smoothly if he expects us.
Mostly, I spend my days reading, pretending to be Bavarian, and wondering what you are doing. I’ve ridden to the lands that are attached to your dowry. It’s nearly 1,000 acres bordering Surcouf’s estate. The land is verdant French countryside with a fast-moving river, deep enough for boat traffic, and I can see why Surcouf wants it. Ultimately you’ll decide how you wish to manage this property. A topic for another time, perhaps; I know your hands are full with Eastwell Park.
I hope it goes without saying: please buy what you need for the sheep and cattle. Buy swine and chickens and geese. We discussed the potential of your parents residing at Eastwell Park, so I assume you have plenty of cats.
There is more to say, but I’m determined to limit myself to no more than three words to your every one.
With love, your husband,
Luke
July 11, 1813
